satyr

✨ Respected Member
  • Content Count

    693
  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    18

satyr last won the day on February 4

satyr had the most liked content!

Community Reputation

924 Hero of the Puddle

About satyr

  • Rank
    Bursting

Recent Profile Visitors

6,592 profile views
  1. satyr

    Unnoticed Accidents

    I mean it's obviously staged, but I really really doubt you're going to find this scenario unstaged... tumblr_obva7rRR6x1voea7h.mp4
  2. satyr

    Desperate Pull-up Accident

    Cute as a button! You did great!
  3. Please chill with the clickbait titles. Just let the story stand on its own.
  4. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    I suspect not 😂
  5. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    This chapter took me a little while longer to complete, but you can't expect me to write 3k words every day for weeks on end! This is the second-to-last chapter (possibly excluding a shorter epilogue). In it, personal tensions of all kinds (social and sexual) start to boil over. The pieces are laid down for the endgame. And it gets naughty. Chapter 4: Den of Sin Asha was already awake and stretching when he woke the next morning. Adam let his unfocused eyes linger on the curve of her spine where it met her butt. A pleasant way to start the day if ever there was one. “I think I had a dream,” she said. “You were in it.” “You think you had a dream?” “My kind does not sleep. This is all very new to me.” Right. “What was I doing? Hanging on a spear above a bonfire, slow-roast style?” He asked. “N-no,” she said and blushed. “I feel strange.” “Are you sick?” He put a hand to her forehead to feel for a fever, but her skin was cool enough to the touch. “I try to imagine torturing you, punishing you for what you did to me,” Asha said, “but when I do, it hurts here.” She put a hand to her chest, near her heart. “I do not like it.” Could it be the binding? Or is it some kind of Stockholm Syndrome thing? “Don’t flatter yourself,” Asha said. “But I would not feel this way about just anyone that came along and put me on a leash.” “Thanks, I guess.” Adam picked up his phone from the night stand and dialed Amy. Time to see if we can mend some broken trust. He didn’t look forward to this conversation, but he didn’t want to put it off either. “Hello,” said a groggy voice on the other end. “It’s still early.” “Are you okay? Are we okay?” Adam asked. “I talked to Peter,” Amy said, and by the tone of her voice, he could already tell it hadn’t gone over well. “He was furious that we’d just ran away from him like that with no explanation. He begged me to explain what was going on.” “What’d you tell him? The truth?” “Of course not!” She spat. “Nobody would believe that. I told him he wouldn’t understand.” “Oh.” “And you know what he said? He told me I’d make him understand, if I truly cared about him. And now he won’t respond to my texts or return my calls.” “I’m so sorry,” Adam said, feeling like a complete asshole. “I told you that this thing wasn’t to come between me and him! This is all your fault!” “Amy, I’m sorry...” “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” “What? You won’t help us with the ritual?” He asked. “Don’t call or text me. I’ll contact you when I’m ready to be friends again, if I ever am. Just leave me alone.” Amy hung up. The last thing he heard before the beep was a choked sob from the other end. Adam threw his phone on a pillow, then punched the duvet in frustration. Fuck! Now he’d really gone and done it. Ruined his relationship with one of his closest friends, and burned all bridges to the one person who could get him—get them—out of this mess. Adam turned to Asha. “You!” He said, suddenly furious and desperate to find an external target to take it out on. He pointed a finger at her chest. “You were the one who told me not to tell Amy about the hell-hounds. This is all your fault!” “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t bound me like a slave!” She yelled, fists balled at her sides, arms shaking with anger. Gone was the pleasant demeanor, and in its place was a snarl that reminded him of her true nature. It felt like the temperature in the room had increased several degrees in the space of one sentence. There was a hesitant knock at the door. Adam wiped his eyes, which were for some reason wet, and went over to crack the door open. “Trouble in paradise?” Ryan asked. “Oh, uh, sorry, we’ll keep it down...” “Hey, you okay, man?” Ryan asked. “I’ve barely seen you these past few days.” “Yeah, we’ll talk soon, for sure,” Adam said. “Just been busy, is all,” and he began closing the door. “You can always talk to me, bro,” Ryan said. He’s worried for me. Of course. Adam wasn’t the most outgoing person in their little household, but he was far from a recluse. He’d spend most evenings that he wasn’t studying in the common room of their apartment, watching TV and shooting the shit with the guys. He’d spent the past few days virtually only in the presence of what they must assume was his new girlfriend, and he had a huge bruise on his face, and now Ryan had caught them arguing loudly in his room. He must suspect I’ve gotten myself snared in an abusive relationship. “Your friend is worried about you,” Asha said. Her anger had deflated, and the temperature in the room had cooled to its previous level. “And you are worried about your other friend, Amy.” “Yes,” he said, letting himself fall down onto the bed, which creaked alarmingly under the sudden strain. He couldn’t stay mad at her: she was right, he’d started this whole mess in the first place. And more importantly, being mad at her was like being mad at himself, since he couldn’t leave her and go somewhere to be alone, a strategy he’d usually employ to clear his head on those rare occasions when he argued with his friends. She put out a hand, offering to him. “Are you still mad at me?” She asked, concern in her voice. “No. I’m sorry for yelling at you.” “Can we be friends?” He took her hand and shook it. If you’d told me one week ago that I’d be shaking hands and making friends with a demon… “Good,” she said, then released her hand and clutched it to her abdomen. “I have to go.” “Did we just make up so I’d take you to the bathroom?” “No. Please,” she pleaded. “Okay. But we’re going to find a public restroom. I can’t deal with my housemates right now. They already suspect you’re beating me.” Asha bent over, clutching her abdomen, crossing her legs. Adam picked up his backpack and stuffed the final change of clothes he’d gotten from Amy in. “What’s that for?” Asha demanded. “In case you have another accident.” “I won’t if you stop dragging out the time!” She whined. Adam tried to help her on with her jeans. Asha winced when he began buttoning up the crotch. “Does that hurt?” “Yes!” She bit her lip. “I have a sweater you can wear, it’ll be a little long so we can leave the uppermost button open,” he suggested. Adam retrieved an old hoodie with the brand ASICS in faded print on the chest. “This is really what you wear?” Asha asked, eyeing the worn-out sweater with disgust. “No doubt nobody wants to sleep with you.” “No,” Adam said, “this is the sort of shit I keep in the back of my closet because it’s too worn out to wear day-to-day, but I can’t afford to throw it out yet because unlike a certain someone, I’m not a fucking princess of Hell and I can’t ask daddy to buy me a new one. Now are you going to wear it, or should I button you up?” “I—I’ll wear it,” she said, and he helped her put it on. “I don’t, you know,” she said while he helped her lace up her shoes. “Ask my father to just get me something new if I wear something out, that is.” “Do you ever do something he wouldn’t like?” He asked. “Uh, sometimes,” she said, squirming on the spot. “Nothing major, though.” “Aw, Daddy’s girl,” Adam said and offered her his hand. “Too bad, right now I’m your daddy,” he added with a chuckle. Asha didn’t laugh. She frowned, stomped her foot on the floor, and spat out, “You’re nothing like my father. If you were, I’d hate you.” “So you don’t hate me anymore? Glad to hear it.” “Shut up!” She said, blushing. “And don’t think I’m ever calling you ‘daddy,’ mister.” Her eyes flashed into a vision of the void, then flickered back into the bright green he felt like he could lose himself in forever. “Wouldn’t dream of it, squirt,” he said. “I did not leak,” she said. “Relax, it’s just a cute nickname.” “I would prefer if you didn’t invent any more cute nicknames,” she said. “I’d hate to break your heart when I leave forever.” The comment stung more than it should have. Adam realized that he didn’t really want her to leave. He’d grown complacent in the idea that she was always there, by his side. It couldn’t go on forever, but he found himself wishing it could last just a little longer, that it wouldn’t be forever cut short by the full moon. What’s gotten into me? “You are mortal, and weak,” she said, as they walked hand in hand down the gravel path towards the nearest public restroom he knew of, in the college cafeteria. It should still be open even though it was a Saturday morning. Plenty of students studied in the nearby library over the weekend. “So you’re not going to shed a tear when you leave me forever,” Adam said, trying to hide the hurt in his voice. “Well, I’ll be glad to be rid of you too.” Except he wouldn’t. He was only saying that in a feeble attempt to hide his true feelings. “I didn’t… say that,” she said, stopping for a moment to hold herself. “Okay, remember what we talked about yesterday,” he whispered as they entered the cafeteria, glad to shift focus to practical matters. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if we can’t sneak into a restroom and someone sees us together, you have to pretend to be disabled and that I’m your handler, okay? Otherwise they’ll think we’re up to no good and kick us out.” “I hate this,” she said, but followed his lead into the cafeteria. Only a few people were there. It was still relatively early, before 9 AM on a Saturday, just half an hour after the cafeteria and library opened. Adam tried to surreptitiously lead them towards the handicap bathroom in the back of the cafeteria. Asha was now constantly clutching her abdomen and trying to suppress moans—clearly, she was in a bad way. Adam regretted not insisting she go before bed. But she’d managed not to have an accident all day yesterday—he’d almost started to think this wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Just as he put his hand on the door handle, he heard someone deliberately clear their throat behind him. Adam whirled around to see a male janitor standing at the corner near the bathrooms, frowning and gesturing at the two of them. “What do you two think you’re doing?” The janitor said. He was middle-aged, overweight, and sported a mean mug. “She’s disabled and I’m her companion for the day. I need to accompany her...” He spit out the lie too quickly, as if he’d been waiting to spring it—which he had—but no matter. Surely this grump bastard couldn’t deny them now? As if on cue, Asha let her mouth hang open and allowed a little trail of drool escape her lips, slipping down her cheek in a way that he almost couldn’t resist wiping away, in what he assumed was a generic impersonation of a non-specific disability. It looked incredibly stupid. Oh, well, he had no time to worry about political correctness now. “I’m going to need to see some ID,” said the janitor, leaning on his washing brush. “Dammit, can’t you see it’s an emergency?” Adam said, raising his voice. Asha, squirming and clutching her crotch, did nothing if not support his assertion. “Are you really going to let a disabled girl disgrace herself in public over some stupid power trip?” He made sure everyone in the cafeteria could hear him—although he’d rather not attract attention, he didn’t think Asha could make it to another restroom. People were starting to stare now. Good. “Uh, relax, you can go in, just don’t make it a habit,” said the janitor, blushing. Adam dragged Asha into the restroom without looking back. She bent over as soon as he locked the door, and he had to help her stagger to the toilet. Asha bit her lip and crossed her legs as he tried to open the buttons on her jeans. “Hurry!” She said. “Trying!” As he got the jeans down to her knees, he noted that the front of the Hello Kitty panties was already dark red rather than pink, soaked. As he lowered her pants fully, her entire abdomen shook, and she spurted violently, splashing urine onto his hands and a bit onto the front of his pants. “Sorry!” She said. Adam decided that the panties were a lost cause and helped Asha sit down on the toilet, panties still on. Asha immediately sighed and a steady trickle emerged from the front of her panties, soaking them further and giving Adam a peek at the contour of her lips. She closed her eyes as the pee began leaking out the legholes of her underwear, sputtering into the toilet bowl. Then she opened her eyes wide. “Get them off, get them off quickly!” She said, leaning forward, closing his view of her crotch, clutching her abdomen. Thinking quickly, Adam put his hands under her armpits and hoisted her up, quickly using one arm to slip the soaking panties down her legs. Then he let her down, and Asha’s cheeks turned scarlet as the stream became a waterfall between her legs and she erupted from the other end. Adam respectfully averted his eyes while she finished up, heart pounding hard enough to threaten escape from his rib cage. “I’m done,” she said. She attempted to wipe herself down, but doubled over in pain when she tried, so Adam put a hand over hers and held it here, trying to guide her to wipe herself without having to touch her with his own skin. When she was all dry and clean, he first inspected her pants—mostly dry, with just a tiny bit of wetness near the bottom-most button—and then her borrowed panties. The front was soaking with pee, dripping, so he had to use a sheet of toilet paper to dry them enough not to stain the pants. Adam had Asha stand up, and when he did, he saw the full extent of the damage to her underwear. The back portion was badly stained with a dark brown. “Oh, my, you really made a mess of these,” he whispered. Adam could see her tearing up, so he pulled her into a hug. Asha leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he pretended not to notice the wetness on his shirt. When she had composed herself, he separated and used some toilet paper to wipe her eyes. “I would have made it if you took me to the toilet at home,” she sniffled. “Sure you would, sweetheart.” Sweetheart? And she thinks of my place as home? Fuck, this is bad. “Please get me cleaned up,” she said. “I smell awful.” That she did. Adam gingerly lowered first the jeans, then the panties, and wet some tissue paper to clean her thighs. Asha closed her eyes and seemed to be meditating—probably wishing she could disappear into a hole, he imagined. Then he brought the soiled underwear to the sink and attempted to wash them out, but the stain in the back wouldn’t come out. “This is useless. We’ll have to throw this away,” he said. “Lucky for you, I brought a change.” He retrieved a new pair of panties from his backpack—these ones were no less juvenile, a yellow bikini-cut thing featuring Spongebob Squarepants across the front and a set of denim overalls with metallic buttons at the shoulders. Asha said nothing as he fussed over her, making sure she got the new outfit on okay. “Your friend definitely has some sort of weird kink,” she remarked as she regarded herself in the mirror. “Or she raided her baby sister’s closet. Put my hair in pigtails and I’d look about three-hundred and fifty years younger.” “Would you like me to do that for you?” He asked. “Of course not, you perv. I know you’d like it,” she said, and despite the rebuke, Adam was glad to hear her in good humor again. “Are you feeling sick? That was, uh, quite messy,” Adam said. Asha put a hand tentatively to her abdomen. “I guess I’m not feeling super great,” she admitted. “Next time, you will take me to the nearest toilet or I’ll have you roasted alive.” “Uh, okay,” he said. “You hungry?” He asked as they exited together. The janitor was nowhere to be seen. “Yes,” she said. “But I don’t want to eat here. Everyone stared at me.” Adam glanced around the room and saw a couple of curious eyes. Asha was very obviously not wearing the same outfit she’d had on when they entered the restroom. “Okay, let’s find somewhere else,” he said. They settled on a café around the corner. Asha ordered a full English breakfast, which pained Adam right in the soul—or rather, his wallet—but his stomach growled, and he ended up getting the same. “Be careful not to upset your stomach with all that fatty stuff,” he said. “Be careful to take me when I devil-damned ask you to and not, like, twenty minutes later, and you won’t have to deal with it when it comes out the other end,” Asha said, pushing her fork through a piece of bacon demonstratively. Adam held his tongue. “So Amy won’t help us with the ritual?” Asha asked between mouthfuls. She still ate like a savage, spilling food all over her face, and Adam felt compelled to dab at the edges of her mouth with a napkin. Apparently table etiquette was just another one of those things that worked differently in Hell than up here on terra firma. “I’m still hoping she’ll come around, but I wouldn’t count on it,” he said. “And the full moon is tomorrow night. You have to come up with something, a backup plan,” Asha said. “I guess we could go to the library, try to find out more about this Musgrave dude. He must have gotten his information somewhere.” They walked hand in hand into the library and steered towards the back, where the occult books were located. Adam rummaged through the shelf until he found a book called Biographies of Notable Alchemists (1397-1884). It looked more promising than anything else he’d found, so he brought the heavy, leather-bound book over to a reading table. This book, unlike the Demonic Dictionary, appeared to actually be organized in alphabetical order. Adam leafed through the book until he found the M’s, passing over Manning, Roger and Mirá, Esteban until he found what he was looking for: Musgrave, Adam. “His name is the same as yours!” Asha remarked. “Yeah, funny coincidence. Let’s see what it says.” He read aloud: Adam Musgrave, born outside London in 1404, believed to have died in Plimouth, Massachusetts, 1650-60. “That is a very long life for a mortal,” Asha said. “Yes, it is. Maybe he discovered the Philosopher’s Stone along the way. Now shush, demon.” He continued reading: The early life of Mr. Musgrave is shrouded in obscurity, but according to legend he attempted unsuccessfully to discover the recipes for the Philosopher’s Stone and the Elixir of Life while still in England. Although his exact date and year of birth is only known according to legend, it is certain that he was a very old man when he accompanied the Mayflower to the Americas. How Mr. Musgrave, by all accounts not a particularly religious man, ended up traveling with the Pilgrims to the Colonies is a mystery, but surviving accounts describe a very determined and charismatic fellow. An English Catholic by the name of Rupert Morrow attempted to bring Mr. Musgrave to trial on account of alleged witchcraft in the late 1590’s, but the prevailing social currents in England did not favor any religious charge brought by a Catholic, and the case disintegrated before ever going to trial. This is attested in records from the Old Bailey. Mr. Musgrave’s later life was largely occupied with an obsession with the occult, and particularly demonology, but inexplicably, he seems to have been able to keep his researches secret and is recorded as a Preacher in the Mayflower’s manifest. Sometime in the years immediately prior to his departure for the Americas, Mr. Musgrave appears to have deposited a manuscript with a publisher in London, but the manuscript languished in obscurity and was only printed in an extremely limited edition after or shortly before his death, in 1657. This manuscript is known, according to legend, as the Daemonic Dictionary, and was reportedly regarded as archaic and obscure even in its own time, but few have ever laid eyes or hands on it. Many regard the book as entirely mythical, and believe it never to have existed. Other, less reputable sources swear it is the only genuine manual of Practical Demonology ever to be printed. Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell reportedly declared the book anathema, but all details regarding its printing and dissemination are vague and uncertain. All extant copies of the book are believed to have been lost in the Great London Fire of 1666. What is almost certain is that Mr. Musgrave took on students while in the Americas, usually young and impressionable folk not well-versed in the alchemical Arts. Several of them would later, in their old age, be accused of witchcraft in the infamous Salem Witch Trials of 1692-93. One such alleged student of Mr. Musgrave’s, Anna Mire, was burned at the stake in May, 1693. Ms. Mire was an alchemical researcher of some merit in her own right, and she has her own entry in this book. Adam leafed backwards through the book, seeking the biography of Anna Mire—wasn’t she the one who’d written about the ritual Amy had found?—but all he found was the traces of what might have been a page once, ripped out of the book. Or maybe the century-old bookbinding had simply and coincidentally disintegrated in a violent fashion just where the offending biography was supposed to go. This smells fishier than a cannery. “If all copies of the book were lost in 1666, how come you found it in this library?” Asha asked. “I don’t know! It’s almost as if someone wanted me to find it. Anyway, this doesn’t help us. Some dude who may have lived to be 250 years old somehow figured out how to conduct actual summonings and bindings of demons from Hell, but we don’t know where or how he found that out, and he recorded it in a book that shouldn’t exist, but is somehow sitting in my bedroom.” “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound promising,” Asha said. “Did anything happen in, uh, Hell around that time? Anything that might help us connect the dots?” Asha cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “How old do you think I am?” She asked. Adam blushed. “I don’t know, but, like, you said something earlier about looking three-hundred and fifty years younger...” “I wasn’t being literal, dumb mortal,” Asha said. Great. Now she understands sarcasm. “I heard that.” They spent another hour combing through the occult section, but found nothing pertaining to a Rite of Transference, a Dr. Adam Musgrave, or a Ms. Anna Mire, alchemist and alleged witch. “I’ll have to beg Amy to at least tell me the details of this thing if she won’t come around, but I figure it’s best to give her a day. In the meantime, how are we going to deal with the hell-hounds tonight?” Adam asked. “Would be a shame to die terribly after all this.” “They are like bloodhounds,” Asha said. “Except they smell emotions and sin. The only way I know of to evade them is to confuse them: immerse yourself in a place that would naturally harbor sin or fear, and hope they don’t look too closely.” “Where are we going to find a place like that? And isn’t that risky, leaving the comfort of home?” “If they find out where we live,” Asha said, and Adam noted that she was now speaking as if they were cohabitating—which, to be fair, they had been for the past couple of days—“then no wall or lock will keep them out. What we need is a den of sin. A place so steeped in sin and strong emotion that no one would think anything of it if we add a little to the mix.” “I don’t know anywhere like that,” Adam said. He did not exactly live an outrageous lifestyle, didn’t dabble in crime or drugs aside from the occasional bud or alcohol. But then it came to him. “Scratch that, I do. But I don’t think it’s a great idea. No, no, no.” “Where?” Asha demanded. “It’s a nightclub called the Last Refuge.” Adam had heard rumors of the outrageous sexual practices that supposedly occurred in their basement, but he did know the ground floor was a regular nightclub, albeit one with a very risque and burlesque theme and reputation. “What if the hell-hounds catch us on the way there or back again? And I won’t be able to take you to the bathroom.” “You’ll find a way.” “I won’t be able to go to the bathroom.” “You will find a way,” Asha insisted. “You don’t have an ID, what if they ask?” She cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow. “Let me handle that.” “You can have one drink,” Adam whispered as they lined up in the queue for the Last Refuge. Of course none of his objections had been heeded. And he had to admit, Asha did look stunning in Amy’s too-short dress, neon lights giving her green gaze an ethereal quality. “Ten,” she responded. “Two,” he said. “Five.” “Three for the whole evening, and that is final.” They got to the front of the line, and the bouncer asked to see Adam’s ID. He flashed it, nervous as to what would happen when it came to be Asha’s turn. He needn’t have worried. Despite being muzzled and tied to Adam’s leash, Asha was a high-ranking member of Hell’s elite. A demon straight from the netherworld. She directed her eyes at the burly man, and Adam could feel her tug at the mental leash. She held his hand, and he felt it grow hotter than a coal; he dropped the hand and was surprised not to find burn marks. The man’s eyes glazed over, and a hand fell lazily as if to direct them inwards, although up close it looked more like he was momentarily paralyzed. The two of them entered the club, and Adam cast a glance over his shoulder. He could hear some commotion outside, and the last he saw, it seemed the bouncer was now on his knees, coughing and holding his chest. “What did you do?” Adam whisper-shouted. Asha didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes as they entered a dimly lit dancefloor, pounding house music blaring from a high-powered soundsystem, and took a deep breath. “Ahhhh,” she sighed—no, she moaned. “This is like being home again. I can smell the sin in the air.” Adam felt a drop of sweat slide down his neck. Was it really a great idea to bring a literal demon to a Den of Sin? Asha seemed to somehow have taken on another dimension, as if she’d been a flat cardboard cut-out outside; now, she was alive. She directed him to a bar on the side of the dancefloor, and confidently ordered them shots of vodka, which Adam had to pay for. She knocked back the shot in a second, and then she fixed her gaze on Adam. He felt as if the leash in his mind was being stretched to its limits. “Now, we dance,” Asha said. “I don’t dance.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, her lips lightly brushing his earlobe in an impossibly seductive manner. “You do tonight.” She pulled him up onto a raised section of the dancefloor, near a metal cage in which a leather-clad young woman was gyrating out of tune with the music. Asha put his hands on her shoulders, and Adam found himself following her lead without question. She leaned in and began grinding herself into him, then somehow made his hands into her puppets, twirling her around, lowering her down backwards almost to the floor, resting only on his hands, then hands on her hips, then arms around her neck. Adam felt drunk, even though he’d only had one drink. He looked down, tracing her breasts, then down her sides to her hips. That’s when he noticed the smoke. Other revelers seemed to think it was coming from a well-hidden smoke machine, but it wasn’t. It was coming from her. Her eyes flashed green, black, green, black, as she drew him closer and closer. He wanted to pull away, could feel the mental leash being stretched to the edge of tearing apart, but she was intoxicating. She wore no perfume—as far as he knew, having taken care of her hygiene for the past few days—but the smell of her was intoxicating nonetheless. It was wrong, it was dangerous, and it was impossibly sexy. There were more drinks, although to Adam, time seemed to blur and stretch and he couldn’t quite remember how many. Then they were up on the little stage again, and she was grinding on him, and he was holding his hands around the back of her neck… And then she leaned in. He closed his eyes and felt her lips on his; he opened his mouth slightly, and she teased him with the tip of her tongue. It tasted of iron, of blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He opened his eyes and saw that she had hers open, and around the green of her iris, the whites of her eyes had been replaced by a bonfire, yellows and reds and black smoke dancing around that irresistible green. Adam closed his eyes again and fell back into the kiss. At some point, he became vaguely aware of someone speaking next to him, and then he picked up a young man saying, “Look, she’s pissing herself!” Adam redirected his eyes down Asha’s body, focusing on her bare thighs below the hem of the dress, and saw a trail of urine running down towards her running shoes, intermittently glistening in the strobe lights. Asha held his hand, but turned her fiery eyes at the young man, and said simply, “But you love that, don’t you, honey?” Through his drunkenness, he felt the leash tug, almost tear, then snap back, but it snapped back onto him, forcing him to lean down and steady himself with hands on his hips. That left him roughly level with the crotch of the young man, and Adam could see something strain against the denim, and then, faintly, a small wet spot bloom on the front. Had she just made him come with one sentence? Whatever was going on—and that wasn’t very easy to figure out, as Adam had somehow gotten very drunk despite insisting on only three drinks for the entire evening, and only specifically recalling the first one—Asha was not the cowed servant she had been since he bound her, not in this place. Perhaps she fed on sin. He could see the man stagger around as if he’d been struck, and then Asha’s lips were on his again, and his hand on the wetness at her thighs, and his crotch was bulging. At some point, she led him by the hand towards a door near the back of the club. A man dressed in all leather, mask on his face and whip in hand, guarded the door. He opened it without question when Asha looked at him, and they descended a series of steps towards a basement. Several levels, it felt like; it must be a sub-basement. He felt the temperature in the air increase; he was sweating, felt feverish. Down there was a corridor filled with doors, moans coming through some of them, cries of pain out of others. Asha led him towards a specific door, as if she knew what was behind it, and opened it. He heard a lock click open, but she held no key. Inside was what looked like an examination bench at a doctor’s office, except it had a number of braces that could be used to lock the occupant in place. On the wall hung a number of bondage-themed implements: whips, leashes, paddles. Asha confidently strolled over to the table and laid herself down on it. “Tie me up,” she purred. This is wrong, so wrong, Adam’s rational mind said, but he locked the metallic braces in place around her ankles and wrists anyway. “Come closer,” she said, and he did. “Touch me.” He put a hand tentatively to her face, then let it slide down the side of her body, then under the hem of her dress, where he felt that her panties were quite wet. “Feel my bladder,” she whispered. He cupped her lower abdomen. It was hard as a rock. “You’re so full,” he said. “Tell me I should hold it,” she moaned. “You should hold it.” Adam didn’t know quite where the words came from, but it was somewhere deep down. He’d never done anything like this with any previous partner. “But I don’t think you can,” he said, watching her squirm against the loops keeping her locked to the table. Then he pushed down on her bladder. She moaned, then cried out—whether in pain or pleasure, he could not tell. “Ah!” Adam put a hand between her legs as the stream began: urine, oddly purple under the strange atmospheric lighting in this place, spraying out, pumping out rhythmically as the used one hand to bush on her bladder, felt her muscles contract first to resist, then let go, then push it out, the smell of urine filling the air and sticking to his fingers. She peed for a long time, eyes closed, blushing, breathing heavily, her chest seeming to expand beyond what her chest could handle before deflating. The urine poured out between her legs, soaked into her dress, ran down the length of the table, then spilled over the edges, dripping down onto the floor. “I knew you couldn’t hold it,” he said, despite himself. This is so wrong. But then: This is so hot. “You keep peeing yourself. Just like a little girl. My, my, my.” He took hold of one of her breasts. “I want you,” she moaned. “I want you to take me.” Adam found himself climbing on his knees onto the table, then unbuttoning his pants, not minding her piss soaking into the denim at his knees. He put one hand around her neck—no, this is not my style—but she merely moaned in pleasure. It was already starting to get light out when they finally staggered out of the club, leaning on each other, drunk and spent, the both of them. Asha seemed to deflate as they exited the club, some of the supernatural, intensely compelling charisma and attractiveness fading as it meant daylight and left the confines of the Den of Sin. She leaned on him, shivering as the cool early morning breeze hit her soaked wet thighs. Adam didn’t worry about retribution from Hell as they shambled homewards. No, as he stripped Asha’s thoroughly soaked clothes of, all of them, then his own, falling down into a pile of naked, entangled, spent limbs, his only thought was: What the hell happened tonight? And what does it mean for us?
  6. Damn, all the fun happens when I'm away. I can't believe you put yourself through this in public. And 3 liters in a short period of time? Even if you avoid water intoxication, that feeling of bloating is still painful and not in a fun way IME. Basically I'm saying you're a masochist and I love that we can live it vicariously, because I sure as hell wouldn't want to live it in reality.
  7. Well, that's awfully short. I'd suggest reworking it as a full fetish story independent of the "serious" novel, because otherwise, this is literally two paragraphs of setup and zero payoff.
  8. Definitely share more stories!
  9. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    Oh, that's not going to last forever! The story arc that I have planned calls for two more chapters of similar length (possibly with a short epilogue added on top). I've begun chapter four, but right now I'm struggling with the balance between smutty and non-smutty content. The thing is that usually I enjoy writing plot/character and sexy stuff about equally, but in this story, I've come to enjoy writing the characters and plot more than the explicitly omo parts. So I don't want to disappoint those who come for that, but I can't just shoehorn it in and make something that I don't like writing either. Also, there's a lot of simmering character tension that needs to begin coming to the surface in the next chapter, otherwise, I won't be able to satisfactorily tie up all the threads that I want for the finale. The good news is that I do know exactly how it ends, which I didn't know when I wrote the first chapter. And it's definitely not going to be chaste in any way, there's just the issue of how kinky it'll be. Overall I'm just very happy to suddenly hit upon something that just excites me, that inspires me to write thousands of words in a day, because that kind of inspiration is rare. So thanks a lot for the inspiration, Kitten!
  10. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    Thanks for the kind words, guys! Appreciate it. Chapter 3 They woke up to the sun peeking in through the curtains, partially obscured by a cloud. Adam closed the window and noted that the late spring weather had cooled—good thing Asha had something other than those ridiculous short-shorts to wear. “Morning, mortal,” she said, stretching herself. “You stink.” Adam smelled his shirt. Indeed. He’d only had time to splash a little bit of water under his arms and onto his face since the evening of the ritual, which was now a day and a half ago. Which presented a problem: how was he going to use the bathroom for anything—toilet business or showering or doing laundry—if he had to have Asha with him at all times? He couldn’t explain this sudden and extreme co-dependence to his housemates, or anyone else for that matter. Except Amy. Didn’t she say she’d found something? “She did,” Asha said. “Are you going to stink all day?” Clearly teaching manners is not a top priority when raising a demon. What were his priorities, anyway? Now he remembered the terrifying howls of the night before. Right. He definitely needed to solve this today, before dark. So, shower, then hardcore research. He picked up the phone and dialed Amy. “Morning,” she said. “Morning. Did you say you had something for us?” “I did, but it’s not a quick-fix, unfortunately. I have a morning class but we can discuss it over lunch. Listen, I need to go get ready...” “Wait! I need to shower and do some laundry, and I can’t explain to my housemates why I have to bring my ‘girlfriend’ that they’d never seen until yesterday with me wherever I go. Do you think…?” “Put me on speaker,” Amy said. Adam did. “Okay, I’m going to leave a spare key in the flower pot outside the front door. You can shower and do laundry, but bring your own towels. Asha, I’m trusting you to make sure Adam doesn’t sneak a peek in my panty drawer or does anything else remotely creepy, okay?” “With pleasure,” Asha said. “Thanks, I owe you one,” Adam said, then they exchanged see you laters and he hung up. Unbelievable. She trusts a demon straight outta Hell more than she does her friend. “You have a lot to learn about the female gender,” Asha said. She was standing beside the bed, and Adam blushed at the sight of her nude from the waist down. “Put on some clothes, will you?” “I can’t, remember?” Right. He walked over, picked up a new, dry pair of Amy’s panties—these ones were pink, with a Hello Kitty print, which extracted a raised eyebrow from the both of them and made Adam wonder what else he didn’t know about his friend—and raised them up to her hips. Then it was on with the jeans from the previous day, which had not miraculously grown any wider or longer over night. Asha swayed her hips as Adam tried his best to shimmy the pants up her thighs. Downside of being thicc, I suppose. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means these pants weren’t made to fit someone as sexy as you. Now shut up and help me get them on you.” She looked pleased at the compliment. Too pleased. “You can carry the laundry bin for me since you’re the one who keeps pissing in your pants,” he added. Asha frowned, but picked up the laundry as she’d been told. As before, Adam tried to scout ahead to avoid his housemates, but this time, he failed. At the door, they ran into Eddie, the resident womanizer. He was taller than Adam, fitter, with a muscular chest and biceps that always strained at the fabric of his shirts—no doubt intentionally—and Adam hated the fact that he actually wasn’t a complete douchebag. He may look like a jock, and he may sleep with a lot of women, but he never lied to them about his casual intentions, never made himself out to be better by slagging off others. “Oh, hey Adam,” he said, almost colliding into Asha as he entered the door. “Out late again?” Adam asked. “You know how it is,” Eddie said with a smile. “Dude, what happened to your face?” “Got hit by an elbow playing basketball,” Adam lied. It was the best lie he could come up with: although he didn’t play in any organized fashion, every once in a while he’d play a casual pickup game with some friends. Eddie didn’t seem to buy this, but he could sense that Adam wasn’t comfortable sharing, so he plowed on gamely, “Who’s your friend?” “This is, uh, Asha,” he said. “Nice to meet you,” Eddie said, extending a hand. Asha shot a look at Adam, and he nodded. They shook hands. “You didn’t tell me your friend was such a prime specimen,” Asha said. Eddie laughed. “You have a funny way of speaking, but thanks, I guess?” “We gotta get going, talk to you later,” Adam said. “Good for you, bro!” Eddie responded as they walked out the door. “Your friend is hot,” Asha said once the door closed. “Glad to hear it,” Adam said, surprised to hear the disappointed edge to his voice. “Sadly for you, you’re stuck with me for the time being.” “I never said you weren’t hot,” Asha replied. Huh. Adam felt his cheeks warm. “Let’s get to Amy’s place,” he said. “I’m dying for a shower and lucky for you, you’re getting in with me.” “Looking forward to it,” she said and giggled. The key was in the flower pot, just as Amy had said. He unlocked the door, tossed the key on the kitchen counter, and led Asha by the hand to the bathroom. “No staring when I undress,” he said. “I seem to recall you staring quite a bit when you undressed me.” “Well, I’m the one calling the shots.” He accepted the laundry bin from Asha and tossed it into the machine, then began undressing. Once he was fully nude, he began undressing Asha. Off with the tortuously tight jeans, off with the Hello Kitty panties, off with the t-shirt. She was stunning, as usual. Adam led her by the hand to the shower—her eyes averted from his nude form, as he’d requested—but then he stopped. “Hey, do you need to go?” “I do not,” she said. “Oh, right. You peed yourself just a few hours ago.” Asha blushed. “I would prefer,” she said, carefully looking into his eyes but not straying down to his nude crotch, “if you didn’t mention that.” “Why, because it’s embarrassing?” “Yes!” She shouted. “Is this how you treat your girlfriends? Always reminding them of their most humiliating experiences? No wonder your friends are so surprised to see you with a girl!” Oof. “Sorry,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, you know I enjoyed it.” “It does not,” she said. “Now please shut off and wash me.” Adam carefully lathered her with soap, kneading it in, then directed the stream of the shower to clean it off. Then he picked up the bar of soap himself. “Would you like me to do that?” Asha asked. What? “I said...” “I heard you. You sure you want to do that?” “I want to.” He let her soap him up. Adam found himself closing his eyes and fantasizing that she was actually his girlfriend, not the demon he’d accidentally bound. When she strayed to his crotch, he tensed up. “You don’t like that?” She purred. “I do, but are you sure you’re comfortable...” “You mortals have some strange hang-ups about sex,” Asha said, and continued soaping him up. Adam couldn’t suppress an erection, but at this point, what was the point? She knew he was aroused, he had seen her at her most vulnerable. What did they really have to hide from one another? He kneaded some shampoo into her hair, which fell to her shoulders, and let her to do the same to his. Then they cleaned it off, and it was time to towel themselves dry. Which is to say, Adam had to do it for the both of them, as Asha purred and moaned. “Is it really that good for you?” He asked. “I have not been touched like that for a long time,” she admitted. “You said your mother was a Succubus. I would’ve assumed you got it on all the time...” “It’s not easy to find someone of proper breeding to satisfy my father,” she admitted. “You let your father decide who you’re allowed to fuck? I thought you take what you want, when you want it?” “I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Asha said. “Oooh, more like that,” as he rubbed her crotch. “I presume I’m not of proper breeding, being a mortal and all,” Adam said. “Shut up and continue!” He rubbed at her, rhythmically, massaging her until he could hear her breath speeding up; her cheeks flushed, and then, finally, her entire body shook. Asha’s eyes were closed, her mouth partially open, and a little trail of liquid he didn’t think was pee ran down her thigh. She swayed on her feet and let him catch and hold her upright as the orgasm receded. “Did you just, uh...” “Yes,” she mumbled. “I needed that.” Adam finished toweling her off and then dressed her, then himself. What the hell? Now clean and dry, he led her by the hand to Amy’s couch. “Ok, Asha,” he said. “I need you to tell me anything, and I mean absolutely anything, that could potentially be relevant to bringing you back home. Anything at all.” “I told you, I don’t know! I thought binding was a fairy tale!” Adam poured himself a glass of water and another for Asha. She drank it down eagerly, then requested another. He handed it to her warily, reminding her to tell him the moment she needed to pee. She huffed and gulped down the water in one go. “Think! You don’t want the hell-hounds to catch you, do you?” “Of course not.” “If this was a fairy tale or legend when you were growing up, maybe other stories that you thought were child’s tales were actually real. Tell me something we can use.” Asha thought about it. “There was one story,” she said finally. “But it was so ridiculous I never believed it even as a spawnling.” “Tell me.” “The story says that time is a great cycle, turning around and around, on the scale of thousands of years. And at one point in each great turning of the wheel—” “The Wheel of Time?” Adam asked. “The wheel, the cycle, the great revolution, whatever you want to call it!” “Never mind, that was a joke.” “Anyway,” Asha said, frowning, “a powerful necromancer shall be born completely unaware. He shall not have any idea of his powers until the time when he first attempts to use them...” “Go on.” “And once he uses his powers, he shall summon and bind a powerful demon, and the demon shall try and fail to kill him, and be ever at his mercy. And the powers that be in Hell shall send their Legions to retrieve the bound demon, but the power of… Okay, the ending is just so ridiculous I can’t even...” “Tell me,” he said. “And just as the Legions of Hell close in, the power of True Love shall save the couple from the Wrath of Heaven and Hell alike.” “Wow.” “I told you it was ridiculous,” Asha said, but Adam could see her cheeks redden. “Could that apply to us?” He asked. Why did I say that? I barely know her, and she’s a demon. “Don’t be silly. I don’t ‘love’ you. You’re mortal, barely average in the looks department and you don’t exactly treat me like a princess. Don’t tell me you’ve, ugh, how do you say, ‘become in love with me?’” “Fallen in love,” he corrected her. “And, um, of course not. You are literal hellspawn. And you’re not exactly nice to me all the time.” “And you are not exactly a powerful necromancer.” “Maybe I am? I did manage to bind...” “Raise any Lich-Kings lately?” Asha shot in. “Uh, no...” “Glad we cleared that up, mortal,” Asha said, but her cheeks were still red. Did the fairy tale hit closer to home than she wanted to give away? “Do demons ever fall in love?” He asked. “Demons regard love as a mortal weakness,” Asha replied. “What about your mother and father?” “My mother and father were in lust,” she replied. “They never, like, sacrificed anything for each other, just because they couldn’t stand to be without each other?” Asha squirmed, not like her previous pee-squirming, more like someone put on the spot to answer a question they had never considered seriously because they feared the answer would be too painful to bear. “Do you command me to answer truthfully?” “Yes.” Asha shuddered. “My mother,” she said, “was set to become the ruler of the Circle of Lust after her father. But the other Circles did not wish for a single family to control two Circles, fearing it would upset the balance of power in Hell, and threatened war if this union came to be. So she renounced her claim to the throne in order to marry my father.” “Sounds like love to me,” Adam said. “Shut up!” “What happened to her? Your mother, I mean?” “I do not know. She has been gone for hundreds of years now, as mortals reckon time—since I was very young. My father says she is gone forever, but I know he’s still looking for her.” They sat silently for a while, pondering this. “This will not do!” Asha said. “Get on with it, mortal. Figure out a solution!” Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. “I would not ask you if I had any other choice!” Asha said, exasperated. Adam thought about it. Finally he fished out his phone and started typing into his browser. “This is not the time to be fiddling with that shiny little game!” Asha said. “It’s not a game, Asha,” he explained. “It’s like a big library, except bigger and more comprehensive than any physical library in the world.” Asha peered over his shoulder to watch him type in “how to return a summoned demon to Hell” in Safari. Asha made various displeased noises as she read over his shoulder, Adam scanning through the first ten hits and finding nothing but various obviously fake rituals and ghostbuster websites. “Give me that, dumb mortal,” Asha said. He showed her how to navigate the smartphone display with her fingers, and after a few false starts, she was scrolling away. They spent the next hour scrolling through occult and Satanic websites, all of which were hopelessly misguided as to the nature of Hell, according to the demon. “Am I right that anyone can put a book into this ‘library’ of yours?” Asha finally asked. “Uh, yeah, that’s kind of how the internet works.” “This is useless!” Asha said, and made to throw his iPhone on the floor, but Adam stayed her with a stern hand on her wrist. “That’s expensive and I can’t afford to replace it.” Asha reluctantly let him have the phone back. Adam’s stomach chose that moment to make its discomfort known. He was hungry, but there was something else… Well, shit. Steeling himself, he took Asha’s hand and pulled her towards the bathroom. “I don’t need to go!” She complained. “Well, I do,” he snapped back. Better get this done and over with. Why was he so embarrassed? After all, it was only natural, and he’d seen her in far more compromising positions. Adam was forced to admit to himself that maybe, just maybe, it was because against all good instincts, he was starting to like Asha quite a lot and didn’t want to disgust her. He directed her to avert her eyes, then pulled down his pants and sat down to do the dirty but necessary business. Asha said nothing, but wrinkled her nose and waved a hand in front of her face to signal her displeasure. Once he was done, he noticed that the laundry cycle was done, so he proceeded to pull out all the garments Asha had peed in—the daisy-dukes, the two pairs of panties—slowly and deliberately, giving her a good look at them before he hung them to dry. She had the decency to blush. “I’m hungry,” Asha said, after the toilet and laundry business was done. “As am I. Good thing it’s almost lunch-time. We can go eat at the cafeteria and I’ll text Amy to meet us there after her class.” “You’re going to buy me lunch? How nice of you,” she said. Adam couldn’t tell if it was genuine or sarcastic, but then again, Asha rarely betrayed any understanding of non-literal speech. Perhaps she honestly wanted him to know she appreciated it. Odd thought. On the way to the cafeteria, he noted that Asha’s steps steadily grew shorter, and her face contorted in pain. Did she have to pee? But she wasn’t displaying any of the jitteriness he’d come to expect. Adam stopped and let his eyes trace down her thighs to her feet. Of course, the shoes. He’d had trouble getting them on her—Amy’s feet must be at least one size smaller than Asha’s. “Do your feet hurt?” He asked. “N-no,” she said, biting her lip. “You don’t have to be strong for me. Tell me honestly: is it painful for you to walk in those shoes?” Asha seemed to fight an internal battle between maintaining her pride and the desire to relieve her pain. Finally, her shoulders slumped, and she said, very quietly, “Yes.” Well, fuck. I’m going to have to buy her proper shoes. Asha’s eyes lit up—of course, she’d listened in on his internal monologue, the sneak—as he grabbed her hand and steered her off campus, towards the nearest shopping street. They dipped into a small shoe store and Asha quickly led him over to a shelf filled with tall leather boots, most of which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Dominatrix’s BDSM dungeon. “This is more like it!” She said, eyes momentarily flashing to darkness, as if she’d found something that reminded her of home and couldn’t quite contain her demonic nature. Adam glanced over his shoulder to make sure the proprietor wasn’t looking to closely at them. She was busy helping the sole other customer in the little shop. Tall boots were not season-appropriate, but more importantly, the prices were not appropriate for his wallet, so he dragged her away, Asha pouting like a child. “You never let me have any fun,” she said. I think you had fun in the shower earlier. “Oh, yeah,” she whispered, and smiled. He found her a pair of running shoes for $49.99 on sale, and bought them for her (in spite of her protests) as soon as he confirmed that they fit. She winced when he helped her off with Amy’s shoes, and he noted that some blood had soaked through her socks. Stupid, stubborn demon. The shopkeeper gave the pair an odd glance as he helped her on with the new shoes as if she were a young child, but said nothing. As soon as they were on, Asha’s pained expression disappeared and became a huge smile. “I can actually wiggle my toes now!” She said out loud, a statement that surely didn’t help dissuade the juvenile impression she was giving off, but Asha appeared oblivious. Well, there goes my weed budget for the foreseeable future, Adam thought as they exited the shop. “You buy garden pests?” Asha asked. “It’s a drug,” he explained, and added when he saw a dangerous gleam in Asha’s eyes, “I’m not getting high with a demon. Out of the question.” “You’re no fun,” she said. They were just about done with their sandwiches and sparkling water when Amy caught up with them in the cafeteria. “That class was utterly boring,” she declared. “Speaking of, aren’t you also in that class, Adam?” “I’ve kinda got bigger fish to fry right now than, what was it, Intro to Greek Philosophy?” “Intro was last year, this is advanced boring philosophy,” she said. “I’d rather be studying the occult.” “What did you find?” Asha asked. She’d devoured her sandwich like an animal, dousing it with ketchup—reminded her of her blood-based diet in Hell, he assumed—and now her face was a mess. Adam absentmindedly picked up a napkin and wiped her face. Amy raised an eyebrow. He shrugged. “So, like I said, I didn’t find a quick-fix, silver bullet kind of solution,” Amy said. “But I did find something that we might be able to work with. It’s something called the Rite of Transference. I found it in a book by one of Dr. Musgrave’s students, one Anna Mire, so it’s got at least a chance of not being complete bullshit.” “I’m starting to think this Musgrave fellow didn’t really know what he was doing,” Adam said. “Well, the ritual you did worked perfectly, you absolute bonehead,” she shot back. “What does the ritual do?” Asha asked. “It’s supposed to ‘transfer an Infernal soul to the place where its heart resides,’ whatever that means. I’m assuming that means back to Hell?” Asha bit her lip, then nodded. “Let’s do it!” “It’s not that simple,” Amy said. “I did say it wasn’t a quick fix. First of all it requires some arcane ingredients that we’re unlikely to be able to get our hands on, so we’ll have to improvise substitutes and hope that doesn’t ruin the whole thing. And secondly, it can only be done at midnight under a full moon.” “When’s the next full moon?” “Day after tomorrow. Looks like you two are stuck with each other until then.” We should tell her about the hell-hounds. Asha shook her head and gave him a look that he hoped meant, “we’ll talk about it after.” Adam held his tongue, but he felt a drop of sweat slide down his neck. Could they really hide from the K-9 police units from Hell until then? “Lighten up!” Amy playfully shoved her elbow into Adam’s side. “I know you pretend to hate each other, but the way you look at each other tells me it’s getting complicated.” Both of them, human and demon, blushed at that. “Let’s do something fun tonight. Peter wanted to come over last night, but I was too busy researching arcane rituals.” Peter was a mutual acquaintance who’d had the courage to make a move on Amy while Adam pined away in solitude, and they’d been dating for a couple of months now. “I couldn’t exactly tell him that, so I improvised some story about helping you two out with a class project. He insisted on meeting the woman who could put up with your dorkiness, Adam, so he suggested we grab dinner together tonight, the four of us.” I’m not going on a double-date with a demon. “I’m not going on a ‘date’ with a mortal,” Asha said. “Relax, it’s all in good fun,” Amy said. “You’d be doing me a favor, and yourselves, as well. If I’m gonna be busy helping you set up this ritual for the next couple days, I won’t get to see Peter much, and he’s gonna get suspicious if you refuse to meet him. He’s gonna think there’s something else going on between you and me, Adam, and you don’t get to come between us,” she said sternly, staring him down until he had to admit she made a fair point. He gave in. Adam was going on a dinner date with a demon. They whiled away the early afternoon playing video games in his room, then met up with Amy at her apartment. He’d brought a backpack to bring back the laundry, which should at least not be soaking wet anymore, and Amy had agreed to lend Asha a dress appropriate for the occasion. By the time they got there, Asha was squirming visibly. She hadn’t peed all day: no wonder she was getting antsy. “Come on, I have to take you to pee before dinner,” he said. “I-I don’t need to go,” she tried, her crossed legs betraying the lie. “I think you do,” he said. “I can hold it. You can take me at the restaurant if it gets bad.” “No, I can’t, because I can’t be seen entering the same restroom with you in public, unless you want to pretend you’re disabled and I’m your caretaker.” “You want me to pretend to be retarded?” She was almost yelling. “Well, I wouldn’t use that word, but you got the gist. Or you can come with me now like a big girl.” “Don’t you dare pee in my dress!” Amy yelled from her bedroom. “Demon or not, I will rip you apart.” “Fine,” Asha said. Once they were inside and Asha spotted the toilet, it seemed her urgency increased exponentially, and she was potty-dancing like mad while he tried to get open the buttons on her borrowed jeans, which were very tight. “Hurry!” She said. “Stand still, then, silly.” Finally he got the buttons off, then he hiked down the Hello Kitty panties and guided her butt down to the seat just in time for a stream of pee to erupt out of her, splattering merrily into the bowl. Asha blushed, then closed her eyes and moaned as she emptied herself. It went on for almost a minute. Adam put a finger into the panties. There was no visible wetness, and although they were slightly damp, he thought it was likely just sweat. She was after all wearing an outfit at least one size too small, and the temperature had risen once the clouds broke in the early afternoon. He was feeling a little hot himself—entirely coincidentally, nothing to do with the fact that he had a hand in a pretty girl’s underwear while her nude crotch was on display, he told himself—and resolved to splash some water under his arms before they went to dinner. “Good girl,” he said. “That’s the first time you actually made it without a leak since you, uh, arrived here.” She opened her eyes, frowned, stared at him. If looks could kill… “This underwear is quite childish,” Asha remarked as he lowered her jeans and prepared to help her into the dress Amy had picked out for her. It was a long, slim, black thing that probably was supposed to go down below the knees rather than mid-thigh, but it did look very nice. “Yes,” he agreed. “Don’t tell that to Amy, though, you might embarrass her.” “So strange,” Asha said. “My kind wears their kinks with pride.” “You think it’s a kink?” Oh god, don’t picture Amy dressed up as a little girl… The thought had the potential to do unspeakable things to him. And curiously, the idea of being visibly aroused at a different girl in Asha’s presence bothered him more than the idea of her seeing him aroused did on its own. The two of them emerged from the bathroom and Amy rushed in to do her makeup, then insisted on applying some to Asha as well. When the two women were fully dolled up, Adam noted something: his eyes were not drawn to Amy at all. She was wearing a frilly black skirt over tan pantyhose, a white collared shirt, and tasteful makeup, a look he would have drooled over less than a week ago. Amy had that perfect girl next door look that made Adam weak in the knees. But this time, he only had eyes for Asha: for her more mature curves, the tantalizing hints of her bare upper thighs where the hem of the dress couldn’t quite reach, the confident posture she carried herself with, the playful gleam in her green eyes. Even the incongruous running shoes in place of more tasteful high heels couldn’t mar the impression. She was stunning, and next to her, Amy looked positively ordinary. It was like a spell that had held Adam tight for the past year had been removed, but only because a more powerful spell had taken hold. He was in deep trouble. This was so wrong. She was a demon. She wanted to eat his entrails, or whatever it was demons did to their enemies. Then why does it feel so right? He thought as he held out his arm for her to grab onto. Dinner began as an awkward affair, but once the initial introductions were done away with, it grew into a pleasant moment of domesticity that put his mind off the otherworldly mess he was in for an hour. Asha behaved herself, laughing at all of Peter’s jokes—which would have made her charming if she had a better grasp of the difference between a joke and a serious statement—and occasionally touching her hand to Adam’s thigh under the table. He knew she was doing it just to tease him, wind him up, watch him suffer a bit, but it had the effect of making them seem like a perfectly ordinary young couple in love. Adam didn’t even try to dissuade Peter from the notion that they were a couple. What was even the point? The fact that the two were never seen more than a few feet apart would give anyone the wrong idea, and it wasn’t like he could explain the truth. They settled the bill, and of course, Adam had to be a gentleman and pay for Asha since she had no money of her own, while Amy and Peter split their bill. Definitely not paying for my own weed for the rest of all eternity, he thought. Maybe if I turn up the charm I can convince someone to give me a hit at a party of something. The illusion of pleasant domesticity was shattered when they were on their way home. It was now almost fully dark out, and Adam’s ears picked up a low, keening sound in the distance. It quickly grew into a cacophonous roar of grinding metal, gnashing teeth, and howls. The hell-hounds are here. Amy’s face had turned white as a sheet, while Peter stood there with a quizzical expression, apparently oblivious to the noise. “Run, mortals,” Asha whispered, and grabbed Adam’s hand. A terrified and confused Amy ran after them, leaving her boyfriend behind, standing rooted to the spot like a study in confusion. Adam looked over his shoulder to see Peter make up his mind and began sprinting after them, yelling, “Wait! What the hell’s gotten into you?!” but then they rounded a corner and he was gone. The three of them ran as fast as they could, panting, following Asha’s lead through the campus until she led them into a back alley between two buildings and crouched down in the shadow of a trash container, putting up a finger to her lips in the interdimensionally recognized sign for silence, be silent dammit! The three of them huddled together on the ground, squeezed between a brick wall and the trash container, hoping the shadow would somehow hide them. If not that, then the stink of the container’s contents. Adam stole a look at Amy, but her eyes were frozen in fear, and he followed her gaze towards the entrance to the blind alley, halfway illuminated by a street lamp around the corner. Something very large—like an ox, as Asha had said the night before—lumbered into view, but the darkness of the form and the poor illumination made it hard to make out just what the hell it was. The sound of metal grinding on metal was deafening, but it seemed to emanate from around the corner, not from the creature. The silhouette raised a lump at its front—he could see now that it had four legs, but its size and quadrupedal gait was about the only thing he could make out clearly—and what must be the head seemed to sniff in the air. Adam held his breath as the thing tried to sniff them out, but then it lowered its head and let out a blood-curling howl, seemed to shake its head and lumbered around the corner. The metallic noise receded into the distance. In its place was only cold, hard silence—broken by a steady hiss coming from Adam’s left. He looked over at Amy: her face was pale, but even in this dark corner, he could see her cheeks color when she noticed him looking. Adam’s eyes strayed towards her lap. The hissing continued for half a minute, and there was no doubt about what was happening. It wasn’t until the flow tapered off, however, that he noticed some shiny wetness on her pantyhose catching the light from the other end of the alley. Amy said nothing, but he could see her eyes were wet. Asha let out a sigh at his right. “What the hell was that?” Amy asked. “Hell-hounds,” Asha whispered. “And you two didn’t think to warn me those things might be after me?” “I did not think they were after you,” Asha said. “But they must have figured out you were helping us. And I did not think they would be out so early—usually they only hunt after midnight.” And then, uncharacteristically, she added, “I’m so terribly sorry.” “Wait, what about Peter?” Amy said, voice cracking, panic rising again as she suddenly seemed to remember she’d left her boyfriend out to dry when they fled. “If he could not hear them, they were not after him,” Asha said. “They are not visible or audible to mortals except those whom they hunt.” “Are they gone? Are we in the clear?” Adam asked. “For now. I gambled that the smell of this garbage would put them off our trail, that they would think it was rotten meat and not mortal fear they smelled. It worked. They’ve moved on tonight, but they know our general location now. They’ll come after us again tomorrow night.” Adam tried to lend Amy a hand to help her stand up, but she pushed him away. “This is not okay,” she said. She hurriedly tugged at her skirt to lower it, apparently to hide a curious lump that seemed to have swelled between her legs. Weird. Her thighs were still shiny from her accident, however. Adam was reminded of his own little mishap when Asha had first materialized, and decided it was best to pretend like he hadn’t noticed. If nothing else, to ensure the future good health of his balls. Amy looked furious. “We’ll talk tomorrow, but don’t think you’re getting away with this. I’m super mad at you right now, Adam,” she said. They separated and headed to their respective homes, each of them looking over their shoulders all the way. “Did you notice she peed?” Asha asked when they were out of earshot. “Yes. Don’t ever mention it in front of her. She’s ready to rip me to pieces already, best not anger a charging bull further.” “I didn’t pee,” she said proudly. “Well, good for you, not pissing yourself for an entire day,” he said sourly. She clung to his arm the entire way home.
  11. I think there's quite a big difference between an animated cartoon or a literary description and a live-action show.
  12. satyr

    Snuppa. (Request)

    I always feel awkward seeing Snuppa pop up because I know she's Norwegian and she looks just like I remember a childhood friend's older sister looking... 99% sure it isn't actually her, but what if it was? Haha.
  13. satyr

    Brute Showdown Episode 2 accidental spurt

    Yeah, smelling salts are pretty common in a lot of sports, you see powerlifters and strongmen/women use it a lot. It's usually ammonia carbonate. I assume it resembles the smell of urine since there's a lot of ammonia in urine. Anyway, stress incontinence is fairly common in female lifters, especially the deadlift. Check out Stefi Cohen, who holds various world records:
  14. I enjoy the desperation, but I enjoy it more when it results in a wetting. I am however partial to "barely made it" scenarios where someone leaks visibly but makes it in time to avoid a full accident.
  15. satyr

    Desperate Demon

    Chapter 2 The three of them were sitting in Adam’s room, which he was trying to air out. He’d forgotten to clean up the vomit from the night before, and by mid-morning it was smelling pretty bad. Asha was freshly showered and sitting in a borrowed set of Amy’s clothes, which were too small for her, but would have to do for the time being. Asha was both taller and curvier, and her new shirt exposed her belly-button in a way the designer had surely not intended. Her jeans were so tight they “rubbed at her pussy,” as she said, and when she noticed Adam’s discomfort when she said that, she began chanting pussy, pussy, rubs at my pussy until he’d ordered her to cut it out, which garnered a devilish giggle from the demon. Showering had been an awkward affair. They’d gone to Amy’s place, since her parents had set her up with an apartment of her own, so they had privacy. When they entered, he noted that his dashingly average looks had taken a step down in the face apartment: the side of his face was swelling up and turning a sickening shade of greenish yellow where Asha’s haymaker had hit him. They’d quickly determined that Asha could not shower on her own, since she doubled over in pain the moment she was more than three steps away from him. So he had to go in with her, determined to sit on the toilet lid and respectfully avert his eyes from her. Except when she attempted to remove her soiled clothes, she groaned in pain again. Then she’d reminded him of the book’s words: her bodily needs were the domain of her Master, Adam. Apparently that meant she couldn’t even undress herself. So he had to help her out of her clothes, lowering the wet shorts, then down with the soaking, dripping panties. As he touched the wet fabric, his crotch pitched a tent, and to make matters worse, she picked up on it and began grinding herself into his hand, which he knew she was doing just to wind him up. “Cut it out,” he said, and then he led her to the shower, doused her with cold water just to take the grin off her face, and wet a washcloth. Quickly, he rubbed the cloth over her skin, trying to get her clean without getting himself worked up. “My crotch feels icky,” she said, when he respectfully declined to touch her between the legs. “It feels like the urine is still there.” Cursing inwardly, he began to wipe her down. “I heard that,” she reminded him. “Keep going.” So he did, rubbing at her lips, her hairless mound, around the inside of her thighs, and she moaned. “You’re enjoying this too much,” he said. “I am used to slaves.” “You’re the damn slave, not me.” She looked hurt at that. Adam regretted bringing it up. So he brought the cloth up again, between her legs, rubbing slowly, and her eyes glazed over. Then he stopped before either he or she could get more worked up. Why the hell am I acting like this? She’s a demon, hell-spawn, a devil, and she hates me, and terrifies me. “Glad to hear it,” she cooed. And I am pleasuring her, because I felt bad for her. Now she was fully dressed, and he tried to forget the way she fluttered her eyelashes and blew him a kiss while he toweled her off. It turned out that Amy knew a hell of a lot more about demonology than Adam. He’d picked up the Dictionary out of pure boredom. Aside from trying to summon Bloody Mary in the mirror at a sleepover in sixth grade, he had never dabbled in the occult. “Bloody Mary is a myth,” Asha said. “Bloody Angelique, however, is very much real, and you do not want her in your mirror.” Neither of the two humans felt compelled to ask for any details. Amy explained that she’d gotten into the occult as a side effect of a teenage goth phase, but once she got older, she started researching obscure literature on the matter, and then she had “an experience”, which he declined to elaborate on, but which had somehow convinced her that demons were realer than she’d thought. Her research had eventually led her to the idea that the Demonic Dictionary was the real deal, for reasons that seemed fairly flimsy to Adam, but he couldn’t deny the evidence in front of his eyes. Unfortunately, the book which called itself a dictionary lacked an index and was not organized alphabetically. At least not according to any alphabet he knew. They’d spent an hour flipping through the book, but couldn’t find anything helpful about returning demons to Hell. Nor any elaboration of the mechanics of invocation and summoning. “Hey, Asha,” Amy said, visibly frustrated. “You want to go home, right?” “Of course.” “Then how about you spill the deets on how all this works? Can’t help a gal who won’t help herself.” “Do you think I know?” Adam and Amy shared a look. “You mean you have no idea how any of this works?” Adam asked. “When I was young, the idea of being summoned and bound by a mere mortal was a scary story used to make children behave. As I grew older, I was taught that only lesser demons could possibly be bound, and only by a powerful necromancer, such as has not walked the Earth for hundreds of years, not a mere dilettante with a dusty old book. I am descended from the rulers of two of the Nine Circles of Hell, and no mortal should be able to summon me, much less bind me.” “So much for that idea,” Amy said. “Wait,” Adam said. “Spooky bedtime stories for demon babies? We’re just gonna ignore that? What’s it like to grow up in Hell?” “It is Hell,” Asha said. “Elaborate.” “Painful.” She didn’t seem to enjoy this turn of the conversation, so he took the hint and dropped the subject. An hour later and no closer to solving the mystery, Amy had to take off for an afternoon class, but promised to dig deeper and see what she could find that night. She also left a couple of changes of clothes for Asha, but sternly told Adam that if they couldn’t solve this within the next few days, he should quit being such a cheap-ass and buy her some clothes in her size. As if he had the money laying around to fashion a brand new wardrobe for a she-devil. Adam decided it was high time for some food, so he set about making his decidedly mediocre spaghetti bolognese. “Ah, meat,” Asha said as she dug in. “Reminds me of home.” “Eat a lot of meat, do you?” “Not yours,” she said. “I guess veganism isn’t hot in Hell.” “What’s veganism?” She said among mouthfuls. “Like, not eating any animal products? No meat, no cheese, milk, eggs, anything like that…” “Oh. What a silly idea.” She washed the food down with several glasses of water. Once they’d eaten, her mood seemed to improve dramatically. She even attempted to tell him a joke. “Why did the little Negro cross the road?” “Jesus,” he said, and as before, her skin bubbled at the mention of anything to do with God. “Don’t say ‘Negro,’ it’s offensive. And definitely don’t say ‘nigger.’” “Okay,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why did the little dark-skinned mortal cross the road?” “I don’t know.” “To witness his enemies being driven by the lash across a field of spikes, wailing in pain.” “That’s supposed to be a punchline?” “It’s funnier if you expect the punchline to be racist. But you didn’t want me to say the N word.” Huh. I thought racism was like, par for the course in Hell. “Oh, we definitely regard all mortals as less than the ant you thoughtlessly crush under your shoe. But we don’t distinguish based on skin color, ethnicity, religion, gender or sexual identity,” she said. “Who knew Hell was so progressive,” he said. “But wait—do you really regard me as less than an ant?” She cocked her head to the side and considered it. “You have the capacity for cruelty, which is a quality I admire in my enemies. But you were also kind to me, which I did not expect. And certain things indicate you might one day become a thoughtful lover, if you grow the balls to flirt with a mortal woman. I am… conflicted.” “Does that mean if I somehow freed you, you wouldn’t torture and kill me in some terrifying manner?” “Probably… not.” Adam sighed. “Guess who didn’t score any brownie points with the guy holding the leash.” “You just said ‘brownie,’” she pointed out. “So?” “So, isn’t that racist?” “Jee—damn it,” he corrected himself. “Brownies are a form of cake. Brownie points is an expression. Don’t take everything so literally.” Adam retired to his bed to leaf through the book again, and Asha sat down beside him. After a while, she began subtly rocking back and forth. Then she let a silent but deadly fart slip. He looked over at her. “Asha, do you need to go to the bathroom?” “N-no,” she said, biting her lip. “Well, I’m not taking the chance on you ruining Amy’s panties. Let’s go.” “I don’t need to go.” “You go when I say you go.” “Y-yes, ‘master.’” She got up, holding her belly. When they got to the bathroom, the door was locked and the shower was running. “Damn it,” Adam said. He took her back to his bedroom, and she proceeded to pace back and forth for the next fifteen minutes while insisting she could hold it. “Listen, apparently I’m the one who has to clean you, and I didn’t sign up for this,” he said. Then he dragged her back to the bathroom, which was mercifully empty. He helped her lower her tight jeans, then her panties, and she sat down on the toilet and did her business. She did not pee, however. When he helped her up, he inspected the panties. “Thank go—thankfully there’s no stain,” he said. “You gotta tell me when you need to go.” “I’m not a baby,” she said. “Could have fooled me.” They were back in his bedroom now. “What do you know about Pride?” She asked. “About pride?” “I am a Demon of the 1st Class, Adam,” she said. “I am a Lady of the Court of Pride, the Seventh Circle of Hell, which sits above and dominates the Sixth Circle, the Circle of Wrath. I am a Devourer, a Flayer, a proud member of the Court of my ancestors.” “Wait, I thought Wrath was the fifth circle.” “Do you really think Dante actually visited Hell before he wrote his silly poem?” “Huh, guess not.” “He didn’t visit alive, anyway.” Adam shuddered. “Anyway, as I was saying. I am a Scion of Pride, and on my mother’s side, of Lust. I am a standard-bearer of confidence. A crusher of hope, a denier of weakness...” “So what you’re trying to say, in a very round-about way, is that it’s very hard for you to be seen as vulnerable or admit weakness?” “Y-yes,” she gulped. “Well,” he said, “like it or not, humans are weak, and your body is human now, at least for the time being. And it is far better to admit a minor weakness sooner, rather than demonstrate a major weakness later, in devastating fashion. Don’t you agree?” She nodded. “What did you feel when you wet yourself at the library?” “A way I haven’t felt in a long time. Not since I was a mere spawnling.” “Tell me about it.” “I would rather not.” He didn’t want to push her, but at the same time, he was curious. If he could somehow understand her, understand what Hell was truly like, then maybe he could get a grip on how this all worked. Get a grip on how to send her home. “I said, tell me about it.” “Very well.” The color drained from her face. “I was a mere—a child, as you reckon it. Or maybe a teenager. I… How am I going to tell this story in a way that you can comprehend? Let’s try this: I had to wake my father and inform him that I had wet the bed.” “Wait, wet the bed? Like, urine, sheets...” “No, not like that. Not at all.” She rolled her eyes. “It did not happen like that. But the metaphysics of Hell are far greater than a tiny mortal mind can comprehend. We do not sleep, we do not urinate, we do not have beds. Even the pits of fire are just a metaphor. I’m telling you an allegory to help you understand. Nothing I’m about to tell you happened quite like that, but you can imagine something analogous, but which you couldn’t possibly wrap your little brain around, okay?” “Go on.” “Okay. So I woke up, realized I had somehow lost control of myself in my sleep, and that I was now drenched. I felt the smell, the cooling wetness clinging to me, the terrible shame. I cried, and then I had to tell my father what I had done. And he… Do you command me to go on?” Her lower lip trembled. She was clearly reliving a traumatic memory. Suddenly he felt like a jerk for dredging up what lay better buried. “You can be brief if you like.” “Suffice it to say, I thought he might punish me corporeally. Perhaps put me to the stake for a fortnight: it is not lethal to our kind, but decidedly unpleasant. But instead he did something far worse: he humiliated me in front of the entire Court at my debutante ball.” “Your dad sounds like a jerk,” he said. “It is the way of Hell. None of the details are exact, but my transgression was similarly immature, and the punishment equally harsh and humiliating.” “And that’s what you felt like when you wet yourself in the library?” “Y-yes.” Her upper body was shaking. “Come here,” he said. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Adam took a deep breath, and then he pulled her close and held her. He could feel her breathing very quickly, sense the way her body tensed as he pulled her into his embrace. But then her muscles loosened, her breathing grew steadier and more regular, and she allowed him to place her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a few minutes. Adam lost himself in the moment, but then he had to suppress the urge to subvocalize what the hell am I doing cuddling a demon? “It turned you on, though, didn’t it?” She said suddenly. Adam felt his cheeks warm. “You noticed?” “My mother was a Succubus.” “Oh.” “Also, you said something about acting like a horny asshole. And I noticed your erection earlier, but I thought it might be the proximity to the female sex organ that did it. I didn’t get it then, but I put two and two together after.” “I guess it’s a kink I have,” he said. “I’ve fantasized about having a bladder slave. But that was just a fantasy—I felt awful when I realized I’d forced it on you.” “I guess I could have asked you for permission earlier,” she said. “But that would hurt your pride, right?” “Right.” She bit her lip again. Nervous habit? “Don’t get cocky. I do not get nervous.” She separated herself from his embrace and gave him a glare that said, We may have just had a ‘moment’ but don’t let that fool you: I’d still incinerate you on the spot if I could. “I’m glad to hear you are still slave to your baser instincts, as are all of mortal kind,” she said, reasserting her old, cocky bravado. “A little bit of breasts and buttocks, a little bit of urine accidentally spilled, and all the blood rushes from your big brain to your little one.” “Tits and ass,” he corrected her. “Not breasts and buttocks.” “Same difference.” “Not if you want to pass for human until we get this sorted. The way you speak is like a pile of anachronisms had an orgy and your vocabulary was the outcome nine months later. And you do want to pass for human, because I want you to pass for human, and you have to do what I say.” “Fine.” Adam put away the book of demonology for the evening, deciding that he wasn’t getting anywhere and he might as well wait to see what Amy turned up. Instead, he booted up a game of CS:GO to take his mind off Hell. Asha stared in fascination at the computer, an invention that seemed to have passed by without notice in her Circle, but soon she was delighting in the virtual violence, and then he allowed her to play a match for herself. It went predictably badly, not so much because she had trouble adjusting to the controls, which she picked up quickly, but more so because she insisted on shooting the bodies of her dead enemies repeatedly, cackling like a maniac, while her team shouted at her over the voice chat and the remaining enemies shot her in the face or in the back. After that, he decided to put on a couple of slasher movies, sensing that violence was a good way to cheer her up. By the time the second movie wrapped up, it was late enough to call it an early night. He scouted the living room to make sure his housemates weren’t there—didn’t want to have to explain how the girl he’d never mentioned before was now suddenly his live-in girlfriend—and led her to the bathroom. He stole a disposable toothbrush from the pack Eddie kept for the benefit of his many one-night stands—made him look like a gentleman, Eddie claimed—and brushed her teeth. Asha submitted to this indignity without a word. Then he peed in the toilet and led her back to the bedroom. There was a text from Amy waiting for him: “Found something. Tell ya tomorrow!” Good. They laid down and he fell asleep almost immediately. Early in the morning, he woke. The first thing he noticed was that his side was damp. Then he noted the smell of fresh urine in the air. Asha was fast asleep beside him, head turned away from him. He lifted the duvet and stared for a moment transfixed at her black panties, at the glistening wetness, the slow trail of pee leaking out between the wet outline of her lips, slowly making its way between her thighs onto the sheets. The slow, almost inaudible hiss of a bedwetting accident in progress. A front-row seat at one of his fantasies, in the flesh. Wait, the sheets! His sheets! Adam shook off the trance, then shook Asha awake. “You’re wetting the bed!” He whisper-shouted in her ear. Her eyes shot up wide, then she crossed her legs, placed her hands between them and strained to stop the flow. The hissing abated. He could see in her eyes that she was mortified, but at least she didn’t cry. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed to go?” “I… I woke up and knew I had to urinate, but you didn’t give me permission to wake you, so I fell asleep again.” Of course. She hadn’t peed since her accident that morning, and had quite a bit to drink in between. “I didn’t tell you not to wake me if it was an emergency!” “Well, I didn’t want to look weak.” “Better to have an accident than to admit you need to go like a big girl?” “I still need to go.” He got out of bed and helped her out, but she sank into a crouch, and then she started dripping on the floor, pee leaking out between the hands clutching at her crotch. Thinking quickly, Adam scooped up his paper bin and tried to position it between her legs. As he did, the dam burst in full, and pee began pouring out of her, through Amy’s panties and pitter-pattering into the bin. Asha closed her eyes and whimpered, then sighed, then moaned as her bladder emptied into the makeshift potty. When she was done, he had to help her up on unsteady legs. She looked at him expectantly. What does she expect, exactly? “Hug me, you asshole mortal,” she whispered. Right, right. He hugged her, held her tight, and she sank into his embrace. She let him hold her for a minute, and then she composed herself and separated. “Right, this is a disaster,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Get me cleaned up.” “You don’t give the orders ‘round here,” he reminded her, but he did lower her wet panties to the floor and throw them into the laundry bin, then used a towel to quickly dry her. Adam opened a window and poured the liquid contents of the paper bin out, along with a couple of used tissue papers. The damage to the bed wasn’t too bad, thankfully, so he just laid down the towel for her to sleep on, nude from the waist down. Adam tried and failed to hide his boner, and she smirked. As he was about to fall asleep, he noticed a sound. It was hard to make out, but clearly there, a sort of wailing somewhere in the distance. Then the intensity grew, less like something approaching you from the distance and more like working the dial on a stereo, until the sound resolved into a mixture of a wolf-pack howling and a woodchipper churning through logs, and loud gnashing of teeth. He turned to Asha, who had sat up straight in bed. Her face was a study in fear, eyes wide, color drained from her cheeks, mouth contracted to an O-shape. “Asha, do you know what that is?” He whispered. “A pack of hell-hounds.” “Hell-hounds?” “Imagine a bulldog the size of an ox, with teeth like a shark.” “Damn.” “Except each tooth is actually another jaw, filled with more shark’s-teeth that are each somehow larger than the jaw itself.” “Holy shit.” “Then imagine a pack of them.” “Fuck.” “It was probably sent by my father, the Pridelord of the Seventh Circle, or perhaps by my grandfather on my mother’s side, the Lustlord of the Fifth and Duke of the Spiked Dungeon. Either way, they’re both bound to be exceedingly mad at me for damaging the reputation of the clan. And by extension, mad at you.” Adam shivered. “They’re looking for us,” she whispered, as the sound grew more distant, then faded away into the night. “But we should be safe until morning, since they went off to chase a false lead. They only hunt at night.” “What will they do if they catch us?” “To me? I don’t know, but it’s going to be painful and terrible. To you? The same, I suspect, except you are mortal and will die from it. Then you might find yourself reliving that nightmare for the rest of your afterlife.” He shuddered. She crept closer to him, and he crept closer to her, and they fell asleep holding each other.