This Town: Origins
Cum. Confess. Repeat; Lucifer's Girl.
THE DREAM and GRIEF:
There was a longing in his face, like a fleeting thought that haunted me. He was quiet, intense -- a flicker of something unfinished. My brother had been dead for years, but the dreams kept coming. He'd appear at the end of my bed, older than he ever lived to be. A man now. Broad. Silent. Impossibly still. The way he gazed at me, like he had something to say but never spoke.
His clothes hung off him like they didn't belong; his eyes were sunken and dark, but I felt no fear. One detail never changed -- without fail, he was hard.
I wore dresses to bed. Teddies. Slips. Silk and smooth. After a few visits, I stopped wearing underwear. My thighs would part when he came to me -- just a little. Just enough.
Until one night, everything changed.
I went to bed completely naked -- a gift, wrapped in nothing but my own sensual skin.
He didn't return.
***
Weirdly, I started visiting my brother's headstone at night -- just me, a dress, and the weight of everything I couldn't say out loud. The cemetery stretched wide and silent, trees leaning like they were listening. I'd bring two empty long-neck beer bottles -- one for my pussy, one for my asshole -- and a pocket vibrator that buzzed mean against my clit. I'd ride his stone like it could bring him back -- like if I came hard enough, loud enough, deep enough, the crack between this world and wherever he went might split open. It wasn't just lust. It was grief twisted into heat -- guilt, love, sickness. I wanted him to touch me. So I touched myself like he would have.
My parents named me Mary, like the mother of God -- like that was supposed to mean something. Like I was meant to be soft, sweet, untouched. But I was never that girl.
I was eighteen, and I knew exactly what I was doing. My hair hit just above my shoulders, soft and light. My tits were high and perky -- attention-getters without even trying. I liked wearing dresses with nothing underneath, especially on Sundays, when the sun was lazy and the breeze was bold. I'd step outside like that, barefoot, knowing damn well the fabric would cling to my curves and my nipples would show through. It wasn't about being a tease -- it was about owning the moment, letting the world look if it dared.
Night was when I felt most alive -- when I was finally alone with nothing but my thoughts. When the world quieted, and I could shake off the day and open myself to everything I craved: life, dreams, fantasy... and lust.
My nightwear lay strewn around the room. I kept sleeping naked -- even during my bleeding days, when I was bitter and cramping. Let it run. Let it smear. I loved the red soaking into white sheets. The mess turned me on.
More than that, it called to the darkness -- the kind that once lived inside me, the kind that left me hollow. I was a beacon now, bleeding and open, weeping with the night.
The full moon came in through my open curtains like blue light washing over an ocean of darkness. It lit my bed like a stage light, illuminating me and my beautiful mess. The wind had picked up, but the trees casting shadows didn't reach in here anymore. This night, something felt wrong. The air didn't move. Other shadows held still, like they were watching. I lay beneath damp, bloodied sheets, skin tense, breath shallow -- waiting for something I couldn't name.
THE DESCENT:
The sensation hit like a body breaking on jagged rocks. Like bones snapping but... not with a crack. Not sound at all. Just pressure.
The air thickened like honey, clinging to my skin and weighing down each breath until it felt like drowning in slow motion. The walls seemed to lean inward, subtly at first, then more insistently, as if the room itself had grown hungry for me. My pulse fluttered in my throat, frantic and shallow, while a shadow spilled across the ceiling -- not cast by anything I could see, and moving with a deliberate slowness that defied nature. It glided like oil across water, too smooth, too silent, too perfectly wrong to be anything real, and yet there it was -- stretching, watching, as though it knew I could feel it.
When I turned my head, there he was. But it wasn't him; not Nathaniel. Not my brother. The body was perfect -- tall, lean, sculpted like he'd been carved with hunger. But the face was something else entirely. Not anyone I knew. Just... beauty. Raw and cruel.
His eyes were silver, not merely reflective but luminous, glowing softly as if they remembered stars older than this earth -- ancient, watchful things that had seen worlds rise and fall. There was no judgment in them, only a quiet knowing that made my breath catch and my thoughts scatter like leaves in wind. His lips parted slightly, as if forming the shape of words he'd already decided not to say. But he didn't speak. He didn't need to. Something deeper passed between us -- a pulse in the air, a shift in gravity -- and I understood him without a single sound.
His massive dick hung low between his legs, like a fucking stallion's cock, thick and long, heavy. I could see the weight in his girth. I couldn't move. Not out of fear -- but because I didn't want to disturb him. My body remembered something before my mind caught up. As if I knew who he was. I watched as he stepped closer, silent, graceful, dripping with power, gliding over hard wood as if he were ethereal. He knelt beside the bed and touched my ankle. Cold at first. Then fire.
Like a match catching flame, I heard it -- not out loud, not in my ears, but scraped into the inside of my skull.
I turned toward the ceiling.
And there -- carved into my mind...
L U C I F E R.
The name glowed red like a dull ember. When I whispered it beneath my breath, looking into those ancient eyes, his mouth opened wide. A golden fire, lit from deep in his throat, rose over his long, forked tongue, illuminating me as his jaw dropped impossibly to his collarbones.
A guttural tone rumbled from deep inside him, followed by an electronic jitter--then, unmistakably, my brother's voice...
With his mouth still wide, unwavering, it said, "Dolly?" Then a low growl, "Dolly."
We used to have a dog named Dolly. Nathaniel's best friend. They died in the same accident and were cremated together.
Fear rose within me like Hell itself was fanning the flames, licking up my spine and curling around my ribs with searing fingers. It wasn't sudden -- it bloomed slow and deliberate, like something ancient waking beneath my skin. My mind raced, grasping at reason, but none of this felt like coincidence. Was this a warning? An omen scraped from the underbelly of the world? Or a threat -- deliberate and personal -- sent by something that already knew my name? The air crackled with the weight of meaning, thick with the kind of silence that comes just before something breaks.
Lucifer's hand clenched my calf, then ran slowly up my leg to my thigh. He gripped me with such force that I winced at the pain. I watched his cock stiffen, tighten, and rise between his muscular legs, the swollen tip coming full salute over his chiseled abs. His fingers dipped between my thighs and pushed toward the menstrual blood caking my lips below.
His long, thick tongue slid between my pussy lips, not just licking--but cleaning me, like a mother cat tending to her cub. But this wasn't gentle. It was loaded with tension, hunger, and a dark, coiled lust. For the first time in months, I felt intimately cared for. Not just touched--explored. Worshiped. Every inch of me taken in as if I was something unholy. My asshole clenched when his tongue found it, dragging wet heat over it in slow, deliberate strokes. And when his silver eyes locked onto mine, I knew what was coming. That forked tongue thrust forward, splitting me apart, prying my slick folds open until it found the soft, pulsing entrance he was looking for. Then he pushed--deep--filling my pussy with thick, impossible heat.
I gasped -- not from the pleasure, but from the sting. I was bleeding, just a little, and he didn't hesitate. He tasted me. Drank from me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I felt it -- that slow, hungry pull -- and it sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the cold.
He didn't speak. Just moaned low against me, like my blood fed something he hadn't felt in centuries. My thighs trembled. My breath caught. It wasn't pain -- it was something else. Something deeper. He pulled out, then kissed the inside of my thigh, slow and sure, and when he looked up at me, his lips were stained. I felt raw, exposed, sacred. His tongue flicked out again, tracing the slick mess of blood and arousal between my folds. He didn't rush. He worshipped.
God help me -- I wanted it. I welcomed it. I watched his muscles beam as his strong arms pulled me closer -- so he could reach deeper inside me. His tongue jerked at my cervix, the base of it brushing my clit at the same time, making me squirm like a schoolgirl with her first crush. I was on my back -- like a good little bitch -- right where I belonged, offering myself to my king. He could take me -- any form, any position -- and I'd be good for him. I'd do anything for more pulses of his god damned pleasure.
I saw his light -- his dark -- felt him push and pull, fucking me rotten with his beautiful tongue. He wanted the light inside me, and I'd gladly give it to anyone who could fuck me this graciously. His cock leaked between his legs -- big and bold -- a hammer ready to pound into this tight cunt. I was willing, stripped bare and ready to give him everything. Whatever he needed -- little bitch Mary was here.
I was captured -- caught between his dark gazes, his lips, his teeth. When I felt his tongue push and pull, flick and tug, penetrating me over, stretching me, preparing me... I clutched the sheets and waited for the descent. And it dropped -- like a bag of weights. I let him taste me as my eyes caught the glow of the moon from the window, and something dark and naughty wiggled along with his tongue, working its way up into my soul; maybe a thrill, a light, a drop of something darker than myself, maybe a sensation... an itch that tingled through my core, lingered in my loins and radiated through my extremities. A pop! A burst! A crush! An orgasmic explosion of every star I'd ever seen blew through me, clearing the ache and want between my thighs for a split second. Then a crash! An exhale. Release. Relief.
I blinked. Once. Twice. The room didn't look the same -- softer, shadowed, humming. My breath caught in my throat as he pulled away, slow and deliberate, as if he'd left something behind. Something of him -- or maybe something of me -- was missing now. I couldn't tell. My body was spent, trembling, but my soul... my soul felt stretched, peeled open, like pages in a forbidden book. And I wasn't sure who was doing the reading anymore.
My body, wrecked and wide open, the sheets tangled around my legs, the air thick with heat and whatever we'd just become. He was still there. Close. His body half draped across mine, heavy and warm, like he wasn't done -- just letting me breathe.
His breath moved slow against my neck, not soft, not sweet -- just present. I could feel the weight of his cock between his legs, still full, still leaking, pressed against my thigh like a promise.
Neither of us spoke. There were no words. Just the sound of my pulse trying to settle and his tongue -- still wet with me -- dragging lazily up my shoulders and neck.
We rested like that, bodies slick, souls tangled -- not finished, just... paused.
The kind of silence that comes between strikes of lightning.
I watched it grow -- thick, veined, monstrous -- rising from his groin like the first wasn't enough. A second cock, just as huge. Twelve inches, uncut, dripping. My mouth parted, breath caught. My cunt clenched around nothing. Ten inches of pure girth, and I ached for it.
I was dripping. Desperate. I could feel my slick running down my thighs, warm and shameless. I'd never wanted anything so badly -- not one cock, but two. I needed them. Needed him.
He shoved the first into my pussy -- deep, brutal, perfect -- and I screamed like I was being saved and ruined all at once. The second slapped against my ass, thick and wet, a filthy promise waiting to be kept.
"Please..." I didn't even know what I was begging for. "More... deeper".
To be fucked wide and used until I forgot my own name. "Yes, please."
I wanted it all. I wanted him. I wanted to be filled so completely that nothing untouched remained. Not a single inch. Not even a Heavenly devotion could stay.
