New Short Story -- Sticky Situation

[HTVoid]

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Hey guys, this is a short story about a demon inside a woman, though this demon is having a very different experience than Pazuzu’s in The Exorcist. Still, by the end of this story, it might revenge itself and serve its tormentors their just desserts.

Hope you like reading it.


STICKY SITUATION by HTVoid


ONE

Eggs, bacon, bread, grapes, and…what was that? Pie? No. Maybe. It was challenging to tell what was what from the chewed and melting mess around me. A tiny capsule arrived, washed down with what I assumed was nearly half a glass of milk. It dissolved almost immediately as it came into contact with the lake of acid, releasing a white powder. And at the same time, her stomach came to life. The walls began to shift and roil, deep, rumbling roars vibrating through their lining. More bites followed, milk and solid chunks raining down—some sank, some floated, all melted into the bile.

There were bubbles beginning to rise from the muck. From above, the chamber looked like a pit of boiling, greenish tar. Blub-blub-blub, the bubbles sounded as they popped in the surface, releasing puffs of an acidic, green vapor. The walls expanded as gas accumulated in the atmosphere, the barometer rising—it would happen soon. I turned my attention to her stomach’s entrance, the valve there shut tight for the moment, trapping both solid and gaseous matter inside, but it wouldn’t take long now, any second and—

The valve yielded and gas exploded out of her belly. I hitched a ride with it, up her esophagus and into her mouth, where the gas left me behind with an, “Uuuurrrp.”

Her tongue and teeth blocked most of my view of the outside world, but I could see the breakfast table. Croissant. That was the mystery pastry. Several buttery flakes of it were stuck to her tongue and cheek, and a few even managed to grab onto the ridges of her palate. There was a small plate with eggs and scrambled bacon on the table as well, a glass of milk, and pieces of bread tossed about. “Uuurp,”another burp climbed up.

She tilted her head up and the table disappeared, replaced by the painting of a snowy landscape hanging from her wall, then the smoke detector above it, and finally the lamp on the ceiling. Her jaws parted wider and a grape fell inside, rolling around on her tongue until it lodged between two molars. There was saliva squirting into her mouth in anticipation. Her teeth gave two quick squeezes and then pressed hard. The grape burst in a purple explosion. Many unfortunate croissant flakes were caught in it and were swallowed with the juice.

I shared their fate.

Her stomach was nearly full now. The half-digested gunk swirled like a slow-moving whirlpool, bubbles occasionally breaking its surface. As soon as the last solid chunks broke down, the entrance to the small intestines would open up and begin draining the egg-bread-bacon-milk-grape-croissant cocktail down her pipes. I watched sadly as the grape’s pulp arrived and melted away.

Three months now: I’ve been trapped inside a woman’s gut for three months. How come nobody ever told me this could happen? All my existence, all I ever heard was: “If a human tries to summon you, you answer it. In the worst-case scenario, the summoner’s terms are unacceptable, and they send you back to hell. In the best-case scenario, they’re a moron and fuck up the binding sigils, making you free to roam Earth until some priest finds you and sends you packing.”

So imagine my excitement when I heard a voice calling any demon. It requested assistance in a, I quote, “a life or death matter of the utmost importance,” and it came from Earth. I rushed to answer the call. It was quite the race—hundreds of nameless devils like me traveling at full speed towards the portal created by whoever was summoning us. The portal would grant passage to a single demon and close as soon as the race’s winner crossed the finish line. I won. Sheer luck—was closer to the gateway than anyone else when it opened.

I crossed from the space between spaces into a white room, where a woman sat on the single bed at its center. She was a frail thing, pale, with red, close-cropped hair, and emancipated. There were several needles coming out of her arm and a large machine monitored her vital signs. Standing beside the redhead (let’s call her Red) was another female—the summoner. She looked to be in her early thirties and had short, spiky black hair.

I noticed, however, that the corners of the room were blurred to me, and that I couldn’t tell what was on the graph on the digital display of the machine keeping Red alive. My sense was dulled. Usually, a demon can know its surroundings to the minute detail, provided there are no physical barriers. (I can draw you every vein embedded in Red’s stomach lining but not the general shape of her spleen.)

“Who calls me?” I tried asking, only to discover I had no voice.

Feeling a bit uneasy, I tried leaving the room, but I didn’t move. No matter how much I willed it, my form was bound to a specific spot.

And then I noticed the tiny glass ball beneath me. There were arcane sigils pulsing with a faint blue light on its smooth surface. A scan over the complicated geometric patterns betrayed no flaws. Every sigil was perfect. They had to be—every little flaw gave the demon more power. I recognized the symbols that muted me and additional ones to curb my telekinesis and biokinesis. It truly was an impressive piece of arcane art—the minute it bound me I ceased being a demon and became a piece of nothingness floating around it.

The summoner picked up the glowing marble and walked over to Red. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Here, hon, take it.”

Red looked the marble over. She had pretty eyes, large and blue, but they stood deep inside purple craters. “What is it? Eye of newt?”

“Nope: Brain of toad. Come on, down the hatch.”

“Are you sure—.”

“Yes; we’ve been over this.”

“But—”

“No buts. Come on, open up.”

The summoner brought the marble (and me, by extension) in front of Red’s mouth. By then I knew I was fucked, but a demon has its pride—I raged; I screamed; I threatened, but it all went unheard. Red wetted her lips; they were full but dry and cracked. Still fucked, I reconsidered the usefulness of pride—I pleaded; I bargained; I begged, but still went unheard. Red opened her mouth and my summoner gently placed the marble (and I) on her tongue; it was dark pink, soft, and quite sticky. Beyond fucked, I watched powerless as the cavity filled with water. “Swallow,” the summoner said, and next thing I know, I’m inside Red’s stomach, amid the still-undigested remains of a hospital meal.

I felt it then: disease, rot, death…Red was dying. I could smell it on her flesh, hear it in her heartbeat. Cancer. I didn’t know which type (still don’t), but I felt it all around me, that singular wrongness that only a malign tumor produces.

It was hard to fathom why I had been stuffed down her throat, though. What was the summoner trying to accomplish? Either Red’s stomach would damage the sigils on the glass ball, in which case I would be free, or the whole ball would continue its journey from gut to Browntown. I couldn’t say how that latter option benefited anyone—it was just a needlessly dickish thing to do to me.

But hours passed, then days, a week, and there I was, a not-so-proud member of her stomachal fauna. And what a thriving ecosystem she had become. The disease was still there—it should’ve killed her by now—and yet: Boom-boom, boom-boom, her heart drummed, as powerful as an Olympic athlete’s. She ate three times a day—big, hearty meals, none of that mushy hospital stuff, and processed everything like a mobster getting rid of a body. She jogged every morning. She fucked every night. And through it all the cancer spread, but her body seemed decided to simply ignore the malignancy and keep functioning.

And it could afford to do so: the bitch had a demon inside her. It took a while, but it finally clicked—possessed people are notoriously difficult to kill. Go ahead: stab ’em, shoot ’em, burn ’em, starve ’em, see if it even slows the fuckers down. And what’s a little lump in your brain or lungs or breasts compared to having your head explode? And though Red wasn’t possessed, she was still technically a demon’s vessel; as long as I was her “guest”, she wouldn’t be punching her clock.

The last of her breakfast descended into her intestines, and the chamber was lit by a soft blue light. There it was, at the bottom of Red’s stomach, covered in glowing arcane sigils. My prison, the (literal) ball at the end of my chain—one of the few things she seemed incapable of digesting.


TWO


The booze’s arrival broke me out of my reverie. It had been a few days since I had alcohol’s illustrious company in Red’s belly. Vodka, with a hint of strawberry and mint, raining down so fast that I half expected the cup to fall here as well. There was no slow-moving whirlpool, though, she was up to something. The liquid crashed and splashed everywhere, and there was a rhythmic thrumming pulsing through the stomach lining. More liquid cascaded down, this time carrying something else: a small pill, with a smiley face drawn on it. Ecstasy. The pill managed to stay afloat for a few moments, looking like a little fishing boat braving an ocean storm, but one particularly strong wave capsized it and it started sinking. It was dissolved before it reached the bottom.

It was an hour after the ecstasy fell down—it and those first waves of drink long absorbed into her system—when Red released the air in her gut. I was in a club; well, she was in a club. The thrum of electronic music was making her taste buds vibrate, her tongue like a wet carpet over a washing machine, and the strobing lights turned globs of saliva into disco balls. A plastic cup touched her lips, and down I went as she gulped strawberry-flavored vodka.

And immediately went up again, the booze right behind me, shooting up the meat tunnel like a geyser. We got all the way up to her mouth, but no further. Red was loath to part with her (probably overpriced) vodka and sent us right back down. Her stomach contracted as if someone was squeezing it from the outside; up we went. And this time the booze shot out like a waterfall, drenching her clothes and shoes (and clothes and shoes of the poor fuckers around her). She ran to the ladies’ room, for all the good it did—by the time she faced a toilet, there had been only an “Uuuurrrp” waiting to come out.

“Fuck,” some other girl said from outside the bathroom stall. “Need help?”

Red faced her, mouth still open, a thin cord of drool hanging from her lower lip. “No. Thanks, I’m fi—Uurp—ne.”

“Alright, then hurry up, dude, I gotta go.”

Red wiped her mouth on her shirt and stood. “Sorry, I—” Another sudden clench of her belly made her double over. Bathroom Girl jumped back out of the splash zone. There was no splash, however; Red’s throat opened up, and something solid squeezed itself out of it. It was round and the sigils carved on its surface glowed with a faint blue light. All this time I thought my deliverance would come from Red’s other end—I can’t tell how many times I saw that fucking marble almost slide down to her pipes. But there we go, out from the same way in; I’ll take it anytime. The marble rolled across Red’s tongue and out her lips, falling onto the floor.

“Jesus!” Bathroom Girl shouted. She kicked the marble, hard. Still attached to it, I bounced across the bathroom’s walls. The Crack! I heard when Glass Ball met Concrete Wall was the sweetest thing ever—they were made for each other. Metaphysical chains snapped as the sigils were damaged.

“Shit,” Red cried, following the marble’s path with her eyes. She’d gotten a lot prettier since that day in the hospital. Her large blue eyes had climbed out of their craters, the cheekbones weren’t so pronounced, the skin was tanned and had a nice shine to it, and her hair had grown down to her ears, red and vibrant. (Demons: the bastard children of the Fairy Godmother and Platinum Health Insurance…who would’ve thought?)

The marble landed on a sink, rolling across the ceramic surface until it lodged in the drain. The two women applying makeup in front of the mirror there ignored it; Red didn’t and stumbled her way over. With the fingernails of her thumb and forefinger, she managed to pry the marble loose and hold it in her hand. “Shit,” she said again. The other two women gave her funny looks.

“There you are,” said a new voice. The summoner was entering the bathroom; she hadn’t changed at all. “Feeling better?”

Red nodded, then gave a drunk smile. “Yeah. But look what came out.”

The summoner was high as a kite, but she had the sense to pale a little bit when her eyes fell on the glowing ball. “Put it back in. Now.”

“How was this thing even inside me? It should’ve passed like ages ago.” She brought the marble close to her face and looked at it. “It was in my gut the whole time?”

“Yes, now put it back. Now. Here”—she passed Red a plastic cup—“to help you swallow.”

“Fine, fine, jeez, relax.” Red washed the marble on the sink, tossed it inside her mouth, and washed it down with a long gulp of beer. “Brrrooap. Happy?”

I was.

I was very happy.


THREE


The ecstasy was leaving Red’s system by the time she hopped into an Uber to head home. She yawned; her two gold fillings glittered under the soft light of the city’s streetlamps.

“Take Fifth, and then turn into Jackson,” the summoner told the driver. She gave Red a wicked grin and shoved her right hand up the other woman’s skirt.

Red returned the grin, her cheeks flushing. “Do you have a toffee?”

“Oh yeah, hang on.”

The summoner stopped rubbing Red’s cunt and plucked a little caramel from her purse. No sooner had she unwrapped it than Red’s mouth shot forward, wide-open, engulfing the candy and most of her fingers; it made an “hhhhhaum” sound that made the girl’s throat vibrate up and down. The summoner giggled and used her fingers to rub the caramel against her partner’s tongue; it quickly began melting. Red lowered her skirt and panties, the latter would fill a bathtub if someone twisted it. The Uber driver was nothing if not professional and kept driving, eyes on the road.

Melted candy coated Red’s tongue and spilled over its sides to pool at the floor of her mouth. Fused with saliva, it had the consistency of syrup. The summoner’s fingers stopped rubbing when there was nothing solid left; they lifted Red’s tongue and then dipped into the sweet pool underneath it.

They were dripping when they left Red’s mouth to make their way down south, to that other pair of lips, where they resumed their rubbing. When Red’s womanhood was good and slathered, the summoner kissed it.

Red moaned, arching her back and tilting her head up. The pool of liquid candy slid to the back of her mouth, bubbles forming in it as she cried “Yes.”

The Uber guy kept driving, eyes up front, hands at ten and two, but now his cheeks were a little flushed. He stopped at a light at Fifth with Benjamin. Two guys walking down the street paused and looked into the back window; one of them knocked on it. Red saw them. She lifted her middle finger and leaned closer, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue, careful not to let any candy spill. One breath. The entire glass fogged over. The light turned green five seconds later and the driver sped away. The two guys waved the car goodbye from the sidewalk, both had bulges on their pants.

Twice more the summoner’s fingers dipped into Red’s mouth as if it was fondue. And twice more she spread the melted caramel over Red’s cunt and munched it clean. As the Uber turned left onto Jackson st. Red finally came. Water gushed from between her legs and soaked the summoner and the car’s backseat. The pool at the back of her throat bubbled as she mumbled things incoherently, and a single line of liquid caramel ran down her right cheek. The summoner wiped it with a finger and then sucked the finger clean.

I felt a sense of envy too great to put into words then. Demons know things—we don’t see, we don’t hear, we don’t smell, we don’t taste, we don’t touch…we know. I know that Red’s tongue is smooth and warm and wet, but I’ll never feel it against any part of me. I know that the liquid soaking the summoner’s face is two-thirds ejaculate and one-third pee and that it is warm, clear, silky, and slightly salty. But I’ll never experience it dripping from my brow, nose, lips, and chin.

Red swallowed the pool of caramel.

And the Uber arrived at their address. The driver looked back to bid the women good night, and his eyes seemed to linger on the backseat’s wet spots. Probably considering if the price of admission was worth the show, I thought. By the little smile on his face, it was; though tomorrow the scale might tip to the other side as he worked to scrub the backseat clean of pussy juice.

Red went immediately to bed after entering their apartment, without even changing clothes or brushing her teeth. She just fell over the covers and past out. The summoner soon followed, right after taking three aspirins and downing a bottle of Gatorade. She left another Gatorade and the rest of the pills on Red’s nightstand and scribbled YOU’RE WELCOME in a note she left there as well. Then she climbed over the bed, rolled over Red to her side, and began softly snoring. All the lights were out. The pointers of the clock above their bedroom’s TV read 04:15.

I had been waiting for this moment since I saw that blasted glowing ball disappear down the bitch’s throat.

Red’s breath washed over me as I allowed the remaining sigils on the marble to pull me in. Oh, yes: I was still bound to the damned thing. But now the leash felt more like a rubber band than a steel chain. I might still be in Alcatraz, but now I had the run o’ the joint.

The remains of the caramel pool still stuck to Red’s tongue like dust on a carpet; her breath was sweet. I slid down to the back of her mouth, gaze turned upward.

And then I reached…


FOUR


Demon possession usually happens in three ways:

a) brute force—a powerful entity just bulldozes over a human’s consciousness and takes control of their body (a method only available to the most powerful beings of the pit); b) erosion—this happens when a demon hounds a victim for weeks, months, or even years, haunting them, driving them mad, tearing down their soul’s strength bit by bit, and then arranging a coup d'état; and finally c) stealth—a method efficiently summarized by the adage ‘You snooze, you lose.’

Stealth is a dangerous method, though. Imagine an unlocked car with the keys on the ignition, but whose owner can pop up in the passenger seat at any time, an owner who can kick you out (if they’re feeling generous) or destroy you, crushing you as easily as a grown man can crush a baby bird. Would you take that car for a joy ride?

Of course, there’s sleep and there’s sleep—waking up from a quick afternoon nap is slightly different than pulling yourself out of a near-coma induced by vodka and ecstasy. I doubted Red would wake if I blew grenades in her ears, rendering a joy ride far less dangerous.

The thrum of electricity from billions of synapses tingled my metaphysical fingers as I snaked them up Red’s cranium, while the bulk of me stayed in her mouth. The purple veins at the back of her throat seemed to stare back at me; I could feel her heartbeat pulsing through the sensitive meat there. Boom-boom…boom-boom…The bedroom’s clock read 04:18.

I then left her mouth, climbing—slowly, silently—inside the storm. I followed the lightning roads that crisscrossed the gray clouds and spread myself over every fork, taking over. Pictures flashed: a little redheaded girl dressed as Dorothy ringing a doorbell. “Trick or treat, mishter,” she said through a gap-toothed smile, holding out a plastic pumpkin. That same girl again, though older now, being told by Lindsey Lott that Ben Richards would ask her to prom. The girl smiled and pretended to be excited, though in her head she said: Ben is nice, but fuck him. It’s you I want to go with. You, damn it!

I spread in her mind like a virus past the point of percolation.

Her college years opened up before me. Freshman year—she and Marina Lafayette were watching a movie in her dorm room; they had made it halfway through before they started kissing and shoving their fingers between each other’s legs. As a sophomore: publishing her first paper, a new optimization heuristic using wavelet transforms that she and Professor Stokes developed. Junior year: meeting the summoner at a party, having her first (non self-inflicted) orgasm that very night. Graduation. (“Will you marry me?” “Yes!”) The sickness. (“I tried Ibuprofen; it doesn’t work.” “Okay, then I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr. Macklin for you.”) The diagnosis. (“I don’t wanna die.” “I won’t let you. I’ll find a way.”) The chemo. (“No hair anywhere? Let’s do the caramel thing.”) The hospital. (“I found a way!”) The magic glowing ball. (“Swallow it.”)

Her eyelids opened.

I saw the world through human eyes. The room was too dark for me to read the clock.

Red’s mouth tasted of candy and stale beer, and her tongue felt rough against her palate. To my side, the summoner kept snoring. She had an arm draped over Red’s chest, and I carefully pushed it away. The skin felt soft and warm under Red’s fingertips.

“I am going to kill you,” I whispered in the brunette’s ear.


FIVE


The white kitchen tiles were cold against Red’s bare feet. There were no drapes over the living room’s window, and the moonlight illuminated most of the small apartment. I could hear a low electric thrumming coming from the fridge. The coffeemaker had a blinking red light on it. And the digital panel of the microwave read HELLO. I found a glass cup by the sink and filled it with water, then began looking for the salt, which I found by the stove. One minute later the beep beep beep of the microwave sounded through the house; the women did not stir.

Warm salt water cascaded down Red’s throat.

And a few minutes later cacophony began sounding in her belly, a low, deep rumble that reverberated through her entire frame. The sound seemed too big for such a small vessel; it was a tectonic sound, the song of the Earth itself—the prelude to a seismic cataclysm. She belched, deep and long and loudly, and the music grew in both speed and intensity, reaching a crescendo…It climaxed in an eruption that would’ve put Mount Vesuvius’s to shame, semi-clear liquid escaping from her mouth in a powerful jet. It splashed over the sink, over the fridge and the stove and the microwave. The floor was soaked, the drawers and cabinets as well. Clack! The tiny glass marble had hit the fucking ceiling.

Through it all, she did not stir, her consciousness (soul, really) trapped in the blackness of a chemical semi-coma.

I picked the damned glass ball up and tossed it right back inside Red’s mouth, and then I made her crunch it. It burst like a grape between her back teeth, and that hateful blue light was finally extinguished; the sigils lost their remaining power; the leash snapped. I was free. The marble’s shards were too sharp to be swallowed, so I plucked them out of her mouth and tossed them back on the floor.

“I’m free,” I whispered.

I made her head twist around 360 degrees.

I made her spine bent backward until her head was touching her ankles.

I made her jaw unhinge.

It felt good to be a demon again.

Back in the bedroom, the summoner slept her last minutes away. She was a messy sleeper; her legs were sprawled wide open, one of them almost falling out of the bed. Her arms as well, the one I had carefully put over her belly had already crossed the border to Red’s side again. Her mouth was ajar, and her eyes moved underneath her eyelids. There was no resistance as I began undressing her, the shirt and pants just slid right off and her limbs fell bonelessly onto the bed again. A tingling heat ignited between Red’s legs and crept up her belly—her body reacting to the sight of her partner’s bare breasts. The soft satin panties went next, exposing a trimmed carpet. The heat on Red’s southern region intensified; her nipples stiffened and poked her shirt.

On the bed, the summoner mumbled something and rolled over, exposing a lovely backside. I gave her head a little shake. Nothing happened. I shook harder. Nada. I tried a slap. She gave a little snort, but that was it. In the end, I shrugged, thinking, Fuck it, and sending a powerful biokinetic burst through Red’s frame. Her jaw unhinged again and her throat opened as wide as a tunnel. Her hands propped the summoner up into a sitting position. I made her kneel behind her partner.

There has never been such an exquisite feeling as what I felt when the bitch’s entire head was engulfed. I could guess where her nose and lips were by rolling Red’s tongue over her face, tasting the salty sweat. And she went right on snoring. (Her breath tickled Red’s tongue.)

Trying to swallow such a big mass was proving a challenge, though—the muscles in Red’ mouth and throat weren’t up to the task, and biokinesis could only do so much; it wasn’t possible to just turn her into a python. So instead of swallowing, I made Red wiggle her head, shaking it down over the summoner, like putting an XS condom on an XL cock. At least there was plenty of saliva to help me out. (Though Red’s body felt lust toward her partner’s, it didn’t feel any emotional attachment to it—it was meat and only meat…and after waltzing into her mouth: food.) Her lips stretched and took in the shoulders. The summoner’s head—still lost in dreamland—mumbled something intelligible as it was pushed down Red’s chest.

Progress was slow and steady. The nipples stiffened as they came into contact with Red’s tongue. The fine hairs along the lower belly stood up as her breath enveloped them, the ones further down were already soaking wet when she licked them. The thighs were silky smooth and slid down easily, as did the ankles and the feet. Her mouth, throat, and chest returned to normal as the summoner curled up in a fetal position inside her stomach…and finally woke up.

The summoner twisted and tried to turn. Her arms and legs pushed against Red’s walls, making bumps rise and fall on Red’s belly. “Wh— What? Where…” She sounded groggy and confused. “Fuck.”

Saying goodbye to her memories and her human senses, I climbed out of Red’s head. The world expanded around my own supernatural awareness. Darkness no longer blinded me, I could read the clock on the wall again (04:49), and I could see through the darkness of Red’s insides. I climbed down her esophagus to what had been my prison/home for these last months.

“Fuck,” the summoner was saying, pushing against the walls. A glob of acid fell on her shoulders, and a rumble shook the entire chamber. She shivered, wiped the glob of acid away, and tried to raise her butt from the digestive lake forming at the bottom of her partner’s stomach. The walls were too strong, though, and didn’t give. “Damn it,” she said, slumping. More globs of acid fell, and the lake beneath her rose; she didn’t seem to care.

“Giving up so soon?” I asked.

She didn’t seem surprised to hear my voice. “Came to gloat?”

“Obviously.”

She laughed; it sounded genuine. “Fuck you, man.”

“You’re going to vex until your dying breath, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?”

“A little bit of panic, some screaming, with begging sprinkled atop it.”

“Like you, that day in the hospital? Oh, yes, I could hear you.”

I laughed; it did not sound genuine. “Fuck you, man.”

Red’s stomach began to roil, the walls closing in on the summoner. They squeezed her like a pair of hands massaging bread dough. “Did you really get her to eat me? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a poet.”

“My muse visits occasionally.”

A single bubble formed in the acid lake. Blub. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Oh, yes.”

She laughed again, and again it sounded genuine. “Oh, well.”

“She’s gonna die when I leave her, you know? The cancer stopped affecting her when you shoved me in, but it didn’t stop growing. I’d give her…hmm…a week? Two, tops?”

“Wow, going for the low blow already?”

“We’re on a clock here, can’t probe all the buttons.”

Blub, blub.

“But it’s alright, you know. She was dead when I shoved you down her throat. I was just buying time.”

“Was it worth it? The three months you bought for the…you had what, sixty years ahead of you?”

She winced a blister formed on her neck. “Yes,” she spoke through clench teeth.

“You really mean that, don’t you?”

Blub, blub, blub.

“Y-Cof-Yes. Even a-Cof-a week w-Cof-would’ve been—Cof, Cof—worth it. A day. Cof.”

I believed her.

Sixty years for three months: it was a demonstrably bad deal. But where was her buyer’s remorse? Where was the eleventh-hour repentance? Where was that prayer that every kid utters as he walks down the classroom to pick up a test he took without studying? Oh, Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, please maketh so that Mrs. Applesworth was on her third pot muffin when she gradeth it. I’ll cram for the next one, cross my heart (and hope to die).

For the second time, tonight I felt envy. Call it a streak of self-destructive behavior, but I wanted to experience what made this woman act so irrational.

I squeezed Red’s stomach as if it were a tube of toothpaste, and the summoner spilled out of her mouth and onto the bed, alive and whole, though several chemical burns marred her skin. (Nothing that a bit of cream couldn’t fix.) She began running her hands over her body to wipe away the bile. When that didn’t work, she started scrubbing it off with the covers. After that had failed, she rushed to the bathroom and hopped in the shower, leaving a trail of wet, green footprints. Red fell on the bed, her body shrinking to its normal proportions.

“Why?” the summoner asked when the thick of her partner’s digestive gunk had gone down the drain. Her voice was low; she knew I was nearby.

“I want to be a part of you.”

“You want to possess me?”

“Not really. You’d be awake and in control of your body, able to kick me out—or kill me—at any time.”

“And if I do?”

“Well, then I’m fucked aren’t I?”

“And let me guess: as long as you’re inside me, no cancer bothers us.”

“Bingo.”

“What happens if you decide to leave?”

“She dies.”

The summoner gulped. She finished washing away the soap and then turned the shower off. “So I’d just be buying time again.”

“Quite cheaply.”

She grabbed a towel and began gently drying her skin, wincing as the fabric touched her burns. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I wasn’t entirely sure? But I am sure I want to rub a caramel against a girl’s tongue until it melts and then lick it off her cunt, a challenging feat when one doesn’t have a body.”

That got a chuckle out of her. “You saw that?”

“Yep. The Uber driver saw as well…and those guys outside that bar.”

She looked up, startled. “What guys?”

“Nevermind.”

“If I agree to this,” she started, “I’ll have to tell my wife. She has to be on board as well.”

“As I said: kick me out any time.”

She shrugged, looked up in the air, and opened her mouth. “Come in.”

When we returned to the bedroom, it was too dark to read the clock.


END


SHAMELESS PLUG: if you guys liked this story, consider checking out the novella I wrote: Devouring Godhood, a high-fantasy/vore dark comedy. It’s around 40k words long (120 pages), and it does have a bit more focus on the plot and characters than the short story you just read, though there’s still plenty of kink in it. It’s on amazon right now at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08JHX3FRT

Thanks for reading.