Demons Punish Ch 02

Author's notes:

VE: Todger65. Much love! You give the magic form and the dreams substance.

Tags: plot driven sex, modern urban fantasy erotica, angels and demons, foreplay then sex, the power of a promise, building a harem, sexual power dynamics

Warning:

I encourage you to stop with Ch. 01, if you are looking for a story where everything always goes well for the protagonist. It stands on its own and ends more-or-less on a happy note. I hate stories where nothing is ever lost, where heroes slice through their enemies with nothing but a few scratches. Thus, I am more of a fan of Game of Thrones than I am of Wheel of Time. I want to set expectations now, so you don't waste your time if this isn't what you are looking for.

For those still with me, we got 5 more parts if things shake out how I expect them to. Then again, this chapter was supposed to cover 2 big events...and it only ended up covering 1. This book sits towards the beginning of a much larger story, some of which I've already written, involving a vast milieu and host of characters. I find myself writing further upstream, but I think I've found the source of the story. I wrote this one in about 10 days, and then spent a week on editing. I would say 1 chapter a month is what you should expect until the story is done. That's my commitment to who joins me on this journey.

Now, once more unto the breach, dear friends!

-- -- --

"The fifth task," he said with his cock worming into her vagina, "Now the fourth, is to make you my sheath." The words were heavy, but his dick was buried halfway into her.

"Sounds kinky," she said panting, her eyes wincing as he ground his full length into her. "Fuck you're big."

He flexed his dick, feeling it swell against her birth canal. "It gets bigger." He eased back enough to slide his dick out and slide it back in an inch at a time.

"You ready to bear my sword?"

"Keep... Don't stop," her hands went slack as he slow fucked her. "Oh fuck yeah baby." She ground her hips against him, bucking hard as he neared bottoming out again. She pulled herself off a few inches and rammed her pussy back around his cock. "I'll sheath your sword. C'mon baby, give me that sword."

The words had come out of his mouth, fallen from his lips, but he was still perplexed about what they meant. Bear his sword? It sounded corny now that he wasn't pounding away at Angie. It reminded him of Ghostbusters. It was stupid when he said it out loud. "Make you my sheath. Bear my sword." He cringed, but that was his lesser self. His greater self felt the heavy weight behind those words, something beyond words, the rites of eldritch arcanum. All of existence had been made with a Word. The ancient power locked within them was undeniable to his greater self. Words embody ideas, ideas shape reality, and reality was existence. All things used words. Even trees spoke them if you knew how to listen. Of course the words they spoke sounded childish to his lesser self. It could never hear the words a tree makes. It could never bend a tree to its will, but his greater self could.

-- -- --

"Mom!" He called out, "Don't come upstairs. Change of plans."

Angie's soft body lay upon his bed. Her closed eyes flickered back and forth beneath her eyelids. Her body twitched. Gideon arranged her body into a mummy's pose like he was preparing her for embalming. His cock swung between his legs; turgid and wanting. The darkness had stopped dribbling from his cock, but as he put a hand over her belly he felt a seething hunger.

He had no idea what he'd done. It had just happened like reaching his hand out to grab something. No one thought about what it took to move their hand. How many hundreds of muscles, bones, and tendons had to be coordinated to grab a cup from a table? He'd reached out and grasped something that had escaped Purgatory. A lost spirit desperate to touch the world again. He'd offered it terms but had no clue what those terms were. No, he did know in general terms; it was power and opportunity for service or something like that. It was worse than trying to remember a dream.

He did know that whatever was growing within her wasn't his child or even something that could be called sentient. Something to do with sheaths and swords was the obvious breadcrumb. He'd crafted some necessary instrument within the most powerful and blessed forge in creation. Angie's consent to use her womb to further his unknown aims had been vital. He retrieved the matte black box from his pants in the closet. With a touch he knew the feather and necklace were still within waiting for something. Several somethings his greater self knew. Just as his lesser self knew it would be a prime number. If not two then three, five, or seven.

He felt the hatred from Angie and her womb towards the matte black box. Angie's eyes half opened, and she hissed without moving.

Gideon dropped the box and rushed to her. He slid over to the bed, picking up her head into his lap. "Hey you."

Angie's eyes drooped then snapped open. Her head shot backwards. "Hungry." Her eyes closed and flickered beneath her eyelids. Her body twitched.

"Oh shit." He hissed, bounding to the closet and calling his clothes to him. He blinked and was dressed to perfection. This was a minor cantrip that manifested with his need for speed. The game started at ten o'clock sharp; the invitation had made that clear.

He didn't want to leave Angie. He either wanted to bring her or to stay. But what would she do to keep the thing inside of her fed? Only dregs remained of the dark essence harvested from Bill and Lucy. He needed more, and then meant the card game. His greater self had intended for the card game to precede the making of whatever was in Angie. Catering to the needs of his lesser self had ruined that plan, but that didn't mean it wasn't still necessary to finish the fifth task.

His lesser self struggled to leave. It wanted nothing more than to gather Angie up in his arms and cuddle with her in the afterglow of their coitus. It was the romantic fancy of a young man filled with notions from books and films. His greater self cast aside such childish notions. He straightened his black tie and exited his room.

"Hey honey," his mom said as he came downstairs. "I've got some noodles here."

Gideon waved her off. "No time." He walked over to his mother, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Angie's sleeping in my room. I ask you not to disturb her."

"Hey," his mother said, her face crumpling in concern. "What's gotten into you?"

Gideon's voice was cold as ice. "Nothing. Now promise me." His dark eyes bore into his mother's soft gaze. He frowned feeling resistance where he'd expected none.

"Gideon we need to talk." Her concern was replaced with something else. Steel entered her voice. She brought her hands up and put them over his.

"When I get back. For now promise me."

His mother sighed. "Sweetie, I can't."

Gideon reeled back from her as if struck. There was no heaviness between them, no weight to use as leverage. He had but scraps of dark essence to weave any sort of magic. It was more than that, but the time pressed on him. He felt the aching need of what was developing within Angie.

His mother sighed again, but she was soft and kind now. "I won't intrude. That's never been my way." She turned and grabbed a tupperware from the cabinet. She ladled a large portion of cheesy noodles into the container. She hummed as she grabbed a fork and paper napkin. "I know you haven't got the time to sit with your mother, but..." She looked up at him for a moment, sliding the food towards him across the counter. "Don't forget to eat."

Despite the cold darkness seething within him, Gideon couldn't help but crack a smile. The tension bleed away, and he swiped the container. He loved the hell out of cheese and noodles. His mom didn't skimp with pre-made crap. She cooked the rue sauce fresh. She made batches of noodles by hand just like they did in the old country. This wasn't macaroni and cheese; this was goat cheese bourguignonne stroganoff. Gideon had always been in awe of his mother's ability to craft dishes of such culinary sophistication with such speed and on their meager budget. She didn't disappoint based upon the aroma leaking from the tupperware.

Gideon sighed, and it was his lesser self that said, "You're the best mom!"

He was out the door with a brief hug. His mom ran after him to give him his stake and invitation, which he'd forgotten on the counter in his food filled glee. Then of course, upon seeing Manas drooling over what Gideon had, his mother had whipped up a portion to go for Manas as well. Manas had to thank his mother five different ways before they were able to go.

"Drive like the wind!" Gideon said in the back seat, taking his time with the treasure within the vast plastic bowl. He speared the gold-white noodles glistening with the dark pink colored sauce. The bitter bite of the Cabernet Sauvignon paired well with the earthy umami of the goat cheese. Thick chunks of caramelized onions floated in every spoonful adding a sulfurous note on the backside of each swallow. With their plump, meaty caps, the porcinis mushrooms hiding in the dish infused every bite lucky enough to contain it with an earthy, oaken flavor.

"Sir, that is smelling like a mother's hug, yes it is sir. I very much want to thank your mother, sir, for such gifts. Very, very much, sir."

Gideon raised a fork heavy with his mother's cooking and saluted. "As you should Manas. My mother's cooking will ruin you." He looked at the masterpiece upon his fork, shook his head, and plopped it into his mouth. He sighed, falling over in the seat against the door. "So fucking good."

Gideon was happy to learn that it was indeed possible for Manas to drive like the wind. The taxi slid through traffic, leapt through yellow lights, and skirted the speed limit. Every time Manas's eyes wandered down to the tupperware in his lap, he inhaled deep. Then he would start, snap his attention back to the road for awhile until his eyes were lured back to the meal waiting in his lap.

They cut through districts in the city like a giant, burning sword through sticks of soft, melting butter. Police cars may have tried to pull them over, but Manas was through and past, hidden behind a curtain of traffic before anything could happen. They arrived at Gideon's destination with seven minutes to spare. Instead of rushing out, Gideon spent the next two minutes savoring the final bites of his meal. Manas tore into his portion with all the glee of a child on Christmas morning.

"Oh my, just oh my." Manas kept saying over and over, shaking his head and putting another forkful into his mouth. "Like a blessing in each bite. Aren't you agreeing sir?"

Gideon snapped closed his tupperware and grinned. "Wait till you eat what my mom does with Indian food." Gideon shook his head and popped open the door. "Then we'll see if you change your mind about it."

Manas lifted his fork and said, "If she be cooking like this, sir, then yes I may very well be, sir!"

Gideon smiled, fighting an urge to have Manas drive them back home and pig out on the leftovers. Something he always did when his mom cooked. His greater self re-asserted. There was too much at stake.

As he walked away from the cab and towards the mansion, he tasted dark emotions oozing from the place. The walkway from the long driveway was adorned with white rose bushes and spewing water fountains. Two big men with veins pulsing through their bull necks loomed before the double door entrance. They had holstered pistols hanging from beneath their armpits. Their arms were folded, and they glared at him. These men were doing their duty, and for that Gideon had no quarrel with them. He produced his invitation, a gaudy thing hand stamped with gold leaf.

One of the men unfolded his arms and took the invitation, then looked from it to Gideon. "It says plus one."

"Hmm?"

"Plus one. You are one." The man frowned. The man's partner grunted, shaking his head.

"My plus one wasn't feeling up to joining me tonight, I assume that won't be a problem?" Gideon wanted to put a little oomph behind his voice. He could taste a cornucopia of dark desires just beyond the door. It was a light, and he was some stupid bug trying to seeking it out in the night. He wanted it. He needed to get into those doors.

"It is." The man said, handing the invitation back. He shook his head. "Off you go." His partner uncrossed his arms long enough to shoo Gideon.

Gideon pursed his lips and interlaced his fingers. There just wasn't anything left for him to work with. These men were pure in their task. They were simple and light like the clerk at the convenience store. They didn't take undue pride in their charge. They worked to support their dependents. They had no grand aspirations with life other than watching a game of football with a few beers.

"Perhaps if you asked our host, an exception could be made?" Gideon raised his eyebrows.

"No exception." The same man said, dropping the invitation since Gideon hadn't taken it back. The man's hands crossed over his biceps. He scowled. "You go."

"Oh, c'mon," Gideon said, feeling his lesser self leak out in a whiny tone.

The man lowered his head. "Go." He took one step forward like a bull pawing at the ground about to charge.

Gideon's face fell. He raised his hands and turned to leave.

"Tom. Jerry. What are you doing?" Her voice was both a question and a command. Gideon could hear the lacework of dark power behind her words. It elevated her speech in the same way a sprinkle of salt brings out the flavor in food.

Gideon turned around, and his greater self leapt forward like a dog scenting a bone. His tongue darted out and licked the corner of his mouth. His mouth twitched. His dark eyes met her dark eyes, and he felt her attempt to press upon him with the weight of his own greed. After all who comes to a high stakes poker game except the greedy?

To his lesser self, she was lithe grace, porcelain skin with black lips and hair. Her nails were short and black. Her dress had long lacy sleeves and a leather corset with a slit along her right thigh, exposing black stockings attached to a high garter belt. Beneath her left eye was a tattoo of a black tear. A small ribbon of lace wound around her swanlike neck. Her eyes were large and sensual, black pools that could drown an unweary sailor.

She winked at him. He felt his lesser self swoon, much as the two bull necked guards were doing. "L-l-lady." They both stuttered in synch, ducking and backing away. "We...he..."

She sighed, looking up. Clouds had rolled across the sky blotting out all light. It was a dark, cold night. "Would someone tell me why this young man wasn't admitted?"

The man who had denied Gideon said. "He lacked a plus one."

She turned to Gideon and arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

Gideon shrugged and smiled, "My plus one didn't feel like coming out to play." His greater self was perking up, nonplussed by the force of this girl's presence. His own presence welled up in response.

"How fortunate," She smiled right back, "Then I can be your plus one, and everyone will be happy, yes?"

"Y-yes," Both men said, snapping to attention.

"My luck's turned." Gideon's lips twitched into a playful smile before settling back into place. He felt good, heightened but focused. The colt was running again. It had no idea why it was running, but at least it was doing what it was born to do.

"You," She said, taking a dainty step forward, dropping to grab his invitation, and handing it to him. "Have no idea, young man."

He shrugged, accepting the invitation from her. "If I'm dealt a queen on the flop, I don't question it."

She came forward and took his arm in hers. "You are a fresh one, aren't you?" She was just a head shorter than him, close to Angie's height. If Angie was a loaf of bread fresh from the oven, then she was a dark creamsicle begging to be licked.

He got snagged on that thought and missed a step as they walked over the threshold. The two guards gave them a wide berth. She glanced at him. It was odd he couldn't pick up her name like he could the others. She wasn't like the guards or the clerk. All creatures in the world recognized their own kind, even if they weren't conscious of what that kind was or what it meant to be that kind. It was like that, a confirmation of similarity. They were kindred.

"You are too young to look pensive," she said, leaning over to whisper into his ear. Her lips came just short of brushing his earlobe. Her breath was cool, and it should have made him shiver with uncontrolled lust. It did to his lesser self, but again his greater self was unaffected.

"I just realized I forgot to tell my cabbie he can go." Gideon said, flirting with a smile and vague shrug.

"Oh." She said, turning her head to look at him. Her black hair trailed down past her shoulder. She flicked a pale hand through it, throwing it off her shoulder. "Tom," she called back towards the door, "Dismiss our guest's cab driver, please?"

"Yes, malady!"

Gideon wasn't about to involve poor Manas in what was going on here. He was good enough of a poker player not to show his hand, but he also knew when the house had an edge on the game. He wasn't sure what that edge was, but he had been invited to something that wasn't just a poker game for the rich and famous.

The goth girl steered him through the entryway where a throng of guests in formal wear milled about. "Ignore these insects," she said with casual venom in her voice. The 'insects' all looked like respectable people of means and sophistication. They were good looking and dressed in impeccable tuxedos and dark dresses. They milled about in small groups talking in low voices. Each group paused in their conversation as they passed. Those groups in the goth girl's way parted for them without complaint.

The interior of the mansion was as opulent as the exterior. The grand foyer was large enough to hold forty people. The spiral staircase running up along the exterior of the room allowed three people to walk abreast. The chandelier hanging in the center of the room was a glittering artist's dream spun from silver and jewels. Gideon watched a couple walking up the staircase. The second floor was expansive. Red felt carpet and white marble were everywhere. Red stone accented the floor. Touches of silver and platinum were worked in throughout. An eclectic bunch in rich, colorful attire clung from the second floor balconies. They wore masks like they were here for a masquerade ball instead of a high stakes poker match.

He hadn't expected so many people for the match, but it made sense that the game would be a pleasant distraction from the main party or some amusing diversion for those who found the ball tiresome. His greater self recognized something in the setup of everything that it couldn't name.

The goth girl dragged him through the grand foyer and past a dining table of dark mahogany set with a pristine, white table cloth and ancient looking formal china. Some of the crowd of 'insects' from the foyer were seated here drinking dark red wines and picking at various delicacies like pickled baby snakes and monkey brain pudding.

What his greater self saw was a collection of kindred and many more who were gluttonous, hungry people trying to sate a desire for something they couldn't name. They were envious of the wealth, hungry in that other way for more than they had but couldn't ever seem to figure out how to get. His desire to punish the wicked was overwhelming him, but he remembered a line from one of his favorite movies as a kid. It was when a samurai quoted the Hagakure while preparing for a coming battle.