Personal Demon

By Josef Howard


At the end of the workday, Kenneth Jackson asked Scott into his office. Jackson was the CFO at the tool factory where Scott kept books.

"Scott, how long have you been working here?"

"Six months, sir."

"Six months. We've been working in the same office six months and you still can't let me walk by your desk without staring."

It was true that Scott stared. Kenneth Jackson was striking. He was lean and muscular, and he had a killer jaw. His prematurely gray hair was close-cropped and he kept a two-day growth of beard. The women in the office not only stared they tittered. Under cover of their commotion, Scott didn't think anyone noticed his lingering glances. "Sir?"

"Don't think I don't notice, Scott. Everyone sees it. Everyone knows you're a faggot, but I'm the only one strong enough to do something about it. That's what this meeting is about. Scott, your fired."

Scott was so red-faced with shame he felt hot. "But, sir, I'm not - this is just a misunderstanding. I'm not - "

"Say it, Scott. Queer, homosexual, gay. You're a faggot. Learn to say it."

"Sir, I'm a Christian. I go to church every Sunday. I have ever since I was eight years old. I've never in my life --"

"Clean out your desk and get out of my office."

When he was gone, Mr. Jackson grinned. "Good riddance, queer," he thought. He was engrossed in his e- mail when he first smelled the smoke, sickeningly sweet, like rotten eggs.

"Well done!" a voice by the door said.

He looked up. At the center of the clearing smoke stood a demon. Mr. Jackson had abandoned his religion as a teenager, but there was no doubt that this is what the creature in front of him was. Somehow Mr. Jackson thought if he didn't overreact maybe the big scaly, horned thing would leave him alone.

"Are you here to see me?" Mr. Jackson asked, coolly, his eyes barely raising up from his desk.

"Yes, your secretary is gone and the door was wide open." The demon grinned, exposing his fangs and a forked tongue.

"What do you want?"

The demon leaned on Mr. Jackson's desk. His face was so close that his hot, sulfuric breath tinged the hairs in Mr. Jackson's nostrils. "I want to congratulate you. It's not often a mere mortal commits an act so abhorrent." "What do you mean?"

"I'm taking about what you did to that young man, your former employee." The demon put one of his knees on top of the desk. As he crawled closer, over the scattered papers, Mr. Jackson pushed backwards. "Scott will never recover from what you said to him. He thinks his attraction to men is evil because it isn't ordinary. By punishing him for it, you've convinced him he was right. He has fallen the first foot down the slippery slope to self-damnation." The demon sat down on the edge of the desk nearest to Mr. Jackson and leaned into his face. "Well done! Not a single one of the demonic host, even with all the powers at our disposal, could have derailed a pure and well-intentioned life so well."

"Get out of my office!" Mr. Jackson shouted, but he wasn't trembling from anger; he was trembling with fear. It wasn't just the demon's preternatural origins that frightened Mr. Jackson; he was also powerfully built, and instead of skin he had an armor-like shell, though it moved fluidly over his rippling muscles.

"Don't be afraid. I like you. That's why I'm here. I want to reward you." The demon locked eyes with Mr. Jackson. "If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

Mr. Jackson leaned back confidently. He narrowed his eyes and said, "Money. Lot's of it."

The demon coughed out a laugh. "You lied! I can see what you really want. You've been admiring my physique since the moment I arrived." The demon squeezed the base of his enormous dick with his thumb and forefinger and pulled it outwards. As his fingers slid to the tip, it stretched and expanded and stiffened in their wake until it stood up at a forty-five degree angle just inches from the demon's own chin. "And this too. You want power. You want to be physically powerful."

The demon's fearsome phallic exhibition had made Mr. Jackson's jaw slack. His eyes were wide and his limbs were limp. There was no point denying it. His need for power over other men had driven him his whole life - through prep school, college, business school and up the corporate ladder. And exercising that power intoxicated him. Firing Scott had been exhilarating.

The demon didn't wait for Mr. Jackson to acknowledge his desire. "In order to make you strong I need to get inside of you." The demon broke off one of his fingers and offered it to Mr. Jackson. Like a crab leg, the demon's finger had no bones or blood, only flaky meat inside a hard shell. "Go ahead. Eat it. Suck the meat out."

Mr. Jackson took it. He felt feverish, sweaty. He hadn't thought about the fate of his soul in years. He hadn't even believed creatures like the one in front of him existed until he met this one, but he was sure that doing what one of them told him was wrong. Ingesting this one's body reminded him too much of communion, and he was sure eating the body of a demon would have dire consequences. Yet, he thought, disobeying the creature when it sat inches from his face was more immediately dangerous. His eyes on the demon, he sucked at the base of it finger, tentatively. The meat had a spicy taste. He sucked more vigorously until it was empty and then laid the shell on his desk.

"Now finish the job."


"Eat the rest of me," the demon said.

However afraid he was of what the demon might do to him if he disobeyed, the thought of consuming a man- like creature made him shiver with fear. It was abominable!

"At least take a drink of me," the demon said, gesturing toward his armor plated phallus, which wagged like a giant finger at him and squirted once. It scared him to look at it, yet oddly, it also fascinated him. He wondered what it would be like to have such a fearsome, awe-inspiring phallus himself.

The demon grabbed him by the neck and pulled his mouth down on the head of it. He struggled, but the demon was far, far stronger. He thought the armor plating would break his teeth if he didn't open his mouth, although inside of him it felt more like firm flesh than a hard shell. It squirted again, harder and with more fluid. The taste of it was so vile he swallowed just to get it out of his mouth.

The demon held Jackson's head down on it as he jacked the base of it with his other hand. A torrent of fluid flushed up its length now, filling his cheeks, faster than he could swallow, slipping through the lock of his lips to the shaft, sliding down on the demon's hand.

"Excellent," was all the demon said as the explosion of fluid continued inside the moist confines of the mortal's mouth. "Excellent."

Inside Jackson's cotton slacks, his own throbbing penis emptied a prodigious amount of fluid.

The demon, still ejaculating tiny spurts, extricated himself from Jackson's now eager, cum-foamed mouth. He cradled Jackson's chin in his broad palm. Jackson's lips were red.

"How does it feel to have tasted the act you condemned your victim for?"

Jackson knew he'd been humiliated, but all he felt was overpowering hunger. He opened his mouth and bit one of the demon's other fingers off, turned it around with his fingers and sucked the meat from it. The demon chuckled. Jackson broke off the demon's whole hand, split it open and eat wolfishly. He was hardly aware that his meal was alive anymore. He was hardly aware of what it was he was eating. Each bite feed the hunger in his gut, exciting his urges, making him more rabid. Eventually the empty shells surrounded him. His shirt and pants were soaked with meat juices. He stood. He felt tremendous, imbued with unimaginable strength and primed for action. He stretched and heard fabric tear. He looked at his reflection in the small mirror he had hung on the wall across the room near the office door. He was bigger. The sweep of his bulging muscles protruded through the tears in his shirt and pants. He scrunched his arm into a biceps flex. He was way bigger than those fey young guys in those men's exercise magazines he occasionally bought. He yanked at the wet fabric that hung on his well-muscled frame and tore it apart like tissue paper. The mirror was too small for him to stand close and still see his whole body, but across the room he could see his dick had grown to the proportions of the demon's. He couldn't wait to see the look on people's faces when they saw him. He strode down the darkened, empty hallway to the alley exit behind the factory. A dilapidated weightlifter's gym across the alley was still open. He could hear metal clang, although there were no windows to see inside. stiff, broad forearm thrust the steel entry door open. A very thick blond man in loose damp clothing swaggered out. His exposed skin was blue with tattoos. His hair had been shaved in a close-cropped design at his temples. He turned his head in Jackson's direction. "Jesus, man! What the fuck are you doing naked? Get the hell back inside and get dressed!" Jackson grinned at his mark. The distance closed between them. Jackson extended his hand. This man was his to do with as he pleased, and there was nothing the studly stranger could do about it. Jackson savored the power in his limbs and the mastery he felt over the man. "Hey, what are you doing? Get your hand away from me!" The brawny young man swung his fist at Jackson's stomach. His knuckles snapped. "Aw, fuck! What are you made of? Steel?" Jackson wrapped his arms around the man's barrel chest and grabbed at the bottom of his t-shirt. "Christ! Get off of me!" The burly man dove his head into Jackson's chest, but Jackson wasn't budged. Jackson pulled the man's t-shirt over his head. The man backed out of it, fearful that Jackson was trying to bind him in it, but Jackson really just wanted to undress him. He stood two feet away, bare-chested. He crouched, ready to strike again. The man was well defined for a lifter and hard. Perhaps that explained his confidence in the face of the intense pain in his knuckles. Or maybe he grew up in this tough inner city neighborhood and had brawled on the street before. The man kept his attention on Jackson, but searched around the alley for a weapon. A length of steel tubing from a broken exercise machine stuck out of a dumpster near the club. The man maneuvered their dance to reach it. He swung it menacingly. But given the damage he had done to the weightlifter's knuckles, Jackson wasn't the least bit frightened of the steel tubing. He grinned and grabbed for it. The weightlifter swung at air. The door to the club opened. Another member exited, smaller than the first, but swarthier and without a shirt. "Break it up, you two!" he said when he saw the two of them. "Stay out of it, Nick, or help me out here!" the first man said. "This guy's nuts, and he's strong as an ox. Caught him naked in the alley. He came at me for no reason." He swung the pipe at Jackson again. Jackson dodged it effortlessly. "Jesus, he's got a hard-on, Axel," the second man said. Jackson had gotten hard, but what really unnerved them was the size of the boner. It was half as long as the steel tube the Axel was swinging. Jackson lunged at the Axel's head. He wrapped his arms around the man's neck and pulled him down towards his cock. Axel broke free. Nick took advantage of the diversion to get behind Jackson. Before Jackson could turn around, Nick leapt on Jackson's broad, muscled back. Although they were so thick his hands could barely get purchase, he grabbed Jackson's arms. He pulled them behind his back so that Axel could hit him. Axel swung the steel tube as hard as he could at Jackson's head. The impact was so hard it nearly broke one of his arms, but the pipe bent as Jackson's head repelled it. Jackson tore one of his arms free from Nick's grip. He yanked Nick around to face him and pulled him up off the ground by the waistband of his jeans. The pipe clattered on the pavement as Axel dropped it and ran. His arms and legs flailing like an insect, Jackson set Nick on the ground, unzipped his pants and pulled them down to his ankles. He raised Nick's legs up to his head and pinned him to the ground with his big bent fuck pole. Nick shouted in pain as the first few inches forced their way up his gut. Jackson had never been harder, more excited in his life. He pushed further up Nick's ass, savoring every inch he gained between the man's rock hard glutes. When most of his prong was wrapped in hot ass flesh as tight as a Chinese finger trap, when he could feel the pulse of his captive's heart through his sphincter, Jackson chanced to look down and see the man's poker standing straight up, as hard as his own. His thick knobby nipples were standing out like little fingers and his grimace had turned to a grin. Jackson pushed himself in all the way and ground his groin to the man's crack. Nick groaned. Jackson yanked back and plunged in. Nick's butt rose up to greet him. Jackson slipped his head between the man's legs, under the jeans the still pinned his ankles together and pummeled his ass. Nick bite his lip and caressed his hard pecs. Nick's prick was small compared to Jackson's pitchfork, but still almost reached his navel. It was thick as a brick and his balls were like avocadoes. He was a man Jackson would have given wide berth only hours before, but thoroughly dominated now. Jackson put his hand around the smaller man's powerful prick gingerly. Nick arced his back and pushed it through Jackson's fingers. Jackson squeezed and pumped. It was already wet with a thick film of sweat and pre-cum. The man in his hand bucked, forcing Jackson's thrusting prick into new territory inside the man's stomach cavity. The frantic activity around Jackson's monster prong made it feel like Jackson was masturbating his own prick. Jackson's enthusiastic fuck hole pounded his ass harder against Jackson's groin than Jackson. His prick bulged with blood and spurted hot cream on his chest. Jackson felt his pole stiffen. Cum poured down its length. The massive head tensed and swelled, then opened wide and unloaded. Jackson struggled hard to bury even more dick than he had. Jackson cried out. He opened his eyes. It wasn't the swarthy straight man's dick he was pumping; it was his own. He was still sitting in his office chair with the demon on the edge of his desk facing him. All of the demon's fingers were intact. The demon laughed. "My, you're going to make an excellent conquest! What a fertile imagination! What incredible sexual desires and anxieties!" Jackson saw his arms and his legs. He was still wearing his business clothes. They were dry and untorn. His dick was its normal size, as were his legs and forearms. It had all been an hallucination, provoked by the demon's suggestions, but he knew the food for the fantasy had been his. "Enough of these games! Now I really must take possession of my new toy." The demon pulled him to his feet and opened his mouth. Jackson could see the demon's thick, forked tongue wiggling. Their open lips joined. The demon's tongue slithered inside his mouth. Jackson swooned. He felt something warm slide down his throat and lodge in his belly. When the demon stood away, it was as though the world around him stood behind a veil. He saw and heard, but none of it seemed real. He felt his limbs move, but it wasn't him who was moving them. He heard laughter from his own lungs. He felt the fabric around him bunch up and tighten, then burst. His hand brushed the loose cloth from his chest and he felt thick hair over mounds of hard muscle on his chest. His fingers combed through thick, pendulous genitals. He felt his breath halt at the sense of his hands on them, then felt them spring up to attention and spasm with longing. He heard a voice inside his head, not unlike the one he used when he thought to himself, say, "An excellent conquest, indeed." •

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