Chapter 1 The Demon’s Touch #5
I collapsed onto the bench, my entire body trembling. My mind was blank, completely fucked out in the best possible way. I had no idea what species had just done that to me, and honestly? I didn't care. It had been incredible.
I don't know how long I sat there, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person. Eventually, I managed to stand on shaky legs and grab my towel from where I'd dropped it. I needed a shower. Badly.
The corridor was empty when I emerged, and I made my way back downstairs to find the showers. The locker room had a big open plan shower, but I bypassed it for a private stall. I needed to clean up and clear my head.
The hot water felt amazing, washing away the sweat, cum, and that strange slick fluid from the tentacles. I stood under the spray for a long time, letting it beat down on my shoulders while I processed everything that had just happened.
Once again, I hadn’t quite gotten a chance to decompress before the shower curtain behind me pushed aside.
I turned, expecting to see an apologetic man standing there, having accidently intruded on me.
But instead I saw something that made my heart skip a beat and my cock twitch with renewed interest.
Michael.
He was still in his demonic form, all dark skin and glowing red eyes, those spiraling horns catching the bathroom light. Steam swirled around him, making him look even more otherworldly. His gaze raked over my naked, wet body with obvious appreciation.
"Having fun?" he asked, his layered voice sending a shiver down my spine despite the hot water.
"You could say that," I managed, very aware that my cock was already half-hard again just from looking at him. "Been watching me?"
"I can sense what happens in my establishment." He stepped closer, not bothering to close the curtain behind him. Water began to spray across his chest, darkening his skin. "You've been very popular tonight."
"Yeah, well..." I didn't know what to say to that. What was the protocol after getting fucked by tentacles in a glory hole booth?
Michael reached out, running one clawed finger down my chest, careful not to scratch. "So where are you going next?”
"I was kind of in the middle of cleaning up," I said, but I didn't step back. Couldn't step back. He was magnetic, pulling me in without even trying.
"Mmm." His hand traveled lower, tracing the line of my hip. "And now?"
"Now I'm standing in a shower with a demon," I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended. "Still trying to figure out if this is the best or worst decision I've ever made."
"Why not both?" He pressed closer, his body heat rivaling the shower's. "You don't strike me as someone who plays it safe, Brad."
He wasn't wrong. Safe would have been walking out of this place the moment I fixed the sauna. Safe would have been a lot of things I hadn't done tonight.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, tilting my head back to meet those burning red eyes.
"Right now?" His hand wrapped around my cock, which was now fully hard again. Fucking hell, where was my refractory period? "I want to hear you moan my name while I fuck you."
My breath caught. "That's pretty direct."
"I'm a demon, not a poet." He stroked me slowly, his grip perfect. "Besides, I can smell how much you want this. Want me. Your body's been craving it since the moment you saw my real form."
I wanted to argue, to say he was wrong, but we both knew it would be a lie. Whatever pheromones or magic he was putting off, my body was responding exactly the way he said. I was aching for it, for him, in a way I'd never felt before.
"The shower's kind of small," I said weakly.
Michael's laugh was dark and rich. "Then we'll use the open showers." He released my cock and grabbed my wrist, tugging me out of the stall.
"Wait, I'm not—" But he was already pulling me toward the large shower area where several other men were already chatting or washing up. Some glanced our way, their eyes widening when they saw Michael in his demonic form, but no one said anything. They just watched with profound interest.
Michael positioned me in the center of the space, right under one of the larger shower heads. The water cascaded over both of us, and I was acutely aware of how exposed we were. Anyone could watch. Hell, most of them already were.
"Nervous?" Michael asked, his clawed hands settling on my hips.
"Should I be?"
"No." He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear despite the water. "But I like that you are. Makes you even more delicious."
Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine. That too-long tongue invaded, exploring, claiming. I groaned into the kiss, my hands coming up to grip his shoulders. His skin was scaly under my palms, and almost silky at the same time.
He broke the kiss, spinning me around so my back was pressed against his chest. I could feel his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my lower back. Bigger than any human I’d met, which made my pulse quicken with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.
"There's a ledge," he murmured, guiding me forward a few steps. "Bend over it."
I saw what he meant—a half-wall that separated the shower area from the rest of the locker room. It was the perfect height. I hesitated for just a moment before bending forward, bracing my hands on the cool tile surface.
Michael's hands roamed over my back, my ass, spreading me open. I heard him make a satisfied sound. "Someone already loosened you up for me. How thoughtful."
The tentacles. He knew. Of course he knew.
Something slick and warm pressed against my hole—his fingers, I realized, working more of what had to be lube into me.
Not that I probably needed much after the tentacles, but I appreciated the care.
He added a second finger, then a third, stretching me carefully while I tried to keep my breathing steady.
Around us, I could sense more attention turning our way. The shower had gotten quieter, conversation dying down as people realized what was about to happen. My face burned, but my cock was leaking steadily, betraying how much the exhibitionism turned me on.
"Such a good boy," Michael purred, his fingers curling to brush my prostate. I jerked, a whimper escaping my throat. “I'm going to enjoy this."
He withdrew his fingers, and I felt the blunt head of his cock press against my entrance. He was big, far bigger than anything I'd taken before, bigger even than the tentacle. My body tensed instinctively.
"Breathe," Michael commanded, one hand sliding up my spine in a soothing gesture. "Relax for me, Brad. Let me in. I’m going to take very good care of you."
I forced myself to take a breath, to relax my muscles. The pressure increased slowly, insistently, and then the thick head of his cock popped past my ring. I gasped at the stretch, my fingers scrabbling against the tile for purchase.
"That's it," Michael praised, holding still to let me adjust. "Such a good boy."
He pushed in another inch, then another.
The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but not quite crossing that line.
Whatever that slick substance was, it made everything easier, allowing my body to accommodate his size.
I could feel every ridge, every contour of his demonic cock as he filled me.
When he was finally seated fully inside me, I was panting, my whole body trembling. I felt impossibly full, stretched beyond what should have been possible. But underneath the overwhelming sensation was pure pleasure, radiating out from where we were joined.
"Fuck," I breathed, my voice echoing off the tile walls. "You're huge."
"And you're taking every inch." His claws dug lightly into my hips as he pulled back slowly, then thrust forward again. Not hard, just testing, finding his rhythm. "Such a good little human."
The praise sent a thrill through me. He started to move in earnest then, building up speed gradually. Each thrust drove deeper, hitting spots inside me that made my vision blur. The angle was perfect, his cock dragging across my prostate with every stroke.
I was making sounds I didn't recognize. There were whimpers, moans, and broken pleas for more.
The exhibitionism I'd worried about earlier became fuel for my arousal.
I could feel eyes on us, could hear the shuffle of feet as more men gathered to watch.
Some were touching themselves, I realized, getting off on the sight of me being fucked raw by a demon.
Michael's pace increased, his hips snapping against my ass with wet slaps that echoed through the shower. The water streamed over us, making everything slick and hot. One of his hands left my hip to reach around and grab my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
"You feel incredible," he growled, his layered voice vibrating through my chest. "So tight, so warm. I could fuck you for hours."
"Please," I gasped, loving that idea. It wasn’t like I could think of much else. Each thrust of his massive cock made my mind go blank except for the overwhelming need building in my core.
He changed his angle slightly, and suddenly every thrust was hitting my prostate dead-on. I cried out, my back arching, and Michael made a satisfied sound.
"There it is," he said, his strokes becoming more deliberate, more focused. "Right there."
I was babbling now, a stream of "fuck" and "yes" and "Michael" pouring from my lips. My cock was throbbing in his hand, precum mixing with the shower water as he jerked me expertly. The dual stimulation was too much. I could feel my orgasm building, that tension coiling low in my balls.
"I'm close," I warned, though I could barely form the words. My whole body was wound tight, every nerve ending on fire.
"Then cum for me," Michael commanded, his voice dropping to something almost hypnotic. "Let everyone see how good I make you feel."