Caution: graphic degrading abnormal sex

13. Rat Bait

“This is ridiculous, Lita,” Solita exclaimed. “Your bed at night is just about the safest place you can be.”

The child was adamant. “But there’s a horny monster, mommy! It will come closer tonight; I know it. It grabs my knees and pulls my legs apart and licks me. It’s going to do something awful to me.”

Solita blanched inwardly. This sounded like a memory of sexual abuse, but that was impossible; she was close to her seven-year-old daughter and made sure she was never exposed to anything like that. Her husband was serving overseas, but she knew absolutely that he would never be guilty of any such thing; he was a completely moral man. So it must be some scary tale told by a classmate in school that had caught Lita’s imagination and terrified her. Solita hoped that “horny” meant that it had a horn, like a rhino.

This was their second day in this newly rented house, and the price had been cheaper because of rumors that it was haunted. Solita had no truck with such notions, of course. Yet now a thin thread of doubt was creeping in. Could there really be a haunt?

This needed to be dealt with promptly and firmly. “Lita, I have watched you as you sleep. Nothing has touched you.”

“But it has, mommy! You just can’t see it.”

Definitely imagination, maybe. “I’ll prove it. Tonight I’ll sleep in that bed and you can sit up in the chair until you are satisfied that there is nothing to fear. Okay?”

“Okay!” the child agreed gladly.

They changed places. Lita sat in the chair beside the bed, and Solita lay on the bed and drew the sheet up over her. She closed her eyes as for sleep. She was sure this would not take long.

But she was more tired than she realized, and in moments was asleep. Then something grabbed her left ankle.

Her eyes snapped open. There was Lita sitting in the chair, watching. There was Solita’s body under the sheet. Nothing was grabbing her ankle. Nothing visible.

Another hand caught her right ankle. It was big and coarse-fingered, with hard calluses on the palm. Yet still nothing was visible. What was going on?

The two hands clamped down hard, compressing her flesh. “Ow!” she exclaimed. But no sound came out.

Solita tried to sit up, to sweep away the sheet and discover what the hell was happening with her feet. But her body did not move. She was paralyzed. Now she realized that her eyes weren’t really open, either; she was seeing what she expected to see. She was in some kind of dream-frozen state, the kind that prevented people from thrashing around when dreaming. She could not move or speak.

The hands exerted brutal force, wedging her legs apart. She tried to resist, but the hands had more leverage than she did, and her legs inevitably parted.

“No!” she cried, soundlessly. She was helpless to stop it, or even to protest.

Now she understood what her daughter had tried to tell her. A lustful monster was attacking her, and it intended to do something awful. It was indeed horny in the physical and sexual sense. Lita did not understand that aspect, but Solita did: it was out for rape.

She fought with all her might, focusing on her legs, willing them to close. And they did! She was discovering how to resist the monster! It was psychic rather than physical, and she had to oppose it on its own turf, or suffer psychic rape.

The problem with rape was only partly the physical penetration. Things entered a woman’s vagina all the time, ranging from her own fingers as she washed to the instrument of an examining gynecologist. To the hard penis of a man, which was fine if it belonged to a husband or boyfriend and was welcome. It became rape when it was unwelcome. The damage was generally psychological rather than physical. Her personal space was being violated, her will overridden.

That was what was threatening here. A psychic monster was determined to have psychic sex with her against her will. Therefore it was rape. But she somehow knew that if she could just hold on long enough, keeping her legs psychically as well as physically closed, she could prevent it.

She was succeeding. She was keeping herself closed to intrusion. The hands were straining at her ankles but not making headway. She was winning!

Then the bottom of the bed fell out. Her legs dropped down into a hole. She flung out her arms and caught the sides of the bed, hanging on, preventing herself from falling all the way in. She knew that this was figurative rather than literal, that her physical body was still lying serenely horizontal, showing no sign of motion. But her psychic body was in deadly danger, and that was the one she had to protect.

The gross hands yanked on her ankles, hauling her downward. She clung tight, aware that this was a new aspect of the struggle. If she fell all the way into the hole, she would be ravished by the invisible demon and hopelessly sullied. It might not show on her physical body, but psychically she would know she had been raped, exactly as if she had been physically abused. She had to hang on!

Now the hands resumed hauling her legs apart. In this position she lacked the leverage to keep them closed. Slowly they separated, and something blocked them apart. It felt like a gross apelike head. The hands were now free to move on up.

She couldn’t put her own hands down to stop them, because she couldn’t let go of her desperate grip on the sides of the bed beyond the hole. She had to suffer the handling.

And handling it was. The fingers moved up inside her legs, past the knees, and on to her thighs. They stroked and squeezed, evidently appreciating her unwilling flesh. She tried to lift her legs clear, but immediately the hands gripped her knees, holding them down, and she lacked the strength to get free. All she could do was stay where she was, refusing to be drawn down into the hole.

The head turned its gross face to her left knee. A hot slimy tongue licked it, and around her leg. It felt like oral sex—with her knee. She tried again to yank it free, but could not. Disgusted, she gave up the effort and let the monster slurp, fouling her leg with his saliva.

Now the hands slid up to her crotch. Fingers hooked into her panties and dragged them down, and she couldn’t stop it. They cleared her hips and thighs and came down to her knees. They could not go farther, because the head blocked the way. That was some small relief.

She heard a munching sound, and realized that the monster must be eating her panties. So much for relief!

The hands moved up again. This time they found her bared bottom and stroked her buttocks. They squeezed, savoring the flesh. Solita knew herself to be a well-proportioned woman, having kept herself in shape, but she had never intended to be appreciated in quite this manner, and she was disgusted. But she couldn’t even try to stop it unless she let go of the bed, and she did not dare do that. So she remained vulnerable to the lecherous interest of the monster.

The hands slid around to her vulva and drew the lips of it apart. It seemed she was being examined. The eyes of the head must be peering into her open cleft. Then a horny finger poked into her vagina. It was as big and hard as a normal man’s phallus. She tried to clench her vaginal muscles to bar it, but could not. It shoved up into her until the full length of it was embedded. She felt horribly distended. It moved about, pushing against the internal walls. The thing was having finger sex with her!

If the monster thought that was a turn-on for her, he was mistaken. She was utterly turned off. Or maybe that was the point: to degrade her until she simply had to try to use her hands to resist.

That was not the worst of it. Now the head moved up, its bovine-sized tongue licking at her thighs, crawling onward like a giant slug. It reached her open cleft and slobbered greedily across it, coating it with thick gooey spit. It tickled her clitoris. Such an action by a man she loved could have evoked her orgasm, but as it was, it made her want to retch. And still she could not act to stop it.

The hands moved up farther, sliding across her belly and back. Where were they going?

She found out all too soon. They came to her breasts and lasciviously fondled them, lifting, squeezing, pulling. “No!” she wanted to cry, but could not make a sound.

It got worse. The head moved up until the demon face was at her chest. The tongue licked her breasts all over, thoroughly coating them. Almost, she let go of the bed and grabbed the horrid thing to haul it away from her. Her breasts were special in ways her genitalia were not. But she knew that was what the monster wanted. He was trying to tease her into doing exactly that, so she would fall into the hole and become his complete captive. She still had to endure the disgusting process.

The mouth focused on her left nipple. The demon closed on it and sucked, hard. Soon it felt as if half her breast was inside that orifice, and still he sucked as if trying to swallow her whole mammary. Again, done by a lover, this could have worked her up toward a climax, but as it was, the effect was opposite. She felt like vomiting, but refused to give the thing the satisfaction of making her so obviously sick.

Finally the face withdrew. Was it leaving at last? No such luck. It returned to her vulva, and the tongue ran into her vagina, pressing it open, forcing its slimy mass on in.

Again it shoved, as the finger had, ramming into her helpless aperture. Now she felt really distended, as though her belly was bowing outward from the incredible mass of the thing inside her. So it wasn’t actually physical; it still felt like a flesh-pulping rape. She had never had sex like this, and wished she could somehow cut off the obscene tongue and spit it out of her body. But it was having its sickening will of her.

At last it withdrew, sliding slowly out like a spent penis, letting her stretched vagina contract back to an approximation of normalcy. Was the nightmare finally over?

Then it slurped across her anus, greasily lubricating it, and pushed while the hands held her buttocks apart so that the face could nudge in closer. Her revulsion multiplied: it was going after her ass. She tried to resist, to clamp her sphincter muscle, but the serpentine thing just kept licking and poking, wedging in bit by bit. She made a supreme effort and managed to close her rectum off so that the tongue could not get more than the greasy tip through. She was stopping it!

The hands reached up and touched her ribs. The fingers tickled wickedly. “Aaa!” she screamed, for she had always been hyper-ticklish there. And in that moment her sphincter relaxed and the tongue got in another inch. That gave it leverage, and though she clamped down again, hard, it slowly expanded, oozing slippery oily saliva, until it breached her defense and got the rest of the way inside. Now it coursed on through like a cruising serpent, an endless python, invading her colon, completing the conquest. It wrestled around in her intestine, probing this way and that, as if tasting every part of it. It stirred her gut from inside, reaching far along her alimentary tract, stroking it in unspeakable ways.

Solita gritted her teeth, literally, as she suffered this obscene intrusion. But yet again she knew she could not afford to let go of the bed, lest she be sucked down and trapped in the void below. The monster was doing its best to overwhelm her determination, but she somehow knew that if it succeeded, she would be doomed.

The tongue continued, withdrawing somewhat, then thrusting in again, repeatedly stroking the channel, like a phallus seeking its culmination. It went on and on, in and out, sliding through her system, stirring her gut, almost fondling her rectum as it pulsed through its constriction. What was the point? As it was, she was beginning to get a reaction, much as she hated the notion.

Then she had a flash of realization: the thing was trying to stimulate her into orgasm! To make her really have sex with it, in this loathsome fashion. That must be its way of truly possessing her. The vagina had failed, the clitoris had failed, the breasts had failed, but this time it would not relent.

She had to resist it. She tried, but it had finally found a way to turn her on. That was the ultimate obscenity: overwhelming her repulsion as well as her body. She fought as hard as she could, but that imperative pumping was evoking a reaction she had not known she was capable of: sexual pleasure from the anus.

The realization, perversely, caused the effect to intensify. She absolutely hated it, but could not prevent it. She was riding a hot greased flexing pole, and it was making her react. She built into a phenomenal anal orgasm.

“Ooooo!” she cried soundlessly, in mixed revulsion and guilty pleasure, as her body pulsed in response to the continued thrusting of the huge tongue. Her whole lower body seemed to explode into ugly rapture, making her too breathless to moan again. Her anus squeezed the tongue, relaxed, squeezed again, as the siege continued. The tongue, too, expanded and contracted rhythmically, feeding her climax, extending it amazingly. Her ass was one huge filthy font of ecstasy.

At last it passed, and she shuddered into relaxation. She knew she would be forever appalled by what had happened and her reaction, but also that it was the wildest orgasm of her life. She was ashamed, yet also supremely sated. She had never imagined that she could ever suffer such a foul intrusion, yet derive such delinquent delight from it.

And the tongue, evidently satisfied, withdrew. It slid out of her tract like an extended turd and was finally gone. The monster was departing, having had his will of her in more than one manner.

Now she felt strangely depleted, as if more than her relative naiveté had been taken from her. What had the monster seized, apart from her reluctant passion? She dreaded the answer.

Then it came to her: the demon had stolen her innocence. She was adult, and sexually seasoned, but now she knew that she had known almost nothing and experienced less. She had been forcibly introduced to her own ugliest buried lust. Because despite her horror of the process, she had in a perverted manner liked it.

She slept, emotionally exhausted, and did not wake until morning. There was Lita, watching her. “Did it come?” she asked anxiously.

She could not lie about this. “Yes it came, dear.” She was aware there was more than one meaning there, but that couldn’t be helped. She also was not about to tell her innocent daughter of the monstrous degradation she had suffered. That would be her secret, preferably for life. She had had sex often enough, and understood its variations; the violation had been of her will more than her body. Indeed, her body was untouched. It was her spirit that had been dirtied. “You were right: there is a monster.”

“I knew it! Did you make it go away?”

“Not yet, dear,” Solita said grimly. Because she knew the demon would inevitably come again, in both senses. They had to be rid of the monster, lest it inflict even more unspeakable things on her and her daughter.

She was sure the demon was only pausing between degradations, and had her marked for more and worse. She had to stop it, preferably permanently. But how could she balk a thing that could not be seen or touched in the mortal realm? She needed help.

She moved into the morning routine, acting far more upbeat than she felt. Lita had faith in her, and she had to justify that. But how?

Once Lita was off at the school, Solita repaired to the phone book. There it was, under MAGIC: a small local shop. Somehow she had known that it dealt in more than magic tricks.

She went there. The proprietor was an older woman with a supremely homely face and body. “I need a—a demon repellent,” she said.

The proprietress did not laugh. “What kind of demon?”

“A sexual predator. The kind that preys upon women in bed.” Would the woman laugh?

“An incubus. They are repelled only by sexual repulsiveness.” She glanced appraisingly at Solita. “You don’t qualify.”

So it was no secret who had the problem. “Then what will work?”

“Nothing will repel it once it has oriented on a particular subject. Do you comprehend the nature of these demons?”

All too well, erotically. But that was not the question. “No.”

“They are immortal sexual spirits that seek sexual prey. They don’t care whether it is single, married, or juvenile, only that it is desirable by their standard. They try to take over a woman by forcing her to have orgasms with them, one per night. Three nights, and they take possession of her soul. Then they can preempt her physical body, and assume mortal form. The woman, of course, is doomed; she becomes the host for the incubus. It is not a pretty fate.”

“It is not,” Solita agreed grimly. “What will kill it?”

“Nothing will kill it. As I said, it is immortal. But there are measures that can be taken to nullify it. Are you interested?”

“Yes,” Solita said guardedly. The woman was angling for something.

“There is a potion that will trap an incubus in much the same manner as he traps an innocent mortal woman. That is to say, if he orgasms three times in its presence, it locks on him, and he becomes the sex slave of the one who fashioned the potion. Any portions of a mortal soul he has garnered are forfeit, returned to their source. The problem is getting him to deliver those orgasms in the right context. Demons are generally canny about such things.”

“You made the potion!” Solita said, catching on.

“If he orgasms in the potion, regardless who contains it, he will become the sex slave of an unattractive woman,” she agreed. “A fate worse than death for him.”

“But he’s huge and gnarly and insatiable,” Solita said. “He slobbers and thrusts with finger, tongue, and I am sure phallus once he gets it into play. What woman would want that?”

“The difference is that she controls him, not vice versa. He must do as she bids, constantly. He will react to it much as you react to him: with helpless revulsion. The pleasure will be all hers.”

Solita thought of the way she had been forced into orgasm via the tongued anus. She was disgusted anew, but she could appreciate how a certain type of woman might like that treatment, provided she had control. It would serve the demon right. “What does this potion cost?”

“For you, nothing. You would be doing me a favor. For him, everything.”

Solita smiled. “I believe we have a deal.”

The woman fetched a small ornate bottle containing a dark fluid. “One caution. You must get him to orgasm three times by your own third. Otherwise you will not have a chance to refresh the potion before he indulges again on another night.”

“I get it,” Solita said, shuddering. “How can I do that?”

“If you appear willing, or at least resigned, he will give you some freedom. He takes sex as he can get it, but he prefers it with a woman who is not constantly fighting him. It’s not that he cares for her emotionally; he doesn’t. She is merely his vessel of lust. But it costs him energy to control her, which subtracts from his fulfillment. You do not want to seem eager, because that will be suspicious, but if you give up and let him have anything he wants without resistance, perhaps in the vain hope that he will then release you, he will take it. The first orgasm may even make him eager for another, in a different venue.”

“Like going from vagina to anus?”

“Or throat,” the woman agreed. “They like variety, and they can be quite imaginative.”

Just so. “How do I apply this?”

“Put some in any likely avenue, and renew daily. His substance must touch it as he orgasms. He will not be aware of it, and it will have no effect on you. It is spiritual bait.”

“Like rat bait,” Solita said. “The rat eats this tasty treat, and it has no apparent effect, so next day it eats some more, and it has no effect. By the third day it is too late; it has thinned the blood, and the rat will die.”

“A nice analogy,” the woman agreed.

“Something that perplexes me,” Solita said. “He did not have full sex with me. Instead he—he used his hands and tongue. Why didn’t he use his penis?”

“The powers that be decree that a victim must have a fair chance to escape. So the incubus can bring his penis into play only gradually. The first night with a given subject he can reach his penis no higher than her knees. The second night, her genital region. The third night, her head. If she flees after the first night, by traveling across a sea where he can’t follow, she escapes his phallus. If she flees after the second night, she saves her soul. But by the third night, she is his.”

That explained a lot. The demon had used his tongue for sex because it was the only organ he could get into her body. But she would not be that lucky again.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I will be sending him to you in a few days, I hope.”

“I will be expecting him,” the woman said grimly. “And thank you.”

Solita took the bottle home. In the evening she uncorked it and poured some potion on her hand. It was a translucent elixir, like a hair conditioner, but odorless. She swabbed it into her vagina, then put some on a bit of cloth and pushed it into her anus so that it would deposit the potion. Unsatisfied that this sufficed, she fetched a small syringe and squeezed a few drops in. Finally she swallowed some, trusting that it would suitably coat her mouth and throat. It was tasteless, but she hoped potent. As an afterthought she spread some on her breasts, especially around the nipples, just in case.

“What are you doing, mommy?”

Oops. She hadn’t been aware that Lita was paying attention. “Just applying some lotion.”

“Can I have some too?”

Oops again. Yet wouldn’t it make sense to protect her daughter too, just in case? Lita had been spared despoilment only by the rule that restricted the demon to her legs the first night. “You may if you wish.”

Lita took some potion and poked it carefully into her several orifices, copying what she had observed. To her it was a game. “Are you going to sleep in the bed again? The monster might come.”

“I believe the potion will discourage the monster.” That was true in essence, the same way rat bait discouraged rats by sickening or killing them. The incubus would not be sickened or killed, but would be enslaved, and that was perhaps fitting. She suspected the magic shop proprietress had some bizarre sexual tastes. Why else would she want the forced attentions of a thing like this? The only liability was that Solita would have to suffer seemingly willing sex with the horny incubus. She was sure that would not be fun.

“Oh. Okay.” The child lost interest. That was an excellent sign.

That night Solita lay on the bed again, and Lita took the couch. Her heart was pounding. Would this sexual ploy work, or had the shop sold her a bill of goods? Would the demon take the bait? There were so many uncertainties.

And the incubus came. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but smelled his dusky odor. She was perversely relieved. She hated gratifying his infernal lust, but she also wanted vengeance for what he had inflicted on her already. She wanted him doomed the same way he sought to doom her.

He caught her feet and pulled her legs apart. Solita did not try to resist. She was almost satisfied. Now she had a role to play.

“Why don’t you just do it fast and go away?” she asked soundlessly. “Since I can’t stop you anyway, you obscene spook.”

She felt the demon pause, considering. Then to her surprise he spoke, similarly soundlessly. “Spread your legs and arms.”

She did, lying supine, exposed. “Fast,” she repeated. “I hate it and it want it over.” Which was true, if not the whole truth.

“I will do it as pleases me, slut.” He mounted her from above. The gulf did not open up below the bed. It seemed he wanted her to be supported by the bed so he could more readily do the deed. That was another relief; she had hated being suspended while her body was exposed to his lascivious attentions.

“It doesn’t please me,” she said. “I just want to get it over with so you’ll leave me alone.” This was emotional resistance, which was probably a turn-on for this brute.

“I will never leave you alone, wench.”

“Then why should I cooperate?” she demanded, and tried to close her arms and legs.

But it was of course too late. He merely touched her limbs, and they seemed to be manacled in place. It was evidently easier for him to paralyze her than to pry her open against her resistance.

He oriented his huge hard phallus, then rammed it into her full depth. It was a bruising penetration.

“It hurts!” she protested, with no exaggeration. But she did not try to resist further in any way.

“Great!” He thrust hard, withdrew, and thrust again, harder. She felt as if she were being impaled on a massive stake, like an ancient Assyrian victim. The thing was shoving impossibly far into her, displacing her internal organs. How big was it—nine inches, a foot, and wide in proportion? The tongue had been bad, but this was worse. If this had been physical, she would have to have restorative surgery. She let her tears flow, not having to fake her pain.

The worst of it was that she knew her extreme physical and emotional discomfort pleased the demon, enhancing his pleasure of the occasion. He wanted her to suffer.

In moments his orgasm came upon him. A huge amount of burning hot fluid coursed into her body, setting her on fire.

She screamed in agony as the blazing mass suffused her abdomen, but did not resist.

“You’ll do,” he grunted as his monstrous emission ebbed.

She hoped so. He had just had his first orgasm in the potion, while she had not. She had gained a point, as it were.

He withdrew his member. Another bad aspect was that she discovered she could not let the bolus of ejaculate flow back out. It was solidifying inside her as it cooled, keeping her tissues horribly stretched.

Now, temporarily depleted, the incubus focused on the rest of her body. His gross face came down on her breasts, taking them halfway in one at a time. He licked and sucked like a monstrous baby.

She twisted under him as if trying to escape his attention, but only succeeded in pushing one breast farther into his mouth. “Damn,” she swore, though she was pleased. She was working him up again, still without her own orgasm.

The incubus slid his face on up her body until it was opposite hers. She could not see him in the darkness, but she felt his rancid breath. Oh shit, she thought. He’s going to kiss me.

He kissed her, and she firmed her lips though the contact sickened her. She wanted him to continue working himself up, after all. So he would have another orgasm in the potion.

Then she had a scary thought: if he did it again in her vagina, would it be effective? Or would the potion there be used up? Surely he wouldn’t, because it was already swollen with that bolus of goo. But if, perversely, he did?

“You’ll do,” he repeated. “Now stand on your head.”

“I can’t do that!” she protested. “I was never good at sports of any kind. I just fall over.”

He did not argue. He simply got to his feet on the bed, put his hands on her hips, and hauled her into the air. He set her down on her head. She instinctively put down her hands to brace herself, and discovered she was doing it: she was standing on her head.

“Now spread your legs in a V,” he ordered.

She tried and succeeded. It seemed she could do things in her spiritual state she couldn’t even try in her physical state. She was standing on her head with her legs spread in a V formation.

Did this bring her head into the range of his penis? She suspected it didn’t, because the ban was not exactly directional. He simply could not make her do fellatio. Yet.

He kneeled behind her and put his face down into her open cleft. He slobbered all across it, then ran his tongue into her packed vagina and her empty rectum. She was unable to resist, because her hands were occupied maintaining her balance, her legs were locked apart, and she wanted him to get turned on whatever way he could without stimulating her to a matching orgasm. If tasting her holes did it, then so be it.

He stood, leaned over her, and put his giant member to her vulva. Was he going it inject another bolus there? She would burst asunder! No, to her mixed relief he oriented on her lubricated anus and bore down. His member rammed past the involuntarily tight sphincter and into the colon like a pylon being pounded into the ground. The pain was terrible.

She screamed in agony, but the brutal penetration continued. A foot long? It had grown! It felt like eighteen inches, six thick, mercilessly jamming down into her inverted guts. No wonder he had made her assume this position: without solid bracing, she could have risen to the ceiling instead of taking in this monster. She was already inflated by the bowling-ball sized mass of ejaculate in her locked vagina; now she was doubly distended by the sheer mass of the member. She was amazed that her flesh could handle it without tearing. But of course this too was different in the spirit mode: she was not limited by the limits of flesh. Down and down it drove, until she almost feared it would come out of her mouth.

At last it stopped, though her whole belly felt bloated. It paused a moment, then drew back slightly. Was he starting his thrusting toward his second climax? It seemed too soon, but of course he was not subject to mortal limits, and it was already as thick and hard as a phallus could get. So maybe he could do it now.

He shoved down again, and she felt her intestines squishing to the sides, forced out of the way. He withdrew, and thrust, and again her innards roiled. But the pace did not pick up in the manner of a developing climax, and she concluded that he was after all not yet ready.

He bent forward and down without dislodging his member, his upper body folding until it pressed against her front. What was he doing?

Then she felt his mouth at her breasts, which here hanging upside down. Oh, that again. He sucked in a nipple and masticated it with his course lips. As he did, she felt his massive penis throb within her. He was getting stimulation from the oral contact. That was, she supposed good. She dreaded his next emission, but she needed to evoke it, the sooner the better.

He moved across and mouthed the other nipple. His member pulsed again. He took in as much of the breast as he could, and his penis seemed to expand. So he was getting there, slowly. Fortunately she was not. How could she, in such an awkward position, her body stuffed like a holiday turkey?

Then he brought his hands to her sides and stroked her ribs. Oh, no, he was going to tickle her again! “Please don’t!” she pleaded.

But he did. He tickled her exquisitely. She burst into helpless laughter, feeling her body convulse against his rigid member. That was what he wanted: to make her do the work for his deeper penetration. She had no choice but to oblige. She compressed his penis with her involuntary agitation. This was not at all comfortable for her, but she did feel some further twitching as it responded.

Still the phallus was not quite there. Even immortal sex demons needed time to recover. That was too bad. Maybe he needed time to secrete another gallon of ejaculate for his next emission.

His hands left her tortured ribs and found her breasts, taking eager handfuls. His head lowered farther. His gross face came up against hers. They were both upside down, his knees at her back, his hands on her breasts, his penis wedged deep in her innards, yet this seemed like another novelty. He kissed her mouth. She kissed back. Anything to get him to climax and get the hell out of her before she suffered terminal distention!

His lips pried hers apart. Oh, damn! He was going to penetrate her this way too. His tongue snaked through and entered her mouth, much as it had entered her colon before. It tasted like a dog turd. It circulated around her mouth, exploring. Then it stretched on to her throat. It touched the back of it.

She choked as her gag reflex was triggered. She tried to vomit, but the tongue swelled to block her throat, preventing it. She heaved helplessly, unable to complete her puking. She felt her breasts pushing against his hands as her bottom clenched against his groin. Her whole body was rocking with the force of her frustrated nausea.

And she felt his member swelling again. Her convolutions of sickness were doing what her tickling reactions had not. They were at last evoking his climax. Aroused, his penis thrust and thrust again, storming through the violent contractions of her belly.

He came. She felt another bolus forging through the massive pipeline, powering down to the terminus, and finally bursting out below. On and on it surged, a seemingly endless gushing of molten lava, inflating her like a tortured balloon.

And that evoked her response. She hated it, but amidst the throes of her helpless gagging and the pain of her burning large intestine she was suffering a sexual reaction. Something about all that hot semen making her belly swell horrendously turned her awfully on. His climax was triggering hers.

She came. Her colon rhythmically compressed his pumping member, squeezing the rest of the ejaculate out of the spout. Her throat swallowed his tongue, squeezing it similarly. Her enlarging breasts seemed about to squirt milk into his hands. She was transfixed by a total body orgasm.

They faded together, she on her head, he wrapped around her, anchored at genitalia and mouths. She cursed it, because it was utterly disgusting, and she had wanted to make him spurt without doing the equivalent herself. She had gained a point, as it were, only to lose it immediately.

Yet it had been another transcendent experience, the most violent, weird, and powerful climax she had ever had. The very notion repelled her, but she could be acquiring a taste for demon sex.

He withdrew tongue and phallus at last, leaving her feeling like a tick swollen with blood into the form of a cherry. She collapsed onto the bed, lying on her back because of the severe fullness of her belly. Even late-term pregnancy had not been like this! His thick semen filled her completely, front and back, and she wasn’t sure how she would ever get it all out. She felt her crotch with her fingers and found her avenues sealed.

He ran his coarse hands over her body, appreciating the continuing fullness thereof. Maybe he regarded it as his work of art. He squeezed her breasts as though they were succulent fruits. It seemed that even that giant second emission had not completely depleted his erotic interest. She would have laughed, had it been funny.

Then he lay on her, cruelly squishing her body under his, kissing her. She felt like roadkill flattened on the highway, her guts splayed to the sides, but she remembered to firm her quivering lips. “One more night, my love,” he murmured. “Then you will be mine completely.”

That was exactly the problem. How could she get ahead of him, orgasmically, when his foul climax triggered hers?

She slept. She was uncomfortable as hell, with his gross weight on her bursting belly, but there wasn’t much else to do. His flaccid penis lay against her vulva, lacking the rigidity to enter. She ignored it. Maybe he would tire of her inattention to his efforts. But he continued kissing her, every so often running his tongue in again. It was almost like nauseating love play.

In the morning she woke alone, to find her body slender, and no evidence of sex, let alone inflation by noxious fluids. It had all been spiritual, not physical. That did not make it more comfortable to consider.

Especially since a part of her already wanted to do it again. Yea, even the fluid stuffing, even the squishing. There was something horribly erotic about such masochism. Maybe it was the evil in her that craved sin. Did she really want to destroy the incubus?

“Are you all right, mommy?” Lisa asked solicitously.

And there was her reason to wipe out the demon. To stop him from finishing with Solita and moving on to Lita. She knew he would. He did not care about Lita being an innocent child. She was pretty and she had orifices. He had no conscience, by definition. Just a giant phallus and a gigantic warped sexual desire. He had to be stopped.

“Yes, now I am, dear,” she replied.

That evening she dosed herself again with the potion, liberally covering all points of possible interest. The incubus had raped her vaginally and anally; he would most likely do her orally next time. She wasn’t keen on having that monstrous member jamming down her throat, but if that was what it took to be rid of him, she was ready. She was two thirds lost, but so was he; if she could make him climax first, without joining him, she would win. Everything depended on this third night.

She slept. The incubus came. He wasted no time in addressing her, as had been the case before; it was his second orgasm that caused him to become infernally creative, as he slowly worked himself up.

“On your back,” he ordered. “Spread.”

What, normal sex? She obliged, spreading her arms and legs. But he got on her inverted, his phallus at her face, his face at her vulva. She should have known. “Take it in.”

She took the head of his member into her mouth. She had been mistaken about its size; it was big, but not over two inches in diameter. Or maybe he simply sized it smaller to fit the desired aperture.

“Suck.”

She sucked. The thing expanded, but still fit in her mouth. So far so good; this could bring him to climax but would have no effect on her.

He put his face down and addressed her cleft. As before, he licked completely across it, and ran his tongue into her vagina and then her colon. Doglike, he liked to sniff and taste it first. This time she managed to keep her anal sphincter loose to facilitate it. The longer she could distract him, the more likely he was to climax before getting around to evoking hers. The contact was actually halfway pleasant. That was dangerous.

He shoved his member farther into her mouth. It touched the back, and she gagged again. That wasn’t pleasant! But as before, with the tongue, it swelled to block her vomit, and she was unable to complete the reflex. The phallus slid on down into her throat, filling it, cruelly dilating it. She could no longer breathe, but it seemed she did not need to breathe in the spiritual state, because she remained fully conscious and not actually that uncomfortable. She could do this: she could bring him off in her throat and finally be rid of him.

Then he addressed her clitoris. He fastened on it and sucked. Hard. It felt as if he was trying to pull it out of her body. But rather than being painful, the effect was evocative. She felt her sexual urgency forming and rapidly increasing.

Oh, no! He was going to bring her off first! She couldn’t afford that.

She swallowed his member, squeezing it as firmly as she could. She writhed, trying to add to the stimulus. She needed to put more effort into his groin than he put into hers.

But he kept sucking, and her cursed clitoris kept responding. She couldn’t stop it; she was going into her orgasm. Damn!

She came. Her pelvis jerked though there was nothing inside it, and her pulses raced. Rapture radiated from her clitoris, extending through the rest of her vulva and into her vagina and colon. And on through the rest of her body. She was losing her soul, but what joy there was in the process!

The incubus reacted to her climax. He liked to have her in whole-system motion, whether from ticklishness, retching, or orgasm. He thrust hard down her throat, once, twice, penetrating incredibly far, and the bolus of ejaculate pressured through and out. It coursed directly into her stomach, filling it with hot swirling soup. She felt her belly bloating with its turbulent volume, but she didn’t care because her own orgasm was carrying her onward. She had lost, but what a way to go!

“Now you are mine,” the incubus said as his emission faded and he drew his limp member out of her throat. “Now I will possess you completely.”

As if he hadn’t done that already. “So it seems,” she agreed with resignation. She had come so close! If he hadn’t focused so determinedly on her clitoris, making her want her climax, she’d have had him first. But as it was—

“What?” he asked, surprised.

“What?” she echoed, confused.

“Oh, no!” he exclaimed. “A honeypot! I never suspected.”

“Well, it was worth a try,” she agreed, catching on. He had finally realized that she was doused with rat bait potion.

“Shit fucking bitch! You tricked me.”

“Well, it wasn’t as if you didn’t deserve it.”

But he was abruptly gone. The potion had worked after all. She felt spiritually and physically restored. Her soul was back, complete, and her body was unbloated. Apparently it wasn’t who climaxed first, she realized, it was that when he soaked himself three times in the potion he was lost. Had he held off, this night, or taken the trouble to wash her out thoroughly before indulging his appetite, he would have won. So she had won after all, largely by default.

She was flushed with her victory. But another part of her felt guilty regret. That hideous sex—

She actually had a hankering for more of it. The demon had sincerely appreciated and desired every part of her body, from her knees to her breasts, externally and internally, and caused it to respond in a profoundly guilty yet appreciative manner. Solita truly loved her husband, but he was completely moral, which meant sexually unimaginative, and he was often away from home. She needed more, without violating her marriage vow. She craved sinful sex. The prospect of having virtually limitless, totally weird, remarkably imaginative, repulsively dirty, thoroughly wicked sexual fulfillment with no physical or social consequence—what more could a secretly lascivious woman want?

The incubus had evoked desires in her that she had never known she possessed. Wide-open oral sex, anal orgasm, massive penetration, being filled to bursting with lava-like semen—she would be ashamed ever to confess receiving any pleasure from such wild notions. No mortal man could even hope to ream her with a foot-long phallus that disgorged quarts of steaming ejaculate, and such a thing would be a medical disaster physically. But in the spirit realm it was not only possible, it was glorious. The demons of hell knew exactly how to indulge their basest passions.

In fact she now realized what she had literally never dreamed of before this encounter: she was a sexual pervert. The incubus had invoked her masochistic lust. Simulated sexual brutality and degradation was what really turned her on. She liked being roughly raped and savagely sodomized. Having an impossibly massive member rammed into her desperately tight orifices, and ludicrously voluminous ejaculate forced in, making her swell like a water balloon. Having a penis like a fire-hose nozzle thrust deep inside her, blasting at full force, blowing her channel up, and not being able to let any of the viscous liquid flow back out. Painful penetration and pressure in her most private parts, punishing her for her degraded desire—that was the true source of her pleasure. Sex was only really fulfilling when it hurt, bodily and emotionally.

She could never hope to get anything like that from her husband. In fact she would be humiliated if he even ever suspected what was in her secret heart, or guilty gut, as it were. And she never wanted it physically anyway, only in her dreams. She needed the services of the incubus for that. If he was a rat, she now knew herself to be a female rat.

But what could she do about it? The incubus was gone, captured by the magic potion. Had she discovered her illicit urge too late?

Maybe the matron at the magic shop would agree to share her captive on occasion. Solita now understood the woman’s desire, and shared it; that would surely count for something. A confined demon, forced to do anything a woman, or two women, demanded—that could be sexual heaven. So to speak, as there was nothing any heavenly power would approve about it.

Hellish temptation and opportunity, with no physical impact. She was ready. More than ready.

“Mommy, will the monster come again?”

At least she could reassure her innocent child, however guilty her own secret heart. “No, dear.”

“Should we put in more potion, just in case?”

“No, that was just to stop the monster from getting in there. There’s no need for it now.”

“So it won’t lick me any more with its big hot tongue?”

Solita kept her face straight, her voice even. “It won’t, dear; it’s gone.”

“Are you sure?” Lita seemed oddly disappointed, when she should have been relieved. That was curious.

“Yes, dear. It is safe for you to sleep in that bed now, though you don’t have to.”

“How do you know?”

She would have to be more candid than she liked. “Because I let it lick me, and the potion got rid of it.”

“Did it run its tongue into your wee-wee?”

Damn! The thing had invaded Lita. Fortunately she had no way to comprehend the significance. Much of her innocence could still be salvaged. “Yes. Into my vagina and rectum. That’s how it got dosed with the potion. I had to let it, to get rid of it.”

Lita turned a disconcertingly knowing look on her. “Was it fun?”

The emotional pavement shielding her from hell began to crack. Lita had liked it! She had been repulsed and afraid, but also felt the first stirring of desire. Already. This could mean that she was another potential sexual masochist.

In fact it made sense. Lita had spent the first night in the bed, and the incubus had come to her. If he preferred having a woman without resistance, wouldn’t he seek those who were secretly amenable to his attention? Maybe he attacked only a certain type, when she made herself available by lying in that bed. So he had gone after Lita, knowing her nature, and then after Solita, knowing hers. Like daughter, like mother.

She had thought she had saved her daughter, but maybe that was impossible. Now what was she to do?

She could find no acceptable answer. Rat bait would not work this time. Not when the evil was as much in the victims as in the perpetrator.

Had the rat won after all?

Note: “Rat Bait,” written in January 2010, was another story contributed to an Excessica anthology, Something Wicked, deliberately provocative sex. I think this the most aberrant erotic story I have done, and I am curious what else was in that volume, which I never saw. If it shocked you, well you were warned. It also reflects my belief that adults often don’t take children’s fears seriously enough. I remember when my preschool age daughter attended school-sponsored swimming classes, and became increasing nervous about them. We brushed it off. Then I attended one of the classes, and saw a woman take my child with warm reassurances, then dump her alone in the center of the deep pool. Unable to swim, she was so frightened that she vomited in the water. “Don’t be concerned,” a teacher told me. “She’s been dunked before.” What a betrayal! In the name of teaching swimming, they were actually teaching horror of swimming. We had to buy a shallow plastic pool and work with our child all summer to gradually overcome her inculcated fear of the water and teach her to swim. Thereafter I was far more careful to watch what schools and other organizations did with children, and intervened when necessary to save my child, right up through college. Those non-erotic experiences were perhaps behind this erotic fiction; betrayal is betrayal. Our society is hyper about young sex; it should be hyper about a good deal more than that. No wonder some children grow up twisted.