Chapter 2: The Demon Lover
Note to reader: This is the second story in a series about a woman called Kitty and her sexual awakenings. While it is quite possible to read it as a stand-alone story, I would recommend that you first read "Kitty Gets Naughty" to appreciate who this character is and the people and events that shape her experiences. The idea for this story and the inspiration for the Kitty character came from an old friend of mine at Literotica Chat. She knows who she is and I thank her.
PART 1
One of the most intriguing aspects of Kitty's experience at the sex party has been its impact on her fantasy life. She used to rely on romantic and erotic fiction. Now, six months after her first party, she is exploring her own creative impulses, writing down every erotic thought or dream in a little spiral notebook that she carries with her everywhere she goes. It soon builds into a treasure trove of her most outrageous, daring imaginings, something she can turn to when she feels like playing with her toys or that she can share with others at the monthly erotic reading group she has recently joined.
Maybe even one day she will write her own story? There is certainly enough there to go on, including a recurring image that seems to dominate: the demon lover. Some evenings, she nibbles on some chocolate and flicks through her notebook full of jottings, sketches and drawings, trying to get in touch with this dark side of her sexual awakening. What would her demon lover look like? Would he have human or mythical form – half human, half man? Would he love her? Would he ravish her? Would he degrade and humiliate her? Not knowing the answers to these questions right away was just part of the pleasure. But where did this demon lover idea come from?
It was four months ago, at her second club night. It was held at the home of the older man who gave her the best fucking of all on her first night. His name was Sam Rogers, a retired English literature professor and a widower with three grown up children. They had moved away from home so this left him with lots of time to fill in his life and lots of room to play with in his large, rambling Gothic villa.
It was the most amazing house Kitty had ever seen and seemed to lend to the party a certain eerie style. There was something uniquely erotic about being taken by two men on a beautiful old Chesterfield sofa, though the plastic covering on the upholstery made it feel rather odd and uncomfortable when it came round to the double penetration (a favourite of Kitty's now). Still, she understood that Sam had to protect the fabric.
Watching him in action, non-stop it seemed, Kitty saw that his age was no impediment to his sexual prowess or his ability to please a woman the way she should be pleased. While she didn't get to know him personally first time round, she finally got chatting with him while she was resting up after her DP session and found him to be a charming, intelligent man who genuinely listened to her when she spoke, fixing his eyes on hers, not on her breasts. But she was to meet a very different Sam a few hours later and he gave her an experience she would never forget.
She had just helped out a new guy to the group (loosening his inhibitions by letting him fuck her over the large Indian teak table in the hall), and was taking time out from the action to wander around the house and admire its architectural wonders. Slipping on a light, silk robe to keep warm, she slowly ascended the sweeping antique staircase, her eyes drawn upwards to the high, vaulted ceiling. It was decorated by a fresco painting of scenes from the Kama Sutra, which Kitty found rather odd in what was, after all, a family home. She guessed it was an original feature of the house that could not be altered but she still imagined the awkward questions these images might have provoked from Sam's children while they were growing up.
As she continued up the stairs, she began to notice the plaster friezes that decorated the wall: scenes of naked sprites and nymphs indulging in all kinds of sexual fun. And then there were the dragon and gargoyle heads carved into the spindles of the sturdy oak banister. It was a visual overload of mixed images: some that appeared to celebrate sins of the flesh, others that were designed to ward off the evil spirits who lead us into those sins.
She made a point of asking Sam about this next time she saw him but just as she got to the top of the stairs, there he was, coming out of one of the many rooms up there. He was naked and erect, looking almost sinister in the shadows, yet he greeted her with a warm smile that put her at ease again. Thinking she was heading for the room, he opened the door wide for her to pass.
She looked in to see Gloria being used by a large group of men and then looked back at him, flashing a knowing grin when she noticed the little droplets of semen that decorated the knob of his cock like studs of pearl. She waved her hand to tell him she wasn't interested in the gangbang. "I'm just exploring this amazing house," she explained, her eyes flitting from his eyes to his drooping cock, wondering if she should kneel and clean it for him.
But Sam seemed pleased with her interest in the house and took her, instead, on a guided tour. Some of the rooms were occupied by partygoers so they couldn't linger but she saw enough to fire her imagination and wish she lived in such a place. Sam took her hand then and led her downstairs, through the hallway to the large country kitchen with its beautiful iron cast stove and then to another room off that Kitty took to be an old-fashioned scullery, full of large pots, pans, kitchen utensils and a double Belfast sink with antique brass faucets. It was like something out of those BBC heritage dramas she watches on cable TV. From there, he opened a door that gave way to a concrete staircase and led her down to a dimly lit cellar.
Kitty rolls on her back on the bed and opens her legs to touch herself. She pushes a finger inside and feels herself tighten on it and ooze. She closes her eyes and the images just come flooding back to her. She remembers vividly the chill down in that cellar but, more pointedly, how different Sam suddenly became.
It wasn't just that he had grown so hard without obvious provocation: it was his whole demeanour, his tone of voice and the way he moved. There was a stealthiness, a slyness to him, a predatory aura. There was a definite edge to the chill, too, a sexual tension that was mounting between them and that convinced her of some dark intent on his part. She reached her hand down to stroke his large erection but he stopped her and steered her instead to a spot on the floor just under a single, bare, flickering light bulb. He raised her arms up and handcuffed her wrists to the cable, telling her not to struggle or try to pull free or she would burn her wrists on the bulb. His voice was low and creepy, his breath hot and moist on her ear. She wasn't sure what was making her shiver the most, the chill or the thought of what he was going to do to her.
