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“Come in and have a seat.”
His voice threads through the space between your ears like candy floss, evaporating in the panic that wells up inside of you like screams, like blood and bile, and you whirl on your heel to take in your surroundings.
It looks like an office – a large one, resplendent in its gloomy décor; everything is red and black and purple, drapery billowing down the walls to cover them in rich, velvety texture. The doorway in which you’ve come through arches impossibly up, curving like charred ribs from some eldritch abomination. The knob jiggles stiffly in your fingers when you try to turn it again, desperately seeking exit from this strange place, and an impatient sigh fills the empty air behind you.
“If the theatrics are finished…?”
Behind a glossy black desk sits a tall, clean-cut man, fingers templed across a thin sheaf of papers. They look unlike anything else in the lavish surroundings, curled and cracked at the edges, yellowed with age. Whatever’s written on them seems to glow, shimmering in and out of focus in threads of glitter. The man himself has a pleasantly gaunt face and haunting. His eyes snap with cool fire, flesh-pink pupils slit into oceans the color of gems, like bioluminescence, like chips of alien jade. The rest of his skin is just as alien - is neat hands, his high cheekbones, all tinted a soft blue. He lifts one of those hands and gestures at a loveseat in front of the desk.
“Please. A seat, miss.”
“Where the fuck am I? I was – I was just… doing…” Doing what? You remember this morning, the night before, but… how you got here remains a mystery. There’s nothing to connect your presence here. You stumble forward and brace yourself on the back of the seat, fingers digging into the plush cushions as your stomach flips. The man – if he is a man – watches with mild interest at best.
“You’re in the Nightosphere, which, for all intents and purposes, is like… what do you call it in your dimension?” He taps a clawed fingertip against his bottom lip, staring off to the side as he tries to summon the word. Finally, with a delighted hum, he nods, the pulsating slits of his pupils returning to your attention. “Hell! You would call it Hell.”
“I’m in Hell…?” Brows furrowed, you give in to the insanity of the situation and take a seat on the tiny sofa. It sinks pleasantly under your weight, curving to support your body as if hugging you into it. It feels alive. Everything here does, as though at any second the seat will walk you across the room. It makes you skin crawl with gooseflesh. “I don’t understand.”
“Clearly.” He extends a hand and takes yours in a surprisingly gentle grip. “Hunson Abadeer. Nice to meet you. I don’t have many answers for you and your existential crisis; I’m a very busy man and it’s not often I have a drop-in without any prior notice.”
“I don’t even – I have no idea what I’m doing here! I didn’t want to drop in! Please send me home, this has to be a mistake.”
Hunson snaps his fingers and the shifting characters lit up on the parchment before him burst to life. Colors you’ve never seen before churn in shafts of light and overlap themselves, appearing as both two – and three-dimensional all at once, curling like ribbons and shape configurations that don’t exist. It fills you with a kind of hatred you’ve never known, primordial and raw in the face of something so awful as the way those runes defy the natural laws of reality – reality as you know it, anyway.
The colors bounce off his smooth skin as he watches you. “Would you like me to look into you? Let’s check your index, hmm?”
He motions for your hand and you stretch it cautiously over the glassy surface, allowing him to take it and turn it so that he can graze his thumb over the etched lines of your palm. He offers you a tender smile with a flash of teeth, sharp as needles, and the razored nail of his thumb pops through your skin. He skims a bead of blood and flicks it on the paper, where it ignites the symbols into a frenzy of sparks and murmurs. It settles on a changing screen of smoke that Hunson is reading, drinking in its contents at leisure, trailing his fingers through the phantom bursts of letters and symbols and pictures, things too alien for you to properly comprehend.
“What is that?” You’ve since snatched back your hand, rubbing into the shallow puncture wound in your palm until it’s gone, healed up in a neat stitch of a scar and a lingering itch. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“Your index,” he intones, stretching those two words to an impatient drawl. “It will help me decide if you’re useful or if I’m going to settle for your immortal soul and servitude in the ‘Sphere.”
“My… immortal soul? Am I…. are you going to kill me tonight?”
Hunson fixes you with a stern look, fingers poised midair in the swirling passages of what you understand to be your life. “You’re a chatty one, aren’t you?” For the first time in your brief visit, he seems to study you. The scrutiny of his gaze makes you shy, blood rushing to fill the apples of your cheeks and fingers wringing each other under the lip of the desk. You distract yourself with the features of the room – anything to escape the moment. After a long pause, he clears his throat and sifts through the twirling smoke once more. “You’re already dead. I’m navigating your mortal coil to observe your deeds.”
Already dead. “Are you the devil?”
Hunson chuckles to himself, a sound that startles you in the heat of the moment and melts into relief, the tension of the room breaking up with his laughter. He cocks an eyebrow and leans back in his chair, stretching and releasing a contented sigh.
“Not in the way your world thinks of it.”
“Are you going to send me to a big fiery pit? Eternal suffering, and all that?”
His eyes widen a little, smile evaporating into grim focus. “Is that what you want?”
“No…”
He winks and leans forward to resume his searching, prodding through your life like so many candid snapshots arranged for his personal consumption. As time goes on, his smirk takes on a more sinister slant. His pupils widen slowly over time to eat at the churning seawater-green of his eyes and all you can do is squirm in your seat. There are no windows in this room, no clocks, no means of discerning the passage of time, and he laughs, shaking his head at you as if chiding.
“Don’t concern yourself with those concepts – nothing here works the way you think it does.” He waits a beat and twitches once more with barely withheld laughter. This time, those burning eyes slide up to meet yours. “I don’t usually get to do this with humans. Are you all so concerned with… climax?”
Your heart drops directly into your lap, lungs deflating in a sharp hiss of breath. It’s exceedingly hard to force your tongue to move, the pathway to your muscles blocked in the synapses of your brain like a misfire, like an engine that won’t turn over. Your lack of response forces him to hum, waving at the magic as it dissipates and loses its luster, its supernatural qualities. He leans over the desk, elbows resting over its clean surface and fingers laced to support his strong chin.
“You’re an awfully busy girl,” he continues, tapping the corner of his jaw with one long, claw-tipped finger. “So much lust in such a small, weak vessel. Seems almost a waste; it’s quite impressive, really. You get so wet. So electric, so loud. Tell me, little human, are you wet now?”
This time the words come unbidden: “I’m scared.”
Hunson shudders a little, teeth snapping together as he clenches his jaw – sharp teeth, longer and more intimidating than when you first came in. “You like to feel scared. I could and can see that very well. I can see the way you shift and shimmy around in that seat, I can see your blood fill your cheeks. I can smell you.”
If you’d been too afraid to acknowledge the truth, Hunson putting it under a spotlight does the trick. The realization hits like a truck, heat boiling through your veins like tendrils of fire, racing just under your skin and exploding like stars. There’s no denying the gentle throb between your thighs, neglected in your confusion and making itself unbearably known.
“I should have eaten your soul already, should have discarded your useless flesh and collected you as planned. But this… this is a little more interesting. Tell you what, little human – I have a proposition.”
“Making a deal with the devil,” you joke weakly. There’s a tangible buzz in the room, a pregnant pause stretching expectantly on into infinity. Hunson is not an ugly being. He watches you with a glimmer of amusement, unblinking eyes perched over those sharp chips of cheekbone, the curve of his jaw begging to be nipped. It’s not hard to imagine running your tongue over the column of his throat, along places veins might be had he been born instead of a constant fixture of this universe.
“That’s right, darling. If you let me give you some of that pleasure you love so much, I’ll let your soul flutter all the way back to your body to live out the rest of your mortal life. If you keep up your filthy little games, perhaps decades of your time from now, I’ll meet you in the clearing for a last romp. What do you say, little girl?”
The words ‘little girl’ slip from his lips and it’s all you can do to keep from reacting, fingers frozen in a white-knuckled grip on the armrests of your seat. He bares his teeth in a grin that borderlines on unsettling, forked tongue trailing over one sharp peak after another.
“I’m going to fuck Satan in his office,” you laugh hollowly. “Hell is just a creepy office where I have sex with sin incarnate.”
Hunson barely skips a beat as he snaps his fingers, and there’s an indescribable falling sensation, vertigo swirling up from your feet and settling in your skull as everything shifts and you drop against a mattress. In less than a blink, the room is different – the bed you’re on is massive, silken sheets rippling across the surface in shimmering display of colors, soft and sensual and utterly beautiful.
The mattress dips with Hunson’s weight as he eases himself on his hands and knees, crawling to you, and for the first time you have this new sense of his power. He’s a big man – a big demon – and he towers over you, heat radiating from his frame like he’s made from it, and you suppose in a way he is. His eyes caress every curve and plane of your body and any clothing you might have been wearing evaporates like so much mist, nothing to be kept between your nudity and his prying gaze, his hands that burn in the most pleasant way as they ghost up your thigh. Fine hairs stand up in the wake of his touch, warmth that isn’t quite warmth; it’s an altogether new sensation, being touched by a creature you’d only read about in the fables spun by the religious majority. Now he’s here, laughing low in the barrel of his chest as you find yourself parting your thighs to welcome him.
“Eager little thing, aren’t you? I could eat you up right here – you smell delicious. Perhaps I will,” he teases, leaning down to press a kiss against the inside of one knee. He draws your leg up until your ankle rests on his shoulder, teasing his teeth along the sensitive tendon just underneath. A gentle nip has you recoiling away from him and it makes him cluck his tongue, looking disapprovingly at your hands twisting in his sheets. Tension pains every muscle as you watch him, torn between your naked desire to fuck him and the prickling, sobering fear. It eats at you in black tendrils that climb up your spine and make a home in your ribs, up in your throat. “Maybe I’ll bite chunks out of these soft thighs and eat my way to this wet, wet little cunt – look at you. Soaked for a demon. You’ve imagined this scenario many, many times, have you not?”
Blood roars in your ears loud as the ocean, riptides careening around the delicate branches of your veins and arteries and pounding in your temples in hot pools, churning there with your racing thoughts. Will Hunson really swallow you whole, into some nightmarish gullet full of more of those sharp teeth? The thought of him unhinging that strong jaw and drooling over your ribs has you biting your lip, channeling that ache into something tangible.
In the fog of your fantasies, focused on his mouth inching down your inner thigh and his teeth as they wink at you from between blue lips, you fail to notice his wandering hand until he’s tracing the slick and swell of the folds of your cunt.
“Hunson –”
“You will call me Sir. Fuck, you’re so slippery! Does it turn you on this much, being taken by a monster? Are you going to be trouble, hm?”
He leans up from a sticky, sore bitemark that’s already begun to bloom underneath the skin, an angry red blotch. At the snap of fingers, binds slither and shoot from an unseen place in the mattress, grabbing your extremities with such force that you cry out when they yank you open. You can only move your head to watch Hunson, the restraints taut enough that you have no wiggle room. No escape. Your heart beats against your ribs and in your belly, down between your thighs where Hunson teases the tight canal of your pussy. You feel need from your toes to the tip of your nose. He gives you another sweep with those smoldering eyes and chuckles to himself. “No trouble now.”
“No, Sir.”
“Oh, I like that.”
Two of those long fingers push inside of you, flexing and shifting to fit. It’s all you need to release the moan stuck in your throat, keening for him, long and pathetic and endless. Your voice breaks and a gasp tries to steal those sounds back, inhale sharp as blades in your lungs as he curls those big fingers and taps up into that spot.
You melt and buck against him, limbs twisting desperately for leverage so you can properly grind back against him. His high cheekbones flush with color, a gorgeous shade of dusky blue that bleeds down the severe shelf of his jaw and over his throat, pooling across his chest. He kneels between your spread thighs and hums as he toys with you, paying close attention to your parted lips and the cries that exit them, gaze roving over your heaving chest and peaked nipples, breasts bouncing with the struggle to hump back against that fucking hand.
“You want it so badly already, don’t you? Want to cum all over the devil’s fingers. So soon?” His smug laughter melts as he shakes his head, tsking you with a cluck of the tongue. “I’ve barely started, pet.”
“It f-feels really good… sir,” you manage, voice thick with the effort of speaking through his ministrations. “Please… don’t stop.”
As soon as the words leave your lips, his fingers leave your body. The shock of clenching down on absolutely nothing after the pressure he’s built up in your core is devastating. Words pour out of your mouth, whining and begging and babbling, until he pushes those fingers over your tongue and forces you to suck them clean. You close your eyes and lean in to the gesture the best you can manage, obediently licking and ignoring the bright flare of humiliation.
His other hand traces up the curve of your flank, skimming over your ribcage and pausing to sample the weight of your breast in his big hand, kneading it with some misplaced tenderness that stokes the burning in your cunt. The tips of his nails trace patterns along the curve of your breast and you jerk away in a fit of moans and giggles, trembling when he drags those nails teasingly down the side toward your ribs again.
“Please, Sir.”
“I like that,” he mutters, trailing those magic fingers up to close around your throat. They feel so solid there, nothing like the gentle way he touched you only a moment ago. This feels dangerous. It feels forbidden and like a seal on your own casket, ominous, world-ending power contained in the digits that are testing the restrictions of your airflow. “Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
“Good girl.”
There’s no fumbling whatsoever. There’s a deep sigh from Hunson, voice dipping below the threshold of what a human can handle – it rattles your bones to the marrow, it makes you feel something so primal and unrecognizable that you almost forget what’s happening, hypnotized by existing in a place between existence. You stare at the precipice of your understanding of the universe and Hunson stares back, eyes bleeding with the intensity of his lust as he plunges balls-deep into your body in one smooth motion.
It consumes you.
The pain is incredible. You throw your head back the little you’re able, his grip tightening in stride with your overfilled cunt. The stretch of him is all-consuming. Threaded in the bright edges of that pain is undeniable pleasure, spreading like a fog, and you’re dizzy with too much. Somewhere around you, your voice comes in wails, in shrieks and grunts and words you can’t hang on to. They float off around the two of you without meaning and you surrender to the brutal rhythm of his hips, content to forget anything and everything in exchange for the way he fills you over and over and over.
“You’re so easy. Such a responsive, gorgeous little thing, so – fucking – breakable.”
His voice is barely recognizable, splintering apart as if alive, festering in your ears, your head, until you’re unsure if he’s actually speaking or just blaring into your mind. Is there no part of you Hunson can’t breach and claim for himself? Is there any part of yourself you’d dare deny him? Not now. Not now that he’s cutting off your airflow and punctuating his words with the hitching stab of his hips, too drunk with power to worry much about the cadence of this particular song and dance. He’s careless. He’s just as overwhelmed as you are; he runs his tongue up over your cheek, presses his lips hungrily against yours and tastes your mouth as you struggle to manage even one sip of air between. He only offers his tongue, his teeth puncturing your lip, anything but the gift of breath as he pounds up into you and fucks you open.
The gathering glow between your thighs reaches critical mass. It roils and burns for release, the pressure overwhelming in the face of his addictive assault on your poor, useless body, tied up and twitching for his convenience, the air heavy with the sounds of your choking and the endless slap of your bodies, the booming hum and grunt of his voice. A voice so fucking unhinged that it barely resembles anything you’ve heard before or will ever hear again – unless he keeps his word and comes for you in death. With agony this sweet, vision spotting and clouding at the corners like smoke and body taut as a guitar string, you pray with every fiber of your being that he will.
“Cum for me, princess,” he rumbles. He angles his pelvis to drag over your neglected, throbbing clit, grinding against you with each measured stroke, and the edge becomes maddeningly close. You mouth words without a trace of sound leaving your lips. The world glitters and glitches away as your cunt contracts against his length and it’s so good that tears slip from your eyes, surely bloodshot by this point, staring helplessly into the face of utter fucking evil as it ravages every fraying nerve in your body. It singes, it hollows you out and has you thrashing to throw yourself around him and not let go, your binds keeping you spread wide and prone. He rides steadily through your bliss to chase his own, snatching his hand away from your throat to squeeze at your generous hips and fill you with his cum. The world rushes back into focus as he grimaces and his cock spasms, the planes of his gorgeous face twisted and pinched with effort as the last few thrusts empty him of his seed.
Demon that he is, his leavings in your body warm you from the inside out as if made from light. The restraints untie themselves and slide back into the void they came from, your body finally relaxing into the sheets as you both collect yourselves. The sensation of Hunson pulling out from your body makes you squeal, his cum dribbling down over your ass and smearing between your thighs, sticky and hot and perversely comforting.
As soon as you feel able to sit up on the edge of the bed, you catch a glimpse of your own body and find yourself fully clothed. Pinching at the fabric reveals the truth, that you are in fact back in the outfit you came here in – looking up at Hunson for answers only steals the words from your mouth and replaces them with different questions. You’re no longer sitting on the edge of the bed with Hunson by your side; you’re back in the seat, and Hunson across his desk watching you just as before, down to his templed fingers and smug, crooked smile.
“What in the hell…?”
“It’s interesting how hard it is for you to let go of your human mentality, even in the face of other truths,” he muses. Not a hair seems out of place, no hint of what you’ve just done aside from that attractive flush clinging to his cheeks. “But for that I’m somewhat grateful. It’s… incredibly satisfying to take a human. So sensitive and fragile. In any case, a deal is a deal. You have my word, and you can return to your life on Earth… for now.”
You risk a tentative smile and stroke the surface of the dark, glossy wood, holding his gaze. “For now, huh?”
Hunson winks and touches his middle finger to this thumb. “I’ll see you in the clearing, my little toy. Be good, but don’t be too good.” They come together in a sharp snap that dissolves reality around you into a whisper of a thought, your consciousness blinking out of existence to bounce through space and time and find its proper home, Hunson’s claim on your body the first coherent thought in your right mind.