Fucking with a DEMON!
一
The coronavirus is everywhere. The non-stop media coverage, the hysteria, like it could be Armageddon.
The end of days, end of the world. Coronapocalypse!
And all I can think is that I'm too young to die! I can't die, at least not yet, I don't want to die without ever having sex!
That's right. I'm a virgin.
Not that I don't want it, or that I'm a Tim Tebow religious type of douchebag, or that I haven't tried, but, sadly, I've yet to do - "IT."
I'm a virgin, a fucking incel.
And with the virus wreaking havoc, maybe I won't even have the chance!
At 18, too, yeah, it's embarrassing. There's no one I can confide in, either. I can't tell any of my friends because they'd totally rake me over the coals. I don't even wanna think of how savagely they'd roast me if they knew...
My friends are assholes, as would be expected of them, being jocks, guys on the college football team, D-1. My teammates, bros are all banging cheerleaders, but, for me, as the kicker, even though I won 4 games last season with my foot, and kicked us into a national ranking, and televised bowl game, it's always the quarterback, receivers, linebackers getting the girly action.
With the ladies, like in football, I'm mostly on the sidelines watching. Sitting on the bench.
While I've had some success on the field, with the females, my moment of glory has yet to arrive. And now, with the Four Horsemen riding in, with shit about to go all Walking Dead, I might die in incel ignominy.
Not that I never touched a girl, though. I've made out a few times. Swapped spit and got my hands up a few shirts.
Not that long-ago I finger-banged a fire-hot, petite, high-cheek boned, chocolate eyed, super-sexy Filipina chick from my college algebra class.
Driving her home from the library, we took a naughty detour to the far end of the campus and climbed into the comfy leather backseat of my Suburban.
Behind the privacy of darkly tinted windows, we melted into the butterscotch colored interior and were instantly locking lips, and next thing I knew, I had her yoga pants down, and my camo shorts fell too, my rock-hard dick popping out, my erect cock drooling pre-cum as her small brown hand was lightly stroking and tickling my wet mushroom tip.
I'd hooked my hands to the waistband of her underwear, was ready to peel off her tiger-print panties and stab into her sweet pussy's sugar walls, but then her phone rang, and I had to rush her home.
Being a "good" Catholic girl, she felt guilty about it and objurgated me. Wouldn't go out with me again, saying that I'm possessed by the devil, which, for real, maybe is true...
You see, something's been in me, overtaking me, ever since me and my folks moved into the mansion my parents bought at a hefty discount, because of it being allegedly haunted...
Some background perhaps is in order...
The mansion, a massive structure, built from beige quartzite stone, was designed to look like a castle and has a conical front-facing turret, three chimneys, and a Roman-style spouting fountain in the front-facing roundabout.
Inside the mansion is all marble flooring, and intricate, lush wood paneling walling, and super-high, vaulted ceilings, floor to ceiling windows in nearly every room.
Built on massive stone foundations, at the peak of a mountain, it eats up a sizable chunk of sky, and towers mightily, dwarfing the glittering glass spiral towers, square clumps of rowhouses, McMansions and suburban sprawl of the city below.
The massive, medieval style manor had been abandoned for years. The owner, who'd built it, was a CEO of a pizza franchise, and had embezzled a ton of cash from his company.
He'd also been having an affair with his oldest daughter, a busty college girl, a goth, Suicide Girl cam-chick, an online model, who'd attended my college, actually.
Once the CEO was facing legal charges, and was ousted from his company, he and his daughter, ironically, committed suicide together, swallowing a big bottle of Oxycontin; the two taboo lovers found nude and motionless together in the master bedroom, by his wife, the girl's mother.
(Unsurprisingly, the Suicide Girl's social media, tribute pages skyrocketed in popularity afterwards, and she'd become a viral sensation. And yes, I did view and jerk off to her pics...)
In addition, it came to light that the grounds the mansion was built on used to house gallows, where a series of witches were hung back in colonial times...
The house, and grounds, with their infamy, was understandably difficult to sell, and sat empty for nearly a decade, until my father, upon having success of his own in the corporate world, decided to buy and renovate it.
Not that I believe much in ghosts, but there's a strange energy in the house and its multi-acre grounds. Before it was renovated, it'd been a morbid tourist attraction, and in the woods nearby, there'd been a series of suicides. The fucking place like our city's answer to the forest by Mount Fuji...
After buying the property, we tore out the spot where the old master bedroom was, remodeled it and transformed it into an outdoor garden featuring a bevy of exotic flowers and plants. Despite the effort, though, it still has this eerie vibe to it, that garden, and even in the summer, even when it's boiling hot outside, the garden always has a prickly cold touch to it...
And the house, too, has its energy and movements. There're strange sounds in the house, knocks and footsteps, lights flickering, shutting on and off without reason.
I swear I saw the girl, the Suicide Girl, several times at night. She appeared in hazy mist, an ambrosial waft swirling in the evening air, as the maiden, walking nude, aimlessly, lapped around the winding hallways, with her lips pursed, black rose tattoos carved into her washboard midriff, blood red dragon tats running up her thighs; her perky bell-shaped tits glowing like orbs; silvery glints bouncing in sparks from her facial piercings; her phantom figure so translucent that her pallid skin was whiter than smoke...
The ghostly vision had both aroused and repelled me... Terrifyingly hot, she was a GILF. Ghost I'd Like to Fuck! Being a horny 18 y/o virgin, especially facing the end of days, the plague and that, I'd have wrecked that witchy spirit ass, fucked the shit out of that supernatural pussy...
I told my father, not about fucking the ghost, but seeing it, and Pops, ever the skeptic, refused to believe it, refused to bow to superstition, and was apathetic anyway, him being basically an absentee landlord, his job having him gone on business most of the year.
Mother was often traveling, too, for pleasure, and waved my visions off with a swatting gesture, not wanting to pay any attention to such "hogwash."
(Much like she'd said of the coronavirus at its outset, that it was a hoax, before later labeling it a "gift" from God to thin out the population...)
But, similar to the virus showing its teeth, the house has its etiology as well; there's definitely something to it, in its genesis, its effect, because everyone, my mom, dad, me and sister, has changed since moving in...
My father has gotten older, grayer, aging at a rapid rate, and he's grown colder, more distant, often staring off into the distance when not on his tablet, dealing with business-related matters, stock price charts or pie graphs.
Mother has gotten more depressed, and got FAR larger, like Lizzo size, eating like a farm animal and drinking like a fish, damn near a bottle of pricey red wine per day.
(I've begun to suspect my father of having an affair; his interest in my cow of a mother understandably waning, and I've noticed him leering more and more at my smoking hot sister...)
For me, I've become more focused on football and am kicking the fuck out of the pigskin, have never kicked better, am kicking like a Kung Fu master, and after only my freshman campaign, there's been talk of NFL scouts looking at me, that I could one day be a late-round draft pick.
But despite my promising career prospects, when I'm not thinking football, my thoughts have gotten sinister, wildly more sexual. Particularly towards my sister...
My sister, oh, my sister. The debutante, herself involved in college sports, gymnastics, as well as dance, ballet, which explains her flawless hourglass form, her goddess body of perfect, chiseled proportions.
Not that I see her much, though, because, until recently, she's rarely been home, and has grown up in boarding schools, specialized talent summer camps. But when I have seen her, ever since I recall, she's been a stuck-up bitch, a fucking cunt, looking down on me, sticking up her nose, acting like her perfectly spherical, wiggly round ass doesn't fucking stink.
The bitch.
I've always wanted to fuck her, sure, but after moving into the house, my thoughts have turned to hate-fucking her, surprise fucking her, creeping up behind her, hard dick poking out of my pants, my dick like a spear, me pinning her to a wall, taking her from behind, ninja-fucking the bitch, putting the cunt in a full nelson and twisting her like a pretzel as I ream balls-deep into her stink monkey...
I'd never had such explicit thoughts, prismatic hate-fuck visions, until moving into the house, and when the thoughts fog in, a different voice speaks to me, a voice with an angrier, harsher timbre. It's a buzzsaw of a voice, giving me ideas I don't want to have, but that I can't gray out; the visions of violently hate-fucking my cunt of a sister, the visions consuming me and stiffening my cock, forcing me to masturbate to soften the edge.
(Here and there, at a demon's prodding, I've been sneaking into her room, stealing and sniffing at her panties, and running them over my dick, using them to whack off, while staring and sneering at her vanity pictures adorning the walls. There I'll stand, in her room, drinking in the scent of bitch, that bitch scent, scent of nail polish, beauty products and young fresh cunt floating in the room's air, and I'll jerk off, imagine primate-fucking my sister raw...)
