Daemon

by HAL

Caution: This Fantasy Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Heterosexual, Paranormal, .

Desc: Fantasy Story: Possessing a daemon can be a very useful thing, but it carries risks too.

There are three types of magician:

The ones who can do a couple of card tricks. Everybody knows they are tricks; attention distraction, clever maths, or a card hidden under the pack; that kind of thing. They can be clever or they can be awful, but everyone knows they are sleight of hand.

Then there are the ones – Penn and Teller, Paul Daniels, David Blane types – who do some amazing trick and we all say “Woww! How did they do that?” But we know they are tricks, just not how they are done.

Then there are the teeny, tiny, minority like John – the ones where the magic is real. These are the ones to be wary of, the ones who can bend the laws of physics or nature because their magic is outside those normal laws.

And these last aren’t Harry Potter children growing up to be wizards in Unseen University or wearing a white hat and carrying a staff that can burn like white hot metal. These are the ones who are possessed by, or who possess, a daemon. And that difference is crucial. Hitler, seemingly invincible in battle over and over; a mere corporal who apparently had a genius for strategy and tactics until he was convinced of his own genius. Then his daemon moved on and he was left to experience the collapse of all his dreams into personal and national nightmares. Being possessed by a being with no sense of fair play, empathy or morality is always going to end in disaster.

The small, infinitesimally small minority now, who possess a daemon stand a better chance. The Merlin’s of this world, who can bend the devil’s skills to human desires rather than the reverse. Few enough in the past, virtually nonexistent now. Who knows the words to conquer a daemon? There are languages that encompass magic. Some of the Native American languages allowed them to see beyond the world they lived in, it didn’t save them from the non-magical destructive power of English. The Australian Aborigines kept, and keep. their words of magic secret and persist in seeing the world beyond the envelope. Another is Celtic; all of these include some of the words of power and magic, the meanings now forgotten; woven into the natural speech, pronunciations changed over generations until they have lost their power.

John was no linguist; just idly interested in magic and Celtic studies; his mother’s mother was Irish; his great grandfather was Welsh. He took an interest, that was all. Back in his home town, preparing for his history degree, wandering into his library and leafing through dusty reference books that nobody read, like the reprint of the ‘A Medieval Philosophy’. There, in the footnotes, was the incantation that Sir Thomas Wolfrot was supposed to have been heard saying (and, unusually, he was actually guilty as charged); an incantation in Gaelic, it was said. John Franks read it to himself, then said quietly out loud. He mispronounced the Welsh appallingly (because it was Northern Welsh, not Gaelic at all), and, as luck would have it, in this way he returned the words to what they were meant to be, not what the Welsh had transliterated them to. Even then, what are the odds that others had done the same in the forty eight years this unloved volume had sat, mostly ignored, on the shelf? But one other synchronicity had to be in place, a devil had to be near by. He (let us call him ‘he’, of course daemons have no sex, and are all sex, they cannot be bound by he, she, or it) was standing behind a girl of seventeen who was being drawn (with his help) into looking up more and more aberrant sexual practices when she was meant to be researching Anne Boleyn. She was sitting on the next table to John. As he read the incantation quietly out loud, there was a ‘pop’ and a rush of wind that blew her papers to the floor and mixed them with Gareth Blue’s notes on Biometrical Determinism. John was aware of a new presence in his life, nothing more.

What he had done, unwittingly, was chant the lore of possession. It only worked on daemons nearby, but it was inviolable, he now had command over the daemon. It would take a while to realise.

So, how do you realise that you have possession of an invisible person? Well, there are probably various ways: you could demand it make itself visible, but then you would have to know about it first; another way is for your consciousness to slowly become aware. You might go mad of course, but John didn’t. Subconsciousness is just ‘under’ consciousness, it isn’t unconsciousness. John started to have dreams. He dreamt of ‘things’, at first they were just shapeless beings that he knew were there without seeing them; we all have dreams like that, usually nightmares. These weren’t scary, that was the first thing he noted, there was a feeling of power in the dream; and he had the dream every night. Every single night. He got used to it and accepted the ‘thing’ round the corner, and so he was able to look round the corner before he woke. What he saw was humanoid, but vague at first.

John liked fantasy novels, he liked Celtic mythology; he was already thinking his degree thesis project might be on fact and fiction in mythology. So he wasn’t as phased and spooked by his dreams as he might have been. At first he put it down to his reading, but when he started reading simple histories of Ireland and Wales, rather than The Mabinogion or Mort d’Arthur, the dreams persisted.

The real breakthrough came after several weeks, when the image, a kind of red line-drawing of the outline of a person as it seemed to him, was visible in dim light when he was awake. He started to think that either his brain had some aberration or he was seeing something new.

His next step into the unknown was accidental. He was sitting in the window of Starbucks, drinking an Americano with milk and scoffing at the pseuds ordering Super-skinny machifrappachino with extra cream and an ice cube. He watched a woman walk past, dragging two children who were clearly being difficult.

“I wonder if she regrets having them” he thought and immediately found an answer in his head ‘they aren’t even hers, they are from her husband’s first marriage’

He laughed to himself and watched a pretty sixteen year old in school uniform “Wow! Sex on a stick, I bet she’s good naked”. ‘No, her bra is padded, and she’s a virgin, not sure if she wants to be a lesbian or not’

Again he laughed to himself, wondering how he came up with these stories. An old woman was walking with a stick the other way and, briefly looked at the girl. “Probably doesn’t approve”. ‘Oh, I had a body like that once. If only ... if only I had slept with Michael more than three times before he was killed in the war. If I hadn’t got pregnant it would have been fine, but nobody wanted me then. Water under the bridge I know. But I still miss sex, damn it! Even after seventy years.’ He felt a giggle in his head now.

“What the fucking hell are you?”

‘You don’t need to speak. You can sense me and I can sense you.’

‘Okay, why was that funny?’

‘People are, she’s a silly old crone still wanting to have sex at eighty nine. People are funny’

‘Am I losing my mind?’

‘As to that, you might, in time. But this isn’t what’s happening now.’

‘So ... what are you?’

‘I’m a daemon, you chanted the lore of possession’

“Well, where are you from”

‘That question has no meaning. Being from somewhere implies I am somewhere else now. I am not. I simply am. In your world I am defined within the 3 dimensions, in others I have no need of such restrictions’

‘No, no I’m not buying this. Maybe I smoked some bad weed’

‘You don’t smoke weed. The only time you tried it, you were sick; which might have something to do with the fact that the weed then was dried nettles.’ Again with the giggle. Demons like it when humans get it wrong.

‘I know this can’t be happening, so if I give you a test, it isn’t because I believe in you’

‘I don’t give a flying fuck if you believe in me, I exist whether you want it or not. You possess me, I don’t have to respect you. What fucking test you stupid cunt?’

‘Tell me some fact that I can’t know.’

‘I can do better than that. See that girl out on the street? Yes, the one with the short skirt. Watch her ankles.’ Suddenly a sliver of cloth slid down her legs to her feet. She looked around, stepped out of the panties that had lost their elastic, and walked on. ‘Hmm, classy. Keep watching.’ She tripped and fell, revealing that, yes, indeed, she wasn’t wearing any panties now. ‘Okay? How did you know that would happen if I hadn’t caused it. Oh fuck, you aren’t convinced? Okay, Manchester United against Sutton Coldfield tomorrow. Sutton Coldfield 7, Manchester United 1. Put a bet on Sutton to win.’

The game was a travesty. Pogba’s laces came undone as he was about to score; de Gea swore at the referee and got sent off; Rashford and Mata started having an argument which ended up with them slapping, kicking and biting each other (‘ManU players have hissy fit’) and getting red carded. How few players can a team continue to play with? Valencia managed to score three thrilling goals, but they were all own goals. Manchester United’s one goal came from a petulant kick by Rooney which went three-quarters of the way up the pitch and dribbled across the opposing team’s line. ‘Yes’ explained the daemon ‘I couldn’t stop the laws of chance. He gets praised for a stunning goal when it was actually just him losing his temper! Still, you have to be convinced now.’

‘How did you do that? You said you couldn’t leave my side.’

‘One of the Sutton Coldfield players is possessed by a daemon who owes me a favour or two. So, you won how much?’

‘£100, if I’d predicted the score I could have won much more’

‘Nah, they would have assumed it was a fixed game, which it was’

‘Right, right. So I can see you better now, like a pink shimmer. Why-’

‘Because you believe I exist you dum shit! How the fuck did you get to trap a daemon when you are as thick as a shitty stick?’

‘If I own you, you -’

‘You DON’T own me. You possess me! Are you trying to wind me up? You can’t be as stupid as you pretend to be’

‘Not sure what the difference is, but anyway, if I possess you how come you can be so rude to me?’

‘Owning is permanent. I am owned by the Supreme; you call it Beelzebub or Lucifer; you possess me, which is temporary – I hope! I don’t think I can stand working for such a fucking dickhead! As to the other, I can be as rude - I would say honest – as I like because you haven’t told me not to. I have to do as I’m told. So simple even you can understand I think’

‘Right, right. So if I say stop being rude to me you will?’

‘Correct you slow witted moron’

‘Heh! I said stop!’

‘No ... no you didn’t! You asked what would happen if you did tell me to stop’

‘Fucking hell! Okay, stop being rude to me!’

‘Yes master’

It would take a time to understand what he had got himself into. He started asking some questions. ‘So you’re a daemon?’

‘Yes master’

‘I assume you are immoral and I need to get exorcised as soon as possible’

‘No’

‘No?’

‘No’ The daemon sighed loudly, the closest he could get to being rude now. ‘Let me explain. For a start, you are not possessed, you possess. That story in the black book? Yes, yes, you DO know what I mean. There are things we can’t say; I mean literally cannot say. Anyway that story about sending the demons into a herd of pigs. THAT was exorcism. HE was good at it. Not surprising really given how his father threw the Supreme out. I mean physically, He threw him out!

Where was I? Yes, you possess. So you control me, not the other way.’

‘Sort of like the magic lamp genie and three wishes and stuff?’

‘Yes, only genies are very much the low end demons. Yes, okay, give me time. I am a daemon, not a demon. We don’t go in for possession of you slow-witted types. I’m not being rude, that is just a fact, you are slow-witted compared to us so it gets boring controlling you after a while; that’s why they start making them do silly stuff, just for amusement really.

Now, as to immoral. No, that would imply that morals exist and we rebel against them. Morals are for you people infected with the desire to please Him even if you don’t know it. No, I am amoral; completely different. Though I say it myself, that’s what makes us more fun to possess. You could tell me to make that person’ he indicated the waitress ‘slip and have an amazing accident with the liquidizer in which her hand was completely turned to slushy. Or you could tell me to make her win the lottery grand prize an amazing three weeks running. Or both. It’s all the same to me. I don’t care you see, because I don’t have any morals to lose. I am amoral. Get it? Like Google or Putin. Anything that gets what you want; the only difference is I don’t feel the need to dress it up as being what’s right because -’

“You don’t care, yeah, I get it” He said it out loud, the waitress never turned a hair, assuming he was talking on his phone. ‘Okay, you see that smarmy git over there? Yeah the one with the fancy tie and the loud ‘I’m so special’ voice; yeah the one waiting for his colleagues so he can go in to fleece some business for a fortune. He’s been really arrogant and superior to the waitress, the blonde one clearing tables.’

‘You fancy her? I can make her want to drag you to the toilets and give you a blow job?’

“No! Ooops” ‘I mean no, well, maybe. That’s not the point. Anyway. Can you make his cup tip over him? That would teach him wouldn’t it?’

‘Well, no it wouldn’t. He’s a self-satisfied son of a bitch so no, it won’t teach him anything. And I don’t care who he’s been mean to; I told you I’m -’

‘Amoral, yeah I get it’

‘Wouldn’t it be better if someone spilt their full cup over him?’

‘No, that would get someone else in trouble, his cup is fine’

‘Okay, it’s only half full. I’ll do my best to really piss him off for you.’ At that moment his colleagues came in; all self-confident salesy types in flashy suits and high heels (the woman that is). As they arrived at his table, one of them stumbled and knocked the table. Nothing happened, the cup stayed perfectly upright.

“PHEW! That could have been messy eh? I’ll finish it before you knock it over properly” said the man and reached for it. He knocked the edge of it, the lid came off and the contents – a luke warm latte – cascaded over the table, onto his Versace pink tie and dribbled embarrassingly onto his crotch. He leapt up screaming many and various swear words, calling the attention of the whole cafe to his plight. Many giggled, it wasn’t just John who had taken a dislike to this loud, noisy, irritating waste of space. “I can’t fucking do the pitch like this. It looks, it looks...”

“Like you’ve got really excited over this sale and cum inside your trousers” the woman had mixed with salesmen too long and acquired their ballsey attitude. “Relax. Stay here, we’ll do it and come back in a couple of hours. You might have dried out by then”

The team strode out not long after, as they went the daemon told John ‘Amazing, they really are demons in training. Everyone of them is thinking whether they can cut him out of sharing the commission’ The man was rubbing his groin with a napkin in the vain hope that he might clean up and still get to go. ‘You want me to get that middle-aged lady to go over and tell him to stop masturbating?’

‘No, that’s fine. If I leave, you come with?’

‘Of course, you possess me. I stay with you all the time’

‘So I see no-one else can see you. Can you make me invisible too? Can you make me fly? Can you take me to the moon?’

‘Yes, yes, and yes. Though that last one would obviously kill you as you’d still need to breath. The last time I was possessed was 1536, that time was a woman and she wanted to be invisible too. Is it something you all want? Are you all insecure?’

‘No, well, maybe. I was just thinking about the girls’ changing rooms at school. Too late now of course. But maybe when term begins’

‘You’ll be at University.’

‘Not for a couple of weeks. What about the swimming baths?’

‘Lead on MacDuff’

‘Lay on! It’s lay on’

‘I know, I’m impressed you do’

They went to the swimming baths and John ostentatiously walked past the booth. No-one shouted. He really was invisible. Dare he? Yes. He walked into the womens’ changing rooms behind two teenage girls and followed them into their cubicle. Quickly he climbed up onto the wall and watched as they undressed. He was disappointed to see that they were careful to avoid showing much to each other, and therefore to him. ‘Boys would have let it all hang out’

‘But girls are taught, from the moment they can walk, to keep their legs together, not to show their panties, etcetera. It’s weird, a girl’s cunt is super-special and private, the boys ugly penis and balls are fine for anyone to see’

‘A bit simplistic, but I understand’

‘Try the sauna, or a single in a changing room’ He looked around and carefully clambered along the walls to spy on another girl on her own. She stripped off entirely and looked at herself in detail. “Hmm” she said “Not bad. Thomas, you’re getting fucked tonight!”

“Lucky Thomas” said John, and the girl spun round like she had been stung.

“Who said that?” He stayed absolutely still. Eventually, after a minute, she concluded it had been an odd echo and put her bikini on and left.

‘You’ll have to be careful’ thought the daemon to John. ‘Invisible doesn’t mean silent’

‘Right, right, of course. By the way, do you have a name?’

‘Of course’

‘And?’

‘And?’

‘What is it?’

‘Ah, well. All demons, devils, daemons and anti-angels have a name given by the Supreme when we left with him. Our heavenly name stayed in heaven. But that name is private and secret; knowing our name leaves us open to summoning. But I will answer to what ever you want’

‘I shall call you Derek, okay?’ The daemon shrugged like he didn’t care. Actually he disliked the name Derek, but at least it wasn’t Kevin or Clive ... or Donald. He shuddered to think of having to answer to the name Donald. ‘But you didn’t say you couldn’t tell me. So ... what is your real name? After all, I don’t know what a summoning is, let alone how to use it’

Derek sighed again, humans were tricksy. ‘my real name is Gritsh-Yandik’ John wasn’t sure how he had ‘heard’ the hyphen, but it was definitely there. ‘What’s next?’

They walked the streets committing minor infractions, a greengrocer’s stall collapsed, letting the melons roll across the road; a changing room curtain suddenly falling to the floor at just the wrong moment; traffic lights that went green and red at the same time; and a train crossing that stayed warning of a train coming for half an hour. Naturally John was thinking of a few people to get his revenge on, but he was assured that this possession was not time or wish limited, he didn’t need to rush.

Back at home his fifteen year old sister was doing her homework. She had that girlish appearance of innocence combined with the bust and hips that said she was now a woman in all but name. “What time’s tea Mum?” She squarked and announced she had finished her homework and would have a bath.

‘Can I walk through doors?’

‘You mean closed ones?’

‘Yes, obviously. Anyone can walk through an open door. Come on, can I?’

‘Yes’

‘Let’s go’ They went to his room and waited for the sound of running water to stop, then waited a little longer. Then he walked onto the landing, invisible, and walked towards the bathroom door. Would this work? He had a brief glimpse of the wood in the middle of the door and then he was standing looking at his sister, naked, in the bath. Only he got more than expected.

Her bush was floating back and forth in the waves gently made by her hand rubbing herself up and down. She was lying with her eyes closed and gently rubbing the top of her slit with a couple of fingers; her other hand was stroking her breasts. John wanted to touch her but the daemon held him back and thought-whispered ‘she would go crazy if she thought there was a poltergeist in the bathroom’. So he watched as his sister breathed harder and finally gave the smallest “Yip” before holding her breath as she rubbed still harder.

She let out a sigh, that was so nice.

“Carrie, John! Tea time!” came the call from below and John left with Derek. Carrie appeared flushed, from the bath she said, a little while later.

Later, John asked ‘Why did you stop me touching her? Why did you care?’

‘Well, you would have been upset if you had made her go crazy. You might take it out on me. But next time your parents are out I can make her rabid for sex with you if you want’

‘I’ll think about it’

Actually he knew he wouldn’t think about it. He felt guilty having watched her rubbing herself in the bath. He had wanted to see her pubescent body, that was all. The knowledge that she was already as far advanced in sexual desires as him was not information he wanted. It was nearly as bad as seeing his mother and father having sex – the daemon had offered that too. The trouble with an amoral daemon as a familiar was there was no brake on what it would do for you; there was no look of disgust or horror at an idea too gross to be considered. Derek would do anything. As he explained in a brief moment of honesty ‘If you want to watch your Dad fuck your sister with a hot poker; I don’t care. I’ll arrange it. You see, if I have no moral standpoint then nothing is my fault. Whatever happens is your fault because you wish it in that seedy little mind that every human has but tries to pretend they haven’t. Let me tell you about the Victorians before that killjoy General Booth got involved: lots of fine upstanding publically blameless Victorian men were perfectly happy to buy an eleven year old, claim she was thirteen, drug her and rape her. That’s the average human mind for you; you haven’t changed, see the Middle East if you don’t believe me’

John was bright enough to realise he had to be careful. Fucking his sister was tempting, but he wouldn’t give in ... would he?

.

.

.

‘You really fancy Michaela Moran don’t you?’

‘Everyone does’ Michaela Moran was the blonde of all blondes – at least for this town’s seventeen and eighteen year olds. Long, wavy natural blonde hair. She hadn’t had it cut since she was ten and she brushed it a hundred times every morning. It was fed with a deleriously expensive concoction of oils and fruit juices. She actually had the hair that every model in shampoo adverts pretended to have. Her breasts had that slight jump as she walked, that little lift and fall that said ‘my tits are too large to control, but firm and supple too’. In a skirt, jeans or swim suit, her stomach was as flat as a pancake until it produced a slight mound at the top of her legs. Her bottom was tight and firm ‘a nutcracker’ as Steven Brill once put it. No-one was sure if he meant the fruits of the tree or the bollocks between his legs. All agreed he was right. Her legs were thin, but shapely. Not bony sticks, they had muscles that rippled gently as she walked. Her knees and elbows were sensual; and that is almost impossible for anybody. And her face was a perfection of nearly biometrical symmetry. Total symmetry is not as attractive as near symmetry. Her blue-grey eyes were large and surrounded by lashes that hardly needed enhancing. Her lips were always swathed in something to make them shine. At school it had been simply lip salve; outside, a range of colours from red to blue always seemed to draw any boy to want to lock lips. She was very selective though. She had small ears which hid well under her golden locks. Even without foundation and blusher she had a pale skin with peach coloured cheeks; and even after sports when she had run her wonderful body round the track in a mesmeric display of female perfection, her cheeks still had a gentle rosy glow rather than the sweaty red of, say Holly Little (who was the sport queen of the school). Every heterosexual boy over fifteen, every heterosexual teacher under fifty and every lesbian of any age in the school fancied Michaela Moran.

‘So’ went on Derek ‘You want to fuck her?’ He could be very abrupt.

‘Of course, but, well, it would be my first time. I don’t want to have a girl who is half controlled by a daemon before she’d let me have her’

‘Very commendable sir. I look forward to you retiring at seventy and still a virgin. You’re also, if you don’t mind my saying, rather hypocritical. There is to be a party at Seth Godber’s next weekend, all the hip people will be there, including the lovely Michaela. Correct me if I’m wrong, but if your randy little body got an invite, and she was drunk and offered herself to you, you would accept a drunken siren quite happily?’

‘Well, yyeess I suppose so. But I won’t get an invite because I’ve got brain cells and Seth Godber’s friends are either thick, rich or sporty’

‘Or all three. I’m a daemon remember? Lets liven up the party by splashing out on a few more invites shall we?’ John looked at his daemon, smiled and nodded. He didn’t expect that his invitation would arrive in the post. A gold embossed invitation.

Terry rang him up “What’s up? Listen, I got an invitation to Seth Godber’s party, a gold invite like it was all official and all. Is this a wind up”

“I got one too. So did my sister! She’s working on Mum at the moment, wants me to promise to look after her.”

“Andy and Sandy got invitations too” Andy and Sandy were the Math Club geeks. They ate, lived and slept maths. It was said that they used geometry to work out the best angle for sex. Amazingly this story was true, and Sandy was very happy with the result. Andy was pretty happy too, being a small, weedy, nerd with a girlfriend and a lot of sex. They didn’t get out much though because maths really isn’t a good chat up line.

Derek had done well. John had been told to be near Seth in the shopping mall. Derek then simply ‘influenced’ him to go crazy. Seth went to PrintaPronto and got the invites made up and spent a whole Sunday in his room putting them in envelopes. Afterwards he wondered why he hadn’t emailed people, why he had invited so many people and why he had invited people he didn’t even like. Then John (and Derek) walked past him in MacDonalds Burger Bar (a flagrant ripoff of McDonalds that arose and closed before the lawyers got their teeth into it), and Seth simply stopped thinking about it.

So, the party was going to be huge. How is it that parties inviting loads of teenagers can somehow be kept a secret from the adults whose home is about to be trashed? John finally agreed to chaperone Carrie, and his Mum finally gave up with a migraine from the incessant pleading. John and Carrie’s dad just went along with anything that their mum said. So she could go! Her first big party with drink and smokes and cannabis and boys, especially AND boys!

“Carrie, look, we have to talk”

“John, I’m so excited, thank you thank you thank you thank you. I’ll take the garbage out for the rest of the summer. I’ll clean your room. I’ll -” John stopped her, damn! He was pretty sure she would have offered him the view he already had if he’d asked. But he stopped her. She just went on and on like a noisy clock!

“Carrie! Listen, you have to promise me, on everything you hold most dear. Promise! You will not have sex. Smoke, take party poppers, drink; but do not. Do Not! Have sex. Promise! Mum will chop off my balls if I don’t bring you back a virgin”

“A virgin like you” she laughed at him “Relax, I won’t have sex, even if the hottest, neatest boy offers to lick me out -”

“Euuuw! Carrie! I’m your brother!”

“You brought it up. I won’t have sex. I’m not on the pill, and I’m not stupid. Your balls are safe.

Oh, John? Party poppers are those little things that go ‘pop’ when you pull the string, I think you just mean poppers.”

“Yeah, I know”

‘You didn’t though did you?’ put in Derek.

‘Since you’re listening in, when we’re at the party, you are to keep an eye on her. If she gets into trouble let me know’

‘Will do Mr Boring!’

He still wasn’t sure if he was going to use his new found power to seduce Michaela; but he did accept the argument that if, on a dark night and she was drunk, he got the chance to get into her pants, he would. Was alcohol really any different to satanic power? Well, yes, maybe it was.

‘Look’ imagined John ‘lets just say I did, you know.’

‘Fuck Michaela Moran into oblivion?’

‘Well, yeah, lets just say I did, make love to her. Would it be possible to make sure she didn’t regret it?’

‘Oh sure, easy. We just get you to give her the hottest orgasm in the bloody world’

‘You can do that?’

‘She’s not a virgin. Oh, you didn’t know? Yeah, her cousin was first, three years ago ... I read her mind when I saw you were interested. Then Bozo Jim’

‘Jim the football captain?’

‘Yes! Who else is so thick they have to follow written instructions to tie their laces? Yeah, he just thought she was a bimbo. She hasn’t got a high opinion of sex for pleasure. She uses sex appeal to get stuff, but she’s not that keen on the old jiggy-jiggy because she’s never had much fun; just a sore cunt and a mouth full of spunk. Even you can’t disappoint.’

‘Thanks Derek. But that isn’t what I asked.’

‘Can I make her orgasm? No, no I can’t. Can I tell you what to do a second before she thinks it herself? Yes, I can do that. You have to do the work, but she’ll think you’re pretty special if you follow instructions and don’t get carried away on a wave of your own semen’

‘You’re really very crude, you know that?’

‘Thanks. I call a spade a spade and a vagina a cunt. What do you want? A daemon or an angel?’

The date of the party came closer and Carrie got more excited. She spent ages trying on clothes. Should she look sexy or unattainable? “What sort of party will it be?” she asked John, who admitted he had no idea. He was as much in the dark as she was. He was also still deciding what to do about Michaela. The days between the invites arriving and the party had been spent with little acts of teenage fun.

He also got a job. Actually the two things came together. His job was in the lingerie shop in the town. They wanted a stock keeper. The manager could never explain why they employed a boy instead of a girl as normal. The role consisted of finding the right size in the store room for a customer. Someone would find the Classique C-Cup too small and want it in mauve instead of white, and he would look for it. It was the kind of work he enjoyed, fingering women’s bra and panties. The shop girls would come in to the store room to have their lunch or for a coffee; and they also liked to try the underwear on; clothes they couldn’t afford, even with their discount. There was a small amount of mental adjustment by Derek, which allowed the girls to happily show him what the bra and panties looked like on them. He enjoyed that job, even though it didn’t pay too well.

There was the occasion when a young woman, late twenties, came in just when all the shop girls on the floor were busy. Tracey and Miranda were on their lunch break. Mrs Mackintire looked around just as John appeared with a bra for a customer “Oh, you, yes, look I’ve been wondering if I’m buying the right size bra, could you possibly measure me please?”

Now the girls had messed around a few times in the storeroom, letting him measure them (bra on of course), so he knew what to do. He also knew that this woman was unlikely to ask him without some prompting. But she was attractive and stylish and he invited her into the measuring cubicle. The girls looked amazed, then carried on with their work; they weren’t going to get involved, if this customer wanted him to measure her, well fine.

She took off her blouse and reached round to undo her bra “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary madam” John blurted out and reached up with shaking hands to wrap the measuring tape around her, below her bra. ‘You coward’ whispered Derek into his head, but John mentally told him to shut up. Then he took a deep breath and wrapped the tape around her at the fullest point of her breasts. Looking up on the chart he announced “Thirty Six, lovely DD cup”.

“Ah, you see? I was told I was a D cup before. Do you really think I’m a DD? Did you say lovely?”

“Sorry madam, it just slipped out”

“Oh I see, well I never let anything slip out” she smiled sexily at him and dressed “You can stop salivating now, young man”

“Yes madam. Can I ask what sort of bra you are looking for? With larger breasts like yours, you might want more support than a simple lacy concoction like you have on?”

“My, you are forward. Well, show me what you have” As they left the cubicle to look at the bras, the manager was rushing over, ready with lots of apologies and explanation “Oh don’t worry dear, This young man is very professional” and so he continued to serve his first customer. She paid for a couple of bra and pant sets and she tipped him a tenner. She hadn’t had so much fun since the young gynaecologist had treated her. After, he retreated to the toilets – which were unisex since there had never been the need for male toilets before – until his erection retreated. When he returned, nobody mentioned anything at all about it.

.

.

.

“Carrie, are you sure? It’s very revealing” John was trying to put her off wearing the bra and panties he had bought for her with his discount – to much jokey comment from the girls until they heard he was buying it for his sister, then they all thought he was sweet. ‘You could have half of these girls without my help, you know that don’t you?’ Derek informed him. The bra was very lacy, and the top was low cut. He could see her nipples. He tried to look away ... and failed.

“But you bought it for me”

“I didn’t realised you were going to wear it with that top. Mum will never let you out like that”

“I’ve thought of that.” She put another top on. “I’ll change on the way” What had he done? She was sexier than most of the girls his age “Relax, John; I haven’t forgotten my promise. I won’t come home expecting twins”

“Good,”

They set off across the town; As predicted, her sensible top had got her out of the house safely, particularly since she’d deliberated distracted her mother with a sexy leather skirt, which she had to change. Once the reached the shopping mall, she went into the alcove of an emergency exit. “Heh! No looking” she said as he snuck peeks of her as she took off the sensible top and pulled on the lowcut one. It didn’t hide much to be honest. John adjusted his clothing guiltily before she came out in her party wear; he didn’t think he should be getting an erection over his little sister. Now he couldn’t help thinking about her in the bath and how he had looked and how, yes he had knocked one out later than night thinking of her. He justified it to himself at the time with arguments like ‘she doesn’t know so it can’t hurt’, or ‘it will only be this once’. But now he had the image of her sweet body lying in the bath, gently manipulating her labia with her fingers and cupping her pretty little tits, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

‘You need a distraction’ opined Derek ‘Michaela would provide that. It would do you good’

He had to admit, the argument made some sense.

The party was a riot; both in the sense of being great fun, and in the sense of being a riot. Seth Godber’s house was set back, in large gardens. He was rich, or at least his parents were. Like an archetype for a movie about a dysfunctional family, his parents were bound up in their own affairs and left him and his brother Tom to their own devices. Which was why Tom was now doing six months for repeated DUI offences; the judge had let him off at first ‘because he was from a good family’, fined him heavily ‘to teach him an important lesson’ and then put him in the slammer ‘in the hope that you might learn some sense’. What he was learning, at that very moment, was that smoking dope in prison meant you owed the friendly supplier something in return, and what that something was, was a blow job. He wouldn’t learn not to drink, he now had a reason to drink all the time to blot out what had happened to his pretty face and arse in prison. What this all meant was that Seth Godber was on his own when Mummy and Daddy went off to the opera for the weekend. And Seth Godber was not one to ignore a house-sitting opportunity. It’s true he had intended to invite a select group of male friends plus the prettiest cheer leader types from school (those who had left and those who would be heading back for another year of boring hell learning stuff that wouldn’t get you a rich husband or an easy, well-paid job). But he wasn’t actually that worried about the 93 people he had, in fact, invited. He wasn’t even that fussed if they trashed the house. He was cool.

And the house was going to get trashed. How Seth had acquired the booze, no-one ever knew, but he’d been very generous. Beer kegs and wine bottles in the kitchen seemed enough to lubricate an army, food in the dining room (courtesy of a catering company which Mummy and Daddy had an account with) looked very tasty. Some was already trodden into the carpet when John, Carrie and Derek arrived. ‘Oh, goody. This is going to be fun’ Derek informed John. He looked at a girl in a bright red top and she took a boy’s beer glass and poured it down her front, making her top stick to her bra-less breasts.

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Story tagged with:
mt/ft / Heterosexual / Paranormal /