Copyright 2003 Michael J. Hansen
Special thanks to Charm for helping me name Delight. Thanks, luv!
Part the First: Delight
Trying not to walk carefully, minding my hurts--best way to wind up beset by my classmates on the way back to my dorm was to show weakness--I strode through the halls of Lady Lilith's Catholic Academy for Young Demons as if I didn't have a care in the world. Or so I hoped, at least. Sister Malady had been very adept with the rod this time, and I probably fell short of that mark.
People I told in later years, much later than the very young three hundred or so I was then, laughed when I told them I went to Catholic school, even wearing the plaid skirt, vest, and prim blouse the more mortal versions favored. Still, my blouse was a fiery red a few shades brighter than my deep red fur, the plaid was black and red, and while we did indeed have Bible classes at Lady Lilith's, they vied with earthier subjects such as Tantric sex, bondage, fertility control, and the like. My school was very concerned with the 'three R's', but Ropes, Raping and Reaming tended to matter more than Reading, 'Riting and 'Rythmetic.
As to why I was doing my best to walk with dignity--or at least without limping--that was perhaps another difference between my school and a mortal Catholic school...perhaps. All the Sisters taught their classes while keeping some sort of weapon to keep order, some incentive for the students to hoof the line, shall we say. The rod that Sister Malady kept with her, a stout mahogany staff banded with Cold Iron to make sure we young demons felt its sting, was really less dangerous than Sister Malevolence's razor-sharp whip, or Sister Wrath's magically-chilled branding iron (more painful than any heated brand would be to fire demons like myself), but the demon used it quite well. And quite often. All a girl or boy (or combination like myself, of course) had to do was speak out of turn, act up in class, pull the pranks we young imps loved, or in my case, do far too well in class, leaving the rest of the students behind in the Anal Penetration class I seemed to have a special talent for, and we'd be stripped naked after hours, forced to submit (I still had marks on my neck, wrists, ankles, breasts and ballsac from the iron shackles that had made sure I'd submit), while she beat us bloody. Rumor had it the good Sister stayed behind awhile after we who were punished had left, to drive that same staff, still slick with our sweat and blood, into herself until she came all over her rod of office. Personally, I believed the rumor.
Nullifying the magical protections around my dorm's door, I nodded with satisfaction to see that no one had breached those or the physical safeguards. One couldn't be too careful, in a school for hellspawn; after doing quite well in a Thievery and Burglary class three terms before--being able to lift a key from someone's pocket, or simply break into our mortal prey's homes, could greatly help us perform our duties, after all--I hadn't been broken into since then, but I kept my guard up. A rabbit-featured succubus/incubus in a school where most were not only single-sexed but human-featured was a prime choice for hazing.
Once inside--and with the locks set and the wards reactivated, of course--I undressed as quickly as my battered body would allow, wincing at myself in the mirror. Not that I was bad-looking by any means, I was already a lovely girl, if a rabbit girl...and a rabbit girl with a thick, very masculine cock hanging down to my knees, draping over a smarting ballsac that was the first thing I spread healing ointment onto, letting the magically-charged cream soothe where the iron bands had rubbed me raw. Next was my breasts, working the ointment into the fur--Sister Malady seemed to take a special delight in chastising those, perhaps because they were not only larger than her own, but more numerous, my two pairs of tits outnumbering her one pair as well as outclassing them. My back had received most of the 'treatment,' enough that I had to gingerly pull some of my curly blonde hair (my father's idea, replacing the ebony I'd been born with and would return to one day with the gold) from the blood-crusted wounds before doctoring them. Thankfully, Contortion was another class I did well in, like I did most of them; 'child prodigy' was one of the terms I was alternately praised and cursed with. Being a demon of lust and pleasure, they didn't seem to mind much that I didn't do quite as well in reading, math, science and history. What did a hellfiend whose purpose was leading mortals into sins of the flesh need with those, anyway?
Turning in front of the mirror, looking at myself from all sides, even wiggling my short pink-fluffed tail to make sure it moved all right, I satisfied myself that I'd gotten all the wounds, which were healing right before my eyes. I sent praise to the Morningstar that my pride and joy, the glittering blood-red horns that curled from above my brow, and the matching dainty cloven hooves I had instead of feet, were untouched. Those took longer to heal, and might've required a visit to Torture Central, what we students privately called the nurse's office. I'd've been healed, but also been molested even more by the Sisters there.
Sitting down on my small bed, I only then noticed the message light at my computer was blinking at me, telling me I had email--is it surprising I'd have such things? It's not, really, we demons were great imitators--not so great at coming up with new inventions ourselves, imagination seemed to be a mortal gift more than one of ours--borrowing, if usually perverting to our own purposes, many a creation from the 'World Above' (nothing of the kind, ours was a linked, but otherwise separate, dimension, but it amused us to call the area outside the Nether Worlds that) was copied here. A Colliseum like mortal Rome's held bloodsports on one hellish plane, a copy of the land of Sodom wasn't very far from Lady Lilith's, and I'd heard a vast area of the war demons' realm, nicknamed 'Amerika', was constantly under seige by 'Allied' forces trying to secure it from the swastika-bearing 'Germans' who held it.
When a demon summoned to serve some wizard in the World Above returned from a time far past that of 'Amerika' with word of these small computing machines mortals had in practically every home, letting them see sinful things from all around their world, my kind simply had to copy them. My own in the room was a tiny Compackard Hell, a boxy little thing in the basic crimson and black--no beige for our world, thank you--not a very powerful machine, but it served me well enough, research for school, composing reports, 'surfing' (I never did understand that word) for new advances in debauchery, that was all I really needed it for anyway. Squinting at the screen, holding the keyboard at arm's length to see the keys, I needed glasses even back then for my farsighed eyes though I wouldn't realize that for several more centuries, I sorted through the messages, mostly for horn-extensions, wart-adding cream that wouldn't do for my type of demon (we succubi/incubi were more the type to want to look more beautiful, not uglier), and 'You may already have won...' (we in the nether reaches hadn't invented spam, but a good many seemed intent on perfecting it), I found one message that made me smile. If a trifle wanly, once I read it.
The sender's name was a simple 'Morning*' with no ISP (Infernal Service Provider, that is) handle, not that any was needed, no one would deny Him access to the infernal networks. Even after a few years of corresponding with Him, I felt a wicked thrill to be receiving email from the first and greatest of us all, the one no one here would dare call 'Satan' (He hated that name, you see), something that had started off innocently enough. I'd sent a fan-mail of sorts, really, I honestly don't remember what was in it (something appropriately mushy for a schoolgirl to send, no doubt, praising Him and all His works, that sort of thing), signing it, naturally, Chess. He had been curious enough to send a reply, asking if that was really my name; I had answered yes, that was the name my father had given me. To my shock, He had sent back three words: 'Do you play?' My response? 'P-Q4.' We'd been sending emails to each other ever since, instant-messaging each other when He was available (which wasn't terribly often, He was a busy devil), and playing chess online together, something I'd been abysmal at compared to Him at first, but I quickly learned to play well with His help.
So it was no surprise that the email said simply, 'I'll be available this evening, if you'd like to play a few games? IM me with your reply, I'll be watching.' 'IM' meant 'Instant Messenger', and sure enough, when I looked at my messenger program, one of the names showing in the little window was 'morning*'. I bit my lower lip, hardly noticing when a trickle of blood reached my tongue. Playing chess with Him was wonderful, and very challenging, but I really didn't feel in any shape for it after my beating at school. Still, seeing no reason not to be polite--especially with Him!--I sent a 'Hello.' to Him through the program.
Only a few moments later, I heard the passionate cry of orgasm that meant an incoming message--the shriek of agony the IM program had come with had set my fur on edge, so I replaced it with something more to my liking--and a little box, a request to join a chat session, with 'morning*' in the border came up on the screen: 'Hello, little one. How was school today?' the box read.
"Not so great," I murmured to myself; what I typed after I accepted the chat was, 'It could have been better. I was punished by a teacher, and I'm afraid I'm really not in a good shape for a game. Perhaps tomorrow?'
'That is a shame,' morning*--Morningstar, rather--replied. He'd praised me for the same precise speech in the instant messenger that He Himself used, we both had a distaste for the so-called 'Netspeak' young hellspawn used, chopping words down to bare minimums, substituting numbers for vowels, and the like. It was hard for me, with my vision problems, to type proper words, but seeing things like 'I 8 h1m h0l & (run(h3d h1$ b0n$' made my head ache. A moment later:
morning*: Were you bad today?
I gave a giggle, wondering fleetingly just what sort of 'bad' He might expect me to do.
Chess: Not really, more like too good, if you want to know the truth.
I explained about how we'd been tested on our study of pressure points, pleasure points really, how to make someone climax with our hands, but without using the more obvious pleasure centers, breasts, nipples, cocks, cunts, that sort of thing. It had been interesting to learn, finding nerves in the back, in the neck, even in more unusual locations, that could make someone come. Unfortunately, during the test, with a whole two hours to spend bringing my 'victim' to his heights while never going near his penis...I made him spew his seed across the room during the first ten minutes, and kept him at it for a half hour afterwards, exhausting him completely. Needless to say, none of the others in my class came close, either in speed or duration, the best besides myself took forty minutes to come to climax, and the best other orgasm lasted a paltry seven minutes.
morning*: I see. Still a child prodigy, aren't you?
I felt the insides of my ears redden at the praise--from Him, I was sure it was praise--and read further:
morning*: And of course your teachers beat you for it. I really hate how that's come to be the norm...conformity, bah. And demons wonder how our society has gotten so stagnant. Non-conformity is punished, sometimes I think we've gotten as set in our ways as Heaven. Those who show a bit of imagination, some drive to do better, are beaten until they break, and we're forced to take all our innovations from the mortal world. Well, my little firebrand, you don't let them break you, you keep doing the very best you can. You'll make them regret ever trying to beat you down someday, I guarantee it.
I was definitely blushing by this time.
Chess: You think so?
morning*: I know so. I've seen great things in your future. It'll be hard for years, centuries probably, but you'll get through it, and prosper. Keep going, keep growing. Don't let them win.
Chess: Thank you...I don't know what to say. *giggle* I can see my ears blushing in my reflection in the monitor. That makes me feel a whole lot better, what you said, I very much appreciate it.
morning*: Think nothing of it. I'm sorry we won't be able to play tonight, perhaps we can tomorrow night. I don't know if I'll be available, but I'll send you an email if I will be. I just wish I knew of some other way to make you feel better.
Chess: You already have, you don't need to do anything else. Just having you for a friend is a wonderful thing all by itself, I don't need more.
Hardly a second passed before He shot back:
morning*: Modesty becomes you, but I'll be the judge of that ;-)
The 'smileys' neither of us minded overly much, obviously, though He was more likely to use them than I was. Then:
morning*: I know. This will be a fine gift for a talented young demon like yourself, a challenging one as well, perhaps. I know you enjoy a challenge, it's one of the things I love about you. Expect her very shortly.
Her? was my thought, but He disconnected the chat, so I didn't really have a chance to ask. My doorbell chimed then, anyway, so I turned away from the computer, to the tiny monitor connected to my security system--actually a little scrying pool, my technical skills weren't up to making a non-magical means of seeing who was at my door--thinking, it can't be, not this soon.
Peering into the glass on the other side, brushing a lock of red hair out of her hazel eyes, was a surprise. Furry demons were rare at this time, but the face I saw, pointed muzzle, red and white fur, pointed ears, short bone-colored horns, and all, could belong to nothing else. A fox demon, at that, I realized with a bit of pleasure. I hadn't seen a vulpine since my last visit home. The family servant I'd grown up with, Trident, wasn't truly a demon; as her wings and halo proved, she had been an angel until her Fall. But it was still wonderful to see one of the same species as my longtime friend again. "Yes?" I said into the intercom.
"Miss Chess?" the fox answered. "I was sent by Morningstar."
I guess it can be, I thought wonderingly. The First One didn't waste any time. "Give me a moment to disarm," I told her, and nullified the protections again before ushering her inside. And reactivating them all again, of course. It didn't pay to take chances with my neighbors.
Smiling, I took in the sight of her, thinking that Morningstar couldn't have made a better selection. She was only a few inches taller than myself, and probably a thousand years or so older, voluptuous of build, with four breasts like myself, I was pleased to note, a rarity, all firm and with nipples the sleeveless tunic she wore couldn't hide. Already I could imagine those rubbing against my own in bed, instead of just the top two feeling another's against them. She had on a knee-length skirt, scooted low on her hips to let her bottlebrush of a tail arc over the waistband, hiding any peculiarities down there...but somehow...well, not really 'somehow', as soon as I got a whiff of her scent, I had no doubt that He had definitely chosen wisely. Certainly there was no disguising what I was, I hadn't bothered to put anything on before letting her inside, probably one reason she shuffled her ivory hooves, and the front of her skirt began to push forward and upward. Another reason surely was the scent of the room; I'd been here long enough my pheromones were very strong here. There was a good reason I'd been allowed to have this place all to myself, once my scent permeated where I lived, no one else could concentrate on anything but me.
Grinning toothily when I saw that, the silent salute to me (and my pheromones), as well as the staccato popping coming from the seams of whatever undergarments were below her clothes, I reached forward, feeling of her maleness through the cloth. She was a big one, and still getting larger, I was pleased to discover. "You're a lovely one...you know my name," I churred. "And you are?"
Moaning, her tail flickering behind her, hips hunching forward against my fingertips, she took a moment to answer. "I'm called Delight."
Giggling, I nodded. "You certainly are a delight. Shall we see how delightful?"
Those pretty hazel eyes peered right into my emerald ones, and she grabbed me by my shoulders. "Gods, yes," she growled. She didn't so much push me to the bed as throw me down and herself afterward, coming down atop me. I'd wonder later how her skirt ended up draped over my Compackard Hell's monitor, and her tunic-top wound up hanging from the blades of my lazily-turning ceiling fan, since she undressed so fast I never even saw her move. Thankfully I was already wet and open, not that a succubus ever needs much prompting, when she jerked my hips upward with one paw, pushing my ballsac up against my own erection with the other, and then drove her crimson-colored rod into me hard enough it forced the breath from my lungs for a moment.
Only a moment, then I curled my legs around her waist, hooves crossed over her back, and rode her as she went at it with a will, giving my tight cunny just the plowing I preferred, long, hard strokes of her still-swelling maleness reaching far enough in me she lanced right into my womb and up to the roof, jostling my diaphragm, making me give little hiccup sounds with each inward plunge. Even better, I felt foxy precum--it had been too long since I'd felt that! Trident did just the same, when I rode the fox-angel's cock--spill into me, the watery fluid actually sloshing within me, for all that a great deal of it ended up spraying back against Delight's thighs. I gripped her, sharp fingernails digging into her shoulders and drawing blood, which only spurred her on to take me even harder, her tail thrashing behind her as if to push her to take me even more violently.
All at once, I felt a widening of what was pummelling my insides with each inward thrust, the base of it swelling, taking on a shape I didn't need to look down to recognize, another thing I loved about Trident's own foxhood. "Oh, YES!" I roared as I ground my hips forward, feeling that knot batter at my outer labia, making my own maleness whap me in the chest and spew bunnyseed all over me, my hard nipples indeed rubbing against hers with each shake. My bed, really too small for the two of us, held up valiantly, the headboard getting bashed into the wall, springs making a squeaky harmony with us. I gave a rabbit's shriek as the knot managed to lodge itself within me, coming fiercely as it swelled to enormous size inside me, locking me with the fox, Delight climaxing a few seconds later with a cry of her own, the huge testes she sported that I'd hardly even gotten a chance to see yet spraying volumes of semen into me, filling me up, overfilling me, my belly expanding to encompass all the marvelous lifeseed she could offer--and to my own 'delight' she offered gallons upon gallons of the stuff, enough the bed was groaning with the effort of containing me, much less the luscious vulpine atop me.
"Mmmm," Delight murred, shuddering while her cock's spraying trailed off at last, my greedy inner muscles milking her of every last drop. "Haven't come like that...in I don't know how long," she giggled. "I normally take a bit longer to come, I promise. I lose the bet, that's for sure."
Still trying to make my eyes uncross, my own climax great enough I was still seeing two foxes above me instead of one, I repeated dumbly, "Bet?"
"Mmhmm," Delight murmured, nibbling at my right shoulderblade playfully, making me coo. "Morningstar bet me I couldn't resist you for even half an hour, that I'd be on top of you and pounding away before I knew it."
Giving a laugh, I shrugged my shoulders, giving her another squeeze, inside and out, my legs still around her waist and her knot still tying us for awhile longer. "I doubt it's wise to bet against Him. What'd you lose?"
"I'm not sure I didn't win," she chuckled cryptically, then explained, "By the terms of the bet, if I couldn't resist your charms--and I certainly didn't--you get me for a period of six hundred sixty-six years, or until you don't want me anymore." A traditional forfeit, that, as well as a relative eyeblink in an immortal's lifespan; that would give me her until just after graduation from Lady Lilith's. "It's up to me to make sure you still want me throughout that time," she purred, while her nibbling started to make my eyes cross again. "He said at the very least, you'll be better fed than the school food would provide," she added, patting my slowly-receding stomach, my succubus metabolism making short work of the weight within me.
"Wonderful gift...and a delight you certainly are," I churred, giving her a kiss, slipping my tongue right down her throat nearly to her belly, while hers did likewise, proving, not that I needed the proof by now, that Delight was a succubus and incubus like myself. When succubi deep-kiss, the kiss is very deep indeed. When we withdrew by mutual assent, I added with an impish grin, "Though once we're able to separate again, it's my turn to make your belly fill this room up."
My new friend grinned right back at me, her tail wagging. "I can't wait."
--TO BE CONTINUED
Proving that even a crazy bunnydemon can write a Web page.
Chessia's Home Away From Hell
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