Teacher (devil Inside) -

/* Trigger warning: this story contains elements of suicidal thoughts, physical abuse and non-consensual sex. If those topics are a turn-off regardless of what the rest of the story includes, then you should probably look elsewhere.

Everyone engaged in sexual activity in this story is over eighteen.

Your comments and ratings are seriously appreciated! */

Sir:

Michael Hutchence was not wrong. Everyone does have the devil inside. Only in my case, you can take that literally. Okay, maybe not *the* Devil. But *a* devil. Or demon. Or imp. Or something.

Just a couple of years ago, I was an ordinary guy leading an ordinary life. I was reasonably successful and fairly happy with my job as a software sales rep. Sure, I spent a lot of time on the road, but I was good at it so the money was great and I figured that at 32, I had a couple more years to make my mark and then start worrying about family and the future.

Then Salt Lake City happened.

I was at a bar in a non-descript mid-priced hotel near the airport on the north side of the city, getting ready to call it a night and turn in. I had a flight back home scheduled for 2pm, which gave me time to write up my notes from the meetings I'd had that day.

I had just signaled the bartender for the check when a wild-eyed older man stepped up to the bar next to me and grabbed my wrist. I felt a shock travel up my arm, like I had plunged it into a tub of ice water. I yelped and shook him off, but not all that hard.

Nevertheless, he fell to the concrete floor and it was pretty obvious that he was dead before anyone even thought about checking for a pulse. EMS was there pretty quickly but of course all they could do is declare him to be in the condition we had already surmised and take the body away.

I suddenly felt exhausted and after charging my drinks to my room, I stumbled for the elevator and made my way back to my room on the third floor.

My next conscious thought was that the bed was a lot more comfortable than I remembered. Then I realized that I wasn't in my room at all -- and that the huge bed I was lying in was covered in sticky pools of congealing blood.

I let out an unmanly yip and slid out of the bed, looking around enough to realize that I was in a much nicer room than my own, that I was completely naked and that the blood was most likely not from me, as I seemed to be uninjured. And there was a *lot* of blood.

Checking the obligatory sign on the back of the hotel room door, I confirmed that I wasn't in my hotel. I wasn't even in Utah. In fact, I was in one of Vegas' better-known hotels, likely in a high rollers suite. There was no sign of where the body that had produced the copious amounts of blood was and in my shocked state of mind, all I could think to do was get dressed and drive back to Salt Lake City, if in fact my rental was here.

I got dressed and made it to the parking deck without anyone stopping me and used the remote clicker to find the rental Nissan Maxima. It was about 5:30am and I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to be arrested at any second.

Instead, I drove up I-15 like a bat out of hell, quickly changed clothes and checked out of my hotel and headed for SLC. I was terrified that I would get pulled from the TSA line, but I boarded without incident and made it home to Raleigh with no issues.

"Normal" only lasted a couple of weeks. I tried to forget about what I internally referred to as "The Incident". After a few days with no authorities come around to ask questions, I started to think that I was home-free, despite the number of cameras that are everywhere in Vegas.

Then the voices started. Or maybe just one voice, mostly speaking in a low, guttural, unintelligible language but sometimes using a much higher feminine but no less hideous voice. I couldn't understand any words, but there was an urgency building, like something was coming that I needed to react to.

I knew better than to tell anyone about it, so I suffered in silence, getting shorter and less patient with my co-workers and even my boss as the urgency grew. Then I blacked out again.

This time I had images of an older woman, a brunette with touches of grey - being ripped limb from limb. The screams were heart-rending. I even had images of dumping what little was left of the body into the nearby river. And again, there was so much blood -- in her apartment, running down the stairs, and all over the strange car (hers?) that I parked at the edge of the shopping center a half mile from my apartment.

The voices stopped again for a while. And again, no one came to arrest me for a grisly murder. Furthermore, I realized that I was now hearing not just the voice, but the thoughts of others. That took my mind off of the bloody business for a little while as I spent a few days trying to understand this ability, which quickly also became the ability to somewhat control others' thoughts and actions as well.

Some of these things required huge amounts of energy and I collapsed for a day or so afterwards. Some I found that I could do easily, with very little energy expended at all. Making physical changes or making people do something physical was hard. Making someone *want* to do something was relatively easy. So making someone physically drive to the store for ice cream was hard but it took nothing to make them want to do it so badly that there was no talking them out of it. And reading minds required almost no energy at all.

I was somewhat prepared the next time the voice started getting louder. I had a sense of how much time I had and I made my way into an area of downtown that was known for homeless people. It was horribly cruel and callous of me -- homeless people are people, after all -- but I was selfishly trying to protect myself.

This time I was fully aware of what was going on. I could see through the mind of the two victims -- while they could see a dim outline of me, what they mostly saw was an 8-foot-tall demon with brown-green scaly hide, massively-clawed hands and feet and a grotesque face with a short snout and a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

As their terrified screams went unheeded into the night, I could feel the energy from their terror suffusing every part of us (I could only think of the demon and me as "us" now) with an incredible dark energy. I looked down to see an evil-looking, enormous erection, easily eighteen inches long, as thick as a man's wrist and covered in thick veins.

I was not a bad person and I knew I couldn't go on like this. I considered suicide but, when I tried, the demon stopped me. He/she/it didn't have complete control but it was enough to avert the gunshot to my head and, in another attempt, to whip the wheel of my car at the last moment to avoid the bridge abutment.

So I decided instead to find a way to control it. I researched on the Internet and in libraries up and down the East Coast, particularly in religious universities, neglecting work until I finally just called up my boss and quit one day. I had enough money saved that I could spend a few months researching.

And then it hit me that I could also make use of the damn powers that I seemed to be gaining. I spent some time with a couple of accountants and a couple of bankers and soon had untraceable bank accounts in the Caymans and other safe havens that they would never remember. And like any red-blooded American male with a limited imagination, I was soon sporting a twelve-inch cock and a much better physique than before.

That expenditure of energy brought the need to feed back more quickly but I'd had an idea. There are somewhere around forty-five thousand suicides a year in the US. Why not use my mind-reading abilities to try to find someone about to do themselves in and target them? They were going to die anyway, right?

I really didn't work the math out on this plan very well -- statistically it was a very stupid idea and was never going to work. Winning the lottery was almost as likely. Except that by some quirk of fate, it did work. Quite well, at least once.

I'd been travelling around, trying to make sure that when it came time to feed again, I wouldn't be in the same neighborhood as any previous time. So I was in a small town south of Nashville on a Friday evening in late May when I felt the voice, which had steadily been growing louder, suddenly get more strident.

I pulled into a Walgreens at about 5pm and scanned the people in the store. There were a couple of older people in line for prescriptions that were contemplating death, but only in the abstract as something they realized was relatively near. There was at least one person considering killing someone else, but not themselves.

And then I heard her as she stood in line to check out, large bottle of sleeping pills in hand. Janelle, her name was, and she was at the end of her rope. Her husband had died in Iraq a few years before and her life had been pretty much hell ever since. Her students at the high school had no respect for her, the administration kept passing her over for better assignments -- she was convinced that was because she wouldn't put out for the principal. So now she was ready to make it all go away.

I followed her out of the store and pulled my rental car behind her aging Toyota Yaris. One of the first things I'd figured out how to do was cloud minds so that I was invisible. She pulled up to the small house whithout her seeing me and I heard her thinking about how her husband would be ashamed of her but she was at the end of her rope. I entered the house unseen behind her.

She poured herself a big glass of white wine in the kitchen before heading back to the bedroom with her purchase from the drug store. I could see that she had been quite the head-turner ten years before but grief and time and neglect had worked their dark magic on her. I felt so bad for her, but I didn't see anything I could do for her. And the demon needed to feed.

I clouded her vision of us (the demon and me) until she laid back on the bed and took a big gulp of wine to steady her nerves. As she opened the bottle, we stood up, our head brushing the ceiling of her bedroom. I dropped the veil and watched her eyes grow wide as 8 feet of hideous demon stood before her and started across the small room.

She shrieked, and we fed on her terror. She screamed until her throat was raw as we reached out with a clawed hand and with one swipe, ripped through her sweatshirt and bra, leaving her naked to us from the waist up. She had very large breasts that were sagging a bit but were still impressive, and once again we sported a nasty, lethal-looking erection.

She looked down our ridiculously large member and I could feel her shock (and my own) when she realized that she was suddenly aroused. It had been so long since anyone had needed her, for any fucking reason, that even a demon moving to devour her gave her proof that someone, or something, wanted her.

We moved our clawed hand down and ripped her yoga pants and panties off of her, leaving her naked and panting, too terrified to scream anymore. Then she looked again at our outrageous erection and her want, her need, was so powerful that it hit us like a freight train.

The demon part of me stepped back, having never experienced anything other than fear at its presence. But then it hit me -- what if fear and terror weren't the only emotions that a demon could feed on. What about lust? Greed? Envy? I turned back to Janelle and invaded her mind again, feeling and feeding her wanton visions of being invaded by that impossible cock, knowing that the length and girth would kill her but not caring -- just wanting the momentary pleasure of being wanted before she died.

We reached down with clawed hands and picked her up at the waist and impaled her on our demon dick. I used the demon's powers to rearrange her inside, so she could take it without permanent harm. She screamed, both in agony and in ecstasy, as our phallus invaded her. I could feel her mind changing as the lust and pleasure over-powered her despair -- she wanted to live, if only to feel like this again.

Her cunt was like molten lava, like the fires of Hell that had spawned my demon, and we moved together until we, and she, shouted meaningless words as she came and we spurted our dark seed inside her demonically-extended cunt.

Janelle:

She woke up a little later than usual on Saturday, the sun streaming in through the window into her little bedroom. She stretched and yawned, then looked down to see the bruises and welts that covered her body. She screamed, but cut it off almost before it started. As the memories of the previous night came flooding back, she found herself finding some distance from them, almost as if she had watched them rather than lived them.

She thought for a moment that she should call the police, but what could she say -- that an 8-foot tall, green-brown, scaly-hided demon had raped her? And that she had somehow not only survived it, she'd enjoyed it? Sure, that would work.

She made her way to the shower, turning the water up as hot as she could stand it. She didn't detect the dark figure in the corner by the toilet. Nor did she notice that as she scrubbed her face, the accumulated frown lines and wrinkles of the previous decade were rubbed out.

She squeezed more body wash on a scrubbie and started working on her breasts, oblivious to how the more she rubbed and caressed them, the higher and more proudly they sat on her chest, looking much more like her twenty-two-year-old self than her current tired thirty plus.

As she continued her shower, she rubbed her waist thinner, her butt higher and tighter and the extra fat right out of her thighs. If the mirror hadn't been fogged up, she might have looked at herself and noticed that she looked like she did when she graduated from college almost ten years earlier. As she dried herself off, she ignored the tingle as all of her dark pubic hair came off onto her towel and a small glyph tattoo appeared just above her mons.

The smell of coffee hit her as she wrapped herself in a short robe and walked through the living room into the small kitchen. She didn't remember having set up the coffee maker but she seemed to be forgetting a lot of things lately, like why she had stopped at the drug store the night before.

The coffee was perfect, and she took a careful sip before walking back into the living room. That was when she saw *him*, the dark man sitting casually on her somewhat ratty sofa. She shrieked and the coffee mug slipped from her fear-numbed fingers.

She was too terrified to move or to continue screaming, but she did look down long enough to see the descent of the coffee mug stop three inches from the floor, catching up the coffee that was falling so that not a single drop was spilled.

She looked back at the dark man and he grinned at her, motioning for her to grab the cup. She did, and then sat down on the edge of the old armchair that had been her refuge from school, and from life, the past few years, holding the now-suspect coffee mug at arms length.

"You have questions," the dark man said. Fucking right she did, she thought. She took a cautious sip of the coffee before responding.

"Yes, I do. Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house," she demanded, trying to seem tough in spite of being completely at a loss for what was going on.

"You can call me... 'Sir', I think," he said. She looked at him again, a little more closely. Her original impression required some revision. He was not dark-skinned, although his hair and clothes were dark. There was also a dark - 'aura' was the best word she could come up with, like he was wreathed in shadow.

He continued, "As for why I am in your house, let me say that I learned something valuable from you last night. I think you learned something too. Maybe there's a reason for you to live. Maybe I can help you with that."

She continued to register more and more about him. As she saw beyond the shadows surrounding him, she saw a reasonably good-looking man about her own age, but with a presence that she'd never experienced before. It seemed to calm her down, when she should be screaming and running from the house, calling for the cops. "How, how can you help me?" she asked. "I'm not even sure what I need help with."

He looked her in the eyes and she felt like he was boring a hole into her soul. "Your beloved husband is dead in a stupid war, the school administrators ignore you or work to make your life more miserable, you think you're in love with one of your fellow teachers but you're too afraid of rejection to talk about it with her and your students torment you. I can help you with all of that. Who is Jenny?"

Janelle started at that name. That vile name. "How do you know about Jenny? That girl is the devil. Her life's work seems to be to make my life a living hell. She is pure evil."

Sir looked at her and gave her a small smile. "Janelle, I can help you fix all of this, except your husband. Jenny included. You just have to give yourself to me." He was bullshitting about the last, but he wanted her to commit. It would make what he was loosely planning a lot easier.

"Give myself to you," she said. She meant it to come out sarcastically but it sounded more pensive than anything else. "What exactly does *that* entail?"

He smiled at her, a little more feral than before. "Exactly like what it sounds like, Janelle. You will be mine, to do with as I will. You're a gorgeous young woman -- I think we can think of a few things."

She looked down at herself and realized that he was telling the truth. It was the first time it registered with her that she looked fantastic -- like the last ten years had never happened. She looked back at the strange man on her sofa, drinking her coffee and without giving it much thought, simply said, "Okay."

He stood and held out a hand to her, pulling her up out of her chair. "Let's start in the bedroom."

Her heart raced as she preceded him into the back of the house, feeling his eyes boring in on her round ass barely hidden by her robe. As they entered her bedroom, he reached ahead and pulled the robe from her shoulders leaving her bare to his view and to his touch.

She turned around to face him and found herself shivering at the hunger she saw in his eyes -- a hunger different from what she remembered from the night before. This hunger was familiar, much like her own -- the need to feel another person, to give and take pleasure, to let themselves go completely, even if only for a little while.

She suddenly realized that he was naked, although she couldn't figure out how he could have disrobed so quickly. She noted the curves of his muscular arms, the tight abs, and then his cock -- holy fuck, what a cock! It wasn't the obscene thing of her nightmare the night before. It was beautiful and huge and hard as a rock.

She dropped to her knees next to her bed, prepared to worship Sir's dagger. He smiled down at her and she stopped thinking real thoughts after that. She looked up at the largest cock she'd ever seen, even in the porn she sometimes guiltily watched. She had both hands wrapped around it and there was still four inches of huge dick that she somehow opened her mouth wide enough to take in.

She heard a grunt from Sir and looked up to see that his eyes were closed, his head slightly back and his chest heaving with desire. He wanted her and that meant everything in the world. She slowly pulled her head back before lowering it again, taking more of this miraculous cock into her mouth and, somehow, her throat, until she had at least ten inches buried inside her, with only a couple more inches remaining.

Sir was panting now as she worked his cock in and out of her mouth, drool running down her chin and covering her beautiful restored boobs. She looked up at him and he opened his eyes and looked into hers as she grabbed his asscheeks and pulled him forcefully towards her, finally swallowing those last two inches of dick.