Most humans are really not very cute. Now don't get me wrong. I like fucking humans; the job has some dandy perks. But look at it my way. If a guy or a girl is good looking they can usually get all the sex they want. And in this day and age that implies that all the good-looking humans with a taste for sex are out there getting laid twice a night if they like it. Repression? You don't find too many cloistered nuns, seething with the burning burden of their virginity anymore. Instead of pale pure pristine nuns, the humans who are most vulnerable to succumbing to sexual temptation of a demonic nature are the sexual have-nots, the plain Janes and the spindly Willies that couldn't land a partner if they walked into a bar and offered to suck for free.
Even a mere thirty years ago when monogamy was a big thing, I had a chance of landing some gorgeous, chaste wife neglected by her husband. But in the last few years even those aren't vulnerable any more. They've taken the advice in Women's World Magazine and stood up for their right to at least a weekly lay. If they don't get satisfaction at home they trip out blithely to seek it elsewhere with never a qualm nor a need for a nudge from me. Now it's a steady stream of singles bar rejects, losers, cripples, fatsos, and emotional basket cases...
For example, one time recently I got assigned to ensnare a forty-six year old woman who lived in a special care home on a respirator. There were tubes here, tubes there, and a special harness to keep her from slouching and cutting off her inhalation, not to mention a plastic mouthpiece that entirely ruled out the burning kisses that are my stock in trade. Honest, by the time I got close to her I was so wound around with medical appliances that it looked like I was the one who had been trapped!
Mind you, she did have the softest skin and the saddest limpid eyes. She was worth it.
When I reported down to our head office in the Nether Regions with my infernal temptation activity report, I was glumly mulling over my very latest human conquest. I had taken a stringy lady lawyer with a selfish and greedy personality and a cruel tortured soul and added lasciviousness to the list of the sins that she regularly succumbed to. But it hadn't entirely worked. As soon as I had dematerialized out of her dreams she had gone straight out and got herself a boyfriend. She was being nice to him and feeling happy for a change, which was definitely not the way our evil machinations are supposed to work. My mind was as full of doubts as my arms were full of form S76534TG673-47.
"Doris," I said to the secretary plaintively. "Do you suppose that sometimes we're doomed to failure?"
I laid the three requisite copies of form S76534TG673-47 on the corner of her desk. Since the form has to be filled out in triplicate the heap wouldn't fit into her in basket. In return she handed me the paperwork for my new assignment. Since that included every little piece of information deemed potentially relevant, the whole thing she handed me was about the size of the Los Angeles telephone directory.
Doris thoughtfully scratched one of her noses with a tentacle. "You can't win them all, Marplot." She advised me. "You do what you can. But you know despite your best efforts sometimes humans get a moment of "G-word" as a quite undeserved, unfair gift."
"We all know Rehtaf Ruo is in complete control of his Evil Machinations," I said. "And I'm sure I don't carry the taint of Free Will, even though I do have a lot of contact with the humans. I follow his orders just as exactly as I can. So you're right, Doris, it's got to be something like Heavenly Grace."
Doris looked prim. My outspokenness had shocked her. "Don't use bad language in my office, Marplot, if you please!"
Doris is a really good secretary. I mean a really bad secretary, the very best bad secretary in Hell. The very worst. Whatever. She makes my job a lot easier, so I was immediately sorry that I'd used the F.W expression and the G-word in front of her. I really didn't want to offend her sensibilities or make things harder for her. We have a couple of secret agreements. Hidden between pages 496 and 497 of the first copy of form S76534TG673-47 that I'd given her was a one page precis of the other 2183 pages. And tucked into the assignment she'd just passed along to me in between page 100 and page 101 was a file card with all the basic biographical details on my subject that she'd made for me.
"Sorry." I said sincerely. "I'll save the metaphysical subjects for when I'm seducing intellectual humans who succumb to the meeting of minds and get swayed by profound logic. I got a bit carried away there. Somehow things just didn't turn out properly with my last affaire-d'amour and I'm feeling bitter."
"Hang onto that bitterness, then." She said approvingly. "And you'll do all the better job this time because of it."
"Any hints about what my new assignment is?" I asked.
"It's a man." Said Doris.
"Oh Boy." I said flatly. I had visions of triple EEE cup under- wiring. The sad fact is that for most men the image of irresistible sexual temptation is overly endowed mammarily. And since I'd be taking the human form best designed to seduce my victim, between bouts of sex I'd probably have to wear a harness to support the things as substantial as the one that physically challenged woman I'd mentioned had been buckled into to keep her upright. Only hers was white cotton canvas and mine would have to be decadent violet satin acetate with a daringly deep plunging decollete. My cleavage would probably be the size of a fat man's butt. And I'd be prone to killer backaches and deep pink shoulder-strap trenches in my shoulders.
I really prefer to be a man when I go tempting, but I don't get any choice in it. You know how it is with jobs. I just get the assignments and do them. Lately, looking like a Brad Pitt clone all the time was getting to be a bit of a joke, but even that was better than trying to locomote in a bipedal position with measurements of 72-22-38. Well, maybe this guy would have a fixation on flat-chested supermodels. Please, let him have a crush on Kate Moss!
"Can I bring anything back for you when I return from up there?" I offered.
"Well..." Doris hesitated, not because she couldn't think of anything. "I've heard that humans frequently say they think the software they use has got to have been demonically inspired. So I don't think there'd be any objection to you bringing something like that down here. Right, Marplot? Do you think you could get me some kind of computer software designed for personnel management?"
"No problem." I nodded. "Next time you see me I'll have a soul enslaved and the very best software program that Microsoft produces."
There are seven branches that work out of the Nether Regions. Our Covetousness Department for example does much of its best work during prime time when the most expensive commercials produced are aired on TV. But the Lust Department, which is my branch, still does a great deal of work at night. I chose the hours of darkness to penetrate the apartment of my new human victim.
Moonlight filled the room just after midnight. He lay sleeping. His name was Thomas Niles. He was thirty-one years old and he made his living installing windows. He had been a widow for the last three years and had been celibate since before his wife had been diagnosed with cancer more than two years earlier. Her presence was still strong in the moon pale room. On one dresser her brushes and perfume bottles were still laid out. On the nightstand her picture smiled at the sleeping man. He still slept on his own side of the bed, facing and with his arm out stretched towards the empty place.
I peered at the picture. A blond, huh? The lost wife of his dreams had a cool, introspective look to her. Her hair was pulled back in a loose pony- tail. Her face was elegant. Her mouth was kind, and most satisfying of all to me, her chest couldn't have been any bigger than a B cup.
Not bad. If I had to play the part of the lost wife returning I'd at least wear a body that was livable. I might turn heads on the street but not because I was a walking jiggle show.
Then the man began to awaken and his need and his ache and his imagery flowed invisibly towards me. He never stirred. I felt it like warmth; a subtle wave of longing that washed over me, through me, into me and left me changed. In the space of a single deep inhalation I had become the partner he could not refuse. I looked down.
I did a double take. Then a triple take. No doubt if I had read all 4921 pages of my assignment instead of just the file card, I would have already realized that the guy was gay.
I was male. Two small dark nipples were nested in curly hair. I had a flat stomach with an enticing navel, a neatly trimmed bush and since no gay guy ever turned down an extra inch of cock, a nine-inch arrow straight penis. I had a runner's legs. Subtle dense muscles covered my frame. >From the chest down I was a hot little number. And from the chest up? Well, I immediately took a spin around and peered into the mirror to see.
The mirror fogged. They do that. Sometimes they even crack. Mirrors may be inanimate and insensate but they have an instinctive aversion to demons. It was only because of long practice in not causing a stir in the boudoir that I was able to keep it down to a slow fogging over. Before it fogged I saw my face.
Sensual lips. Even white teeth. A clean-shaven chin and lip. Curly brown hair. Big dark thoughtful eyes. Thomas Niles must go for the thinking-deep-thoughts look, because I had that in common with the portrait of the late wife, but that was all I had in common with her. She had been a lovely woman but I was a handsome hunky guy instead.
Of course, I didn't have much time for self-appraisal. Like I said, the man was waking up and I was there in his bedroom for a reason. I turned to stand over the bed again.
His breathing was a little shallower. His chin was tucked down, his eyelids heavy. Could it be that for once I'd drawn a human subject who was something of a looker himself? I leaned over even farther. His hair was damp and tousled with sleep. His face was square and strong and masculine and vulnerable. Under the covers his body was slim and compact. But his mouth was like a work of art. Oh my, Yes. I'd lucked into it this time. The guy was damn gorgeous. He was as gorgeous as hell!
At first all I did was lean over him and breath. With my eyes I fucked him, letting my gaze thrust at him like a cock surging slickly into a grateful body. Oh that mouth... I took slow warm breaths while I savored the sight of him and he slid into a waking dream. His eyes opened. Hazel. Not that I could really see them in the dark other than as intent gleams of luminescence but they had to be hazel. They were such beautiful eyes. He turned his head and his eyes moved wonderingly up at me.
I shaped my mouth at him reflecting his need with my own. I touched the smooth shoulder that was covered by the blankets and drew them slowly down. Moonlight fell in squares on my body as the man gazed up at me in mystery. When his lips parted in a question I met them with my own. I kissed him hungrily. His chin tilted and he gasped at the warmth that pressed to him. His hands came up and took my shoulders. Deep kisses, urgent kisses. Kisses that said how desirable he was to me.
I pulled the covers down to his knees. The coolness woke him more, but he went on thinking he was dreaming. He spread his legs wide instantly. His cock sprang upward. I felt the heat rising from it. His tongue sought for mine. He tried to pull on me. I climbed on top of him and he groaned.
For an instant the kiss broke when he felt the sensation of my prick close against his. "Angel...!" he moaned. I moved as only a demon can move, kissing and flicking at his nipples, kissing his throat and mouth and using my hands on his belly, balls and thighs. Now he arched his pelvis upwards trying to get more sensation on his cock. But I wouldn't take his cock in my mouth or my hand. I only let my own naked cock butt against and rub against his organ, making promises, leaving him unsatisfied.
His skin was warm and damp. I teased him, pelvic thrusts, my cock nudging. He was pulling hard on my shoulders, trying to get me to close tightly against him, to lock with him. Then his hand slid down and caught my butt. He tried to pull me against his crotch. I played him, savoring the taste and touch and scent of his masculine skin. I filled my hand cupped full of his balls and let my fingers seek and tantalize in his crack, searching and never finding, coming close. He spread his legs wider and wider and thrust more upward. He wanted my fingers in his ass, but I wanted him to plead.
"Yes, more! Oh more!" Thomas groaned. "Jesus, more!"
A lot of humans use the most incredibly foul language during sex, the C-word and even the big G-word, so I wasn't put off my assault at all by hearing the J-word. You learn to expect it. He didn't use it again. I licked his throat almost snarling. I let my hands play wicked magic always circling his cock but never touching it.
"Come on. Touch me. Touch my cock, please!"
Now I touched it. He cried out. I pulled compellingly, up and down on his perfect cock. It was only seven and a half inches, a shade over dead average. The round head fit my palm perfectly. It burned my palm with its feverish heat. I drew up and down while out mouths locked and we drank. I didn't fix on an even building stroke. I teased some more. Soon Thomas was panting too hard to kiss.
"Puh...oh, Please! C'mon Guy! Oh, Yeah! Do me harder!" He panted and writhed.
But I didn't do him harder. My own cock was aching for release. I could have just let myself go and grinding against his thigh spilled my seed there and then. I didn't of course. It took some discipline. Thomas made a grab and got my cock in his own hand and he beat on me urgently. If I'd been human instead of merely resembling human he would have got sticky hands. As it was, I started to breathe like I was running a race. We struggled against each other like coiling snakes.
"Oh! Suck me! Bring me off! Do something!" the man gasped.
"You want me to suck you?" I breathed.
"Yes! Yes! Suck my cock! Please!"
I lot of years ago, I would have held off until he made wild meaningless extravagant promises, like "I'll do anything." Get a heartfelt "I'll do anything" out of a human and he's halfway to signing over his immortal soul. But nowadays I prefer a more slow paced technique, more of a lifestyle seduction. I don't waste it all on a one shot chance. I'm a sexual artist. By not letting the human know what I really want I can train him into debauchery. So when Thomas begged me to suck his cock that was enough.
"AHHHH...!"
He came damn close to shrieking. The thing is, it's not so much experience as the fact that I really like my work. His cock was just adorable. And what with other-worldly magic art backed by a honest innate taste for cocksucking, I would be doing myself less than justice if all I said was that I was good at it. And by then I was just frantic to get his thick hard cock between my lips and suck the milk right out of him.
He didn't last long. If he had realized he was awake he might have questioned my ability to torment the head of his cock with my tongue at the same time as I deep throated him. He could feel my tongue too running up and down his shaft in little flickers at the exact same time as I did the rest. I had him in indescribable sensory overload. In case you're curious, the secret to this technique is a forked tongue.
His balls tightened and thick spurts of delicious man cream jetted up into my mouth. I gulped and sucked as surge after surge flooded out of him. His whole body spasmed in a release more powerful than any he'd ever known. I stayed on his cock just as long as it took to catch every savory delicious drop of cum. Then, when Thomas had collapsed in sweat soaked exhausted release, I let myself melt into vapor, took an invisible ethereal form and disappeared.
His voice came sleepily. "I shoulda put on a rubber for you..."
I stayed still and watching, the sweat drying on my body. He opened his eyes.
He looked around the bedroom. Blank amazement put a dumb look on his handsome face. He didn't vocalize, but if he had he would have said, "Who..? Where...?" His next gesture was inevitable, the usual one. He reached down and patted his lower belly, his own bush of pubic hair, the tip of his spent cock. He had concluded that it had to have been a wet dream and was looking for his sperm.
I didn't have it in my mouth anymore. You'll never guess where I put it. I have a useful little cantrip, second nature by now. Before it had made its way down my demonic gullet as far as my stomach I transferred it swiftly invisibly, away. I put it back in his balls again. Three, four nights like this and Thomas Niles was going to have blue balls of the sort that only repeated nights of passionate sex and no ejaculation can produce.
He didn't find the evidence of the orgasm he had just felt so he lay back again, mystified and pulled the covers up to his armpits. His breathing still heaved lightly. He smiled. His sexy head turned on his pillow as he looked about his room orienting himself, to the picture of the woman to the empty place in the bed. Her absence didn't make him somber. He had a lazy post coital shine that was like a gem in the darkness. Thomas Niles was the sexist male I had made it with of the last 9837 humans, right back to 1967, when I'd made an Iowa farm boy admit to himself and me that he was a homo as he lay dying in a rice paddy in Da Nong Foc in Vietnam.
I dived through the door of his boot cupboard right then and there to deal with my unsatisfied hard on. Squatting in the stuffy fug of sneakers and work-boots I gave myself a frantic jerking off, with the image of Thomas shuddering up against me to speed me in blowing my wad. He was so hot that I just had to have my turn. In just fifty seconds of pumping I jerked myself over the top. Oh man! Not all humans are cute enough to get me going but Thomas Niles was a waking wet dream himself.