Author's note: This story features creatures that are often called demons. 'Fallen Angel' is another term thrown out for them, as is 'jinn.' They are not especially evil, but their morals are unbound by human conventions. For example, they don't really understand the human fascination with gender distinctions. If you could manifest a cock or a pussy at will, or at least a fully functional illusion of a cock or a pussy, you might have a different take on gender and sexual differences too. Let that be a warning that not all the sex in this tale might be limited to straight, vanilla, one-penis-and-one-vagina intercourse. There may even be sexual variations and personal relationships you've never considered. But don't be alarmed: these demons feed on lust, and humanity is a huge simmering caldron of lust seasoned heavily with hetero attractions, so there will be plenty of that.
As always, all demons, humans, and any other creature involved in any adult sexual activities are legal adults, at least 18 years of age (some are several millennia old) and are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any demon that might be whispering lustful naughtiness in your own ear is absolute coincidence. - K
How To Breed Your Demon
By Kethandra Wilde
The pleats and plaid swayed with each rapid step of retro platform sneakers. A shiny chain, silver, polished and bright, bounced off one soft hip, calling extra attention to the skirt. The chain was a birthday gift from Cameron. The boy was so sweet, knowing his best friend's taste in fashion so well. It would be okay to wear it today, even if their shared birthday was not until tomorrow.
Alex had just left the Guest Restroom for the almost empty high school hall. Ms. Dahomey and her glorious backside were waiting. So was Cam. And it wasn't obvious which one was the cause of the extra time fiddling with details in front of the mirror. The teacher was custom-order perfect: sexy fit body, feminine but powerful, piercing eyes and a vaguely predatory smile.
Then there was Cam. He wasn't a boy anymore, not with the heavy muscle that had appeared on his already-big frame. But still so sweet, attentive. It almost felt like a betrayal to be having these new thoughts about him, urges. Alex had never even considered kissing a boy's lips, long and deep, pressing bodies close, never felt thrills when the two would touch. Until, when? The last few days, a week maybe. And it wasn't just physical; this was an attraction on deep, like, mystic level.
"You're running late, Miss Alex."
Mr. Joseph, the new janitor, had quickly become a favorite in the school. He had a knack, seemed to know something important to each student, to genuinely care.
"Go on, run in the hall this one time. I'm not one to tattle when it's for a good cause. And I am sure that the volleyball game is a very good cause." His eyes had an extra twinkle as he said it. Just then a dull roar reached them from the direction of the gym.
Alex grinned, broke into an easy run, hightops squeaking on the newly cleaned floor. 'Miss Alex.' No one else called Alex that, but it seemed to fit. The thought added a little extra sway to the pleats. And there was no harm in at least imaging Mr. Joseph watching that sway retreat.
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Cam tugged at his XXL sweatshirt where the seam dug into his armpit. It hadn't been tight last week. He knew he could still be having growth spurts -- his 18th birthday wasn't until tomorrow -- but this felt different. He's always been big, like his dad, but this was like he was getting all the new muscle of an exercise movie montage without any workouts. And way too fast.
He remembered why he was here, in the bleachers at school, watching the annual faculty volleyball game for charity. It was a sudden shift, like a tug on his ear, a voice whispering "Hey, forget your sweatshirt. Check her out. She's why you're here. The hottest teacher ever. That perfect ass."
'She' was Ms. Dahomey. Kiera Dahomey. Until this year, the teachers and staff had divided the volleyball teams evenly, with men and women on both sides. This year, it was Women versus Men, simply because of her.
Damn. She was gorgeous. Dripping-with-sex-appeal gorgeous. Almost overwhelming Cam and his newly discovered teenage horniness. And it certainly didn't help that Alex, his lifelong best friend, could not stop talking about the teacher lately.
She wasn't as tall as the tallest man on the court. Close. But she was a force of nature. And the women's team were riding her to victory. (He could almost hear Alex: 'I'd ride her to victory and anywhere else she wanted to go.') Her leaps were higher. Her spikes crisper. Her errors fewer.
Just then, she launched herself upward, black ponytail whipping behind, long arms lined with clearly defined muscles stretching overhead, hands far above the net. The spike from the men's side wasn't bad, considering the wobbly set that strayed too far from the net. The spiker, a math teacher, was already cringing back instead of following through, anticipating Ms. Dahomey's perfectly timed block. Ball and math teacher dropped in a heap, both on the men's side of the net.
She turned to her teammates for a series of high and low fives, long ponytail lashing, before settling into position for the next rally, knees flexed and weight on the balls of her feet. The pose thrust her backside out for balance.
He glanced at the empty seat next to him. Too bad. Lately Alex lived for views of the teacher's round, firm butt, especially in anything like stretchy cover-everything/hide-nothing volleyball shorts. And those shorts were starting to show a triangle of darker sweat pointing down between toned cheeks.
"Have I missed anything?" Alex's tiny form plopped down next to Cam as if prompted, a slim, graceful shoulder bumping a casual greeting into his much broader one. The contact sent a quick thrill thrumming through his own bulky frame. A feeling that had grown more common in recent days.
Since they were little, Alex had been...girly. Tough, determined, smart, confident, and clever - all those girl things and other ones. A set to the shoulder. The inward cant of elbows in that unique, smooth, slinky, and somehow appealingly gangly walk. And it was the girly side of Alex that had suddenly turned more...womanly. Or maybe it was just Cam's thoughts that had changed.
"Ooh. Thanks for picking the premium view seats." For Alex, the 'premium viewing' spot consisted of a clear view of Ms. Dahomey in general, her almost unearthly backside in particular and close enough to see beads of sweat on flawless skin.
"Oh holy mother of perpetual perversity." It was a whispered exclamation of appreciation.
The new teacher had launched upward again, this time for her own spike. Airborne, her spine arced back like a cobra ready for a strike, a spring loading, before hand-arm-back-hips-legs uncorked in a mechanically, physically flawless motion concentrating her entire powerful body's focus into the open-palmed impact. A blurred streak, the ball powered downward, rebounding high off the hardwood floor before any member of men's team could react.
Cam felt Alex's tiny hands squeeze his arm, slight form leaning close in excitement, entranced by the awe-inspiring teacher's feminine power. Adding to the image, Ms. Dahomey quickly tugged the tight stretchy fabric of her volleyball shorts, either innocently adjusting the fit or putting on a purposeful little show for hungry eyes staring from the bleachers. Cam felt the vibration of an almost pained whine as Alex leaned harder into him. Should he pull away from the contact? A large part of him wanted to lean closer, slip an arm low around a slim waist where his gift, the silver chain, hung. He compromised and froze in place, not even daring to breath. How had his best friend so suddenly become so sexy...
'Look at that fucking ass! Wouldn't you like to pin that sexy teacher down and tap her, pound that ass, feel that fucking horny hardbody squirming, impaled on your big, fat cock?'
There it was again! That voice in his ear. It completely distracted him from whatever he'd been thinking about. Alex made no reaction, showed no sign of having heard it at all. And the wording, the coarseness was not something Alex would use, not referring to Ms. Dahomey.
More and more, for the past couple weeks, maybe less, he'd heard words, that voice, sultry, seductive, sometimes crude, steering him. Now. For the last day or so the voice had grown more distinct, and associated with a blurry image, an impression of an exotic smooth-limbed beauty, just outside even his imagination's line of sight. It was much more than the voice of his conscience, even if his had always felt stronger than what most people experienced. This inner whisper was new but familiar, like if had been there all his life.
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The watching demon was impressed and proud. His awareness grew daily. And Cameron was right: her voice had been with him since before his own words had formed. She'd have to be careful today and especially tomorrow, as much as she wanted to spend all of it riding him, or at least his shoulder, until her turn. It would be Cam's day. She squirmed with anxious desire in a way she hadn't felt in centuries. Tomorrow was her day. To celebrate a success no creature had accomplished in ages, if ever.
So she was proud but nervous. Until now, he had never hinted that he knew it as anything other than his own conscious or subconscious mind whispering to him before. This was all uncharted territory. First, his recent rapid physical maturation, which wasn't surprising considering his parentage, and now his growing awareness of her guiding whispers. Troublesome. Worrisome. If he realized that he was being manipulated, guided for another's goals, at the very moment he was coming into his unpredictable power, literally no one -- ethereal or corporeal - knew what would happen.
Looking back, before Cameron's conception - it still warmed her to remember how she had managed that occasion - how many ears had she whispered into? How many shoulders had offered her the best perch in the house, the perfect point of view for witnessing and instigating drama, comedy, tragedy, romance, rage, passion in all its delicious forms -- all the very most human of entertainment. Too many to count, over too many years to recall in detail.
And how many had really heard her like this? Discerned her suggestions from their own? None.
None at all until now. She still wasn't sure it was possible. Maybe Cam was hallucinating, cracking under this unique maturation of a hybrid being. Maybe his thought that there was a whisperer in his ear was entirely distinct from the fact that she did sit on his shoulder and had spent much of the past 18 years whispering to him, directing, steering him to this place. She would be careful, staying at a distance, as much as she could stand. Staying in her adopted home, the ancient bronze statue on his shelf. It also took less energy for her to stay there; and reserves of energy might be needed if anything else unanticipated might show.
She had planned and prepared so well -- and patient, organized planning was never close to being her kind's strongest suit -- that her direct guidance was not needed nearly as much now anyhow. Dahomey knew what to do and there were few as good at that as she. The bitch just oozed sexuality in an absolutely feminine but powerful way. And she had Cam's attention now, and it didn't hurt that the little twink was so obviously in lust, incidentally offering another voice fueling Cam's channeled desire. Dahomey's adopted form was gorgeous as always, mouth-wateringly attractive. It wasn't hard to keep her project's newfound lusts on the so-hot teacher and away from his tiny sidekick. Any inclinations otherwise could be redirected, shoved into one of the compartments she had created in Cameron's mind years ago, locked up with keys only she knew existed.
