Tuesday, October 30, 2018


For Alice, with gratitude for the commission. Happy Halloween, everybody!

Ah-ah-ah bang! went the screen door at the front of the little market. Devon glared at it, sighed, and went back to stacking cans into the specified pyramid. He turned each one just so, and contemplated, not for the first time, peeling all of the labels off. He also contemplated just knocking them all over and storming out. Unfortunately for Devon, he needed to eat, and he didn’t like the idea of risking getting picked up by the cops. Again.
The store itself was not very large. It had three long, narrow sets of shelves, a deli counter half as long as he was tall, and an area near the registers up front that held a modest display of produce. The ridiculous stack of canned pumpkin he was building took up more floor space than anything should, by Devon’s figuring, but he wasn’t the boss. The boss was, in fact, the one who had just come in.

The man stood back from the display, hands on his narrow hips, ill-fitting khakis somewhat askew despite his belt, and gave it a long, thoughtful stare. Finally, his thin lips cut a wide smile across his crooked teeth, and he stepped forward to clap Devon on the shoulder.

“Good job, kid,” he praised with a squeeze and a shake that were probably meant to be friendly. “Got everything lined up nice and neat. Last guy couldn’t even do that!”

“Thanks, Mister Rice,” Devon mumbled with a decided lack of enthusiasm. 

“Just keep up the good work,” the man encouraged, and turned to flirt inappropriately with the young woman working the register.

“Hey, Mister Rice?” Devon called after the man as he straightened, setting the last can to the top of its stack. 


“Think I can get my check from last week now? I know you said that payroll service was running behind, but my landlord’s gettin’ real cross.”

“Well, I still don’t have the checks, but I’m sure I can cut you something to cover your rent,” the man answered as he turned to beckon Devon to the back of the store.

“Uh.. I gotta eat, too. Cindy says she got her whole check already.”

“Weeeelllll,” the man drawled. “I can’t just advance everyone, and she’s got a kid at home, Devon. Tell you what, take a bag of groceries and we’ll just deduct that and the rent from your next check, alright?”

Devon sighed as he followed the man into the narrow hall crowded with boxes and cleaning supplies. 

“You know I can’t afford to shop here, Mister Rice. Not on my pay.”

“Devon, Devon, Devon. I’m doing you a favor! Don’t try to tell me I don’t pay you well enough. I pay more than other stores in the area!”

Devon did his best not to glower. Ten cents an hour more was not enough to bridge the gap, but neither was he really in the position to do anything about it. 

“Have a seat. Just give me a moment to find the checkbook,” Mister Rice near muttered as he shut the grimey door. 

Devon sank into the battered stuffed chair at the front of the man’s industrial metal desk. He immediately started picking at a break in the vinyl. Silent. Sullen. 

“Maybe,” Mister Rice began slowly, “we can reach an agreement.” The man came around the front of the desk, hitched a thigh up, and sat upon its worn corner. “How much do you need for rent and groceries?” he asked as he brushed the flaccid end of the battered checkbook against his knee. 

Here it comes, came the thought, unbidden, into Devon’s mind. The sound of the bang! from the screen door at the front of the store was a muffled punctuation to the silence in the claustrophobia-inducing office. 
“Five hundred,” Devon finally answered, his thoughts churning with suspicion.

Shoulda asked for more, Devvy. Pretty mouth like yers!
“Shut up,” Devon hissed at the voice in his head.


“Nothing, Mister Rice!” Devon answered hurriedly, and did his best to appease the man with a smile. Guy was always asking him to smile. 
“Ah. Okay, then.” Mister Rice was smiling again, and the tip of his tongue, pale in the cheap florescent light, dabbed the bristle of hair on his upper lip. “Anyway. An agreement for that palatial rent of yours.” He flicked his checkbook along his thigh, watching to see that he caught Devon’s eye, and then brushed it off of his crotch.

Devon shut his eyes. There was.. cackling in his head. Mad, wild, coarse cackling. The lights flickered. Or was that his imagination? His fingertips stopped picking at the arm of the chair, and Devon pondered the man before him. 
“You askin’ me for a blowjob, Mister Rice? Ain’t that, like.. sexual harassment, or somethin’?” 
“No, no, not at all, Devon! I’m offering to pay you in advance in exchange for.. certain services.”

“A blowjob.”

“If that’s the service that comes to mind, I certainly won’t say no!”

The cackling in his head picked up anew. Devon curled forward in his seat, the heel of his palm circling along his brow. Shut up shut up shut up. 
“And what if I say no?” Devon asked in a tone of worn exasperation.

“Well, payroll should be getting back to me any day now,” Mister Rice replied through his sickening smile. 
C’mon, Devvy. Dev. Devvy wevvy. It’ll be fuuuuuun! 
“I need this job,” Devon muttered as he stared at the front of his desk.

There’s other shitty fucking jobs in other shitty fucking towns.

“Hm?” Mister Rice asked, though Devon did not hear. 
“I don’t wanna move again. It’s only been a few months,” Devon grumbled at his knee.

Tell you what,” Mister Rice added into Devon’s apparent distress, “I’ll throw in another thirty dollars for you. Since you have such an eye for detail.

Too long since we had some fuckin’ fun, Dev. C’mon! Live a little! You know you waaaannnnnaaaa…

An eye for detail. Devon shut his eyes. He was shaking. Struggling to breathe regularly. Stapler. Stupid weighted globe with a dead scorpion in it. Piles of paper. Cindy up front. Shut office door. Details. Bang! went the screen door.

Devon stood slowly. He swayed close to the man seated upon the desk. He smiled, his movements careful. He didn’t want to spook or startle him, after all. 
Big baby. Just do it!
Devon’s arm extended past the man, his fingers curling over the end of the weighted globe. He was not quite touching, and the dark ends of his hair grazed the cheap yellow cotton of Mister Rice’s button-down shirt. The man looked vaguely perplexed, but comfortable enough. No doubt confident he would get his way. Devon stared as he straightened up just as slowly, silently dragging the weight along in his palm. An outsider might have thought it was hesitation, but Devon was simply savoring how clear everything had become.
When he did move fast, Mister Rice was slow to respond. The weight, comfortable at the end of Devon’s arm, crashed into the man’s temple with a satisfying thud of impact. Mister Rice didn’t look so comfortable now! His pained, confused expression turned to Devon. An arm came up, and the man flinched as Devon raised the globe again. It struck before the cry could leave his lips, and Mister Rice tumbled hard to the floor alongside the desk. 
Yeah, baby, yeah, the voice in his head goaded. 
The globe crashed down again into the man’s face, impacting this time with a satisfying crunch. Something warm smeared across the backs of Devon’s fingertips. He grit his teeth, breath frantic between lungs and lips, and found the man’s throat for grabbing. He leaned his weight into it, feeling the soft tissue about the sides of his trachea, crushing the firmer stuff beneath his palm. Legs were kicking, and hands were grabbing, but they may as well have been a million miles away so far as Devon was concerned. His own heart was racing, and he felt stronger than ever. He was nearly drunk with excitement, and enjoying himself too much to notice how feeble the fight was in the figure beneath him. Crash went the globe. Crunch went bone. Red seeped skin. Bang! went the screen. The sickly hum of the florescent lights above cut off abruptly, and the little office was plunged into darkness. 
“Shit, Dev,” came a coarse taunting voice from behind Devon. “I ain’t ever seen you kill nobody that fast.”

Devon continued to lean through his locked elbows, crushing the man’s throat, feeling the sluggish thing of his pulse at either side of it. He brought the globe down on the front of Mister Rice’s head once more for good measure.

“Ain’t dead, fucker,” Devon growled. “Still got a heartbeat.”

“Not fer much longer, shit-fer-brains.” 
“Fuck you. The fuck you doin’ here, Nasr? S’broad fuckin’ daylight an--” 
Devon’s tirade was cut short by the cinching of something tight and thick about his ankle. No. No, no, no. “Get. That. Fuckin’. Shit. Offa me!” he roared. 
Nasr’s answer was a cackle that seemed to fill the confines of the dark little office. The world was yanked out from under Devon, and he saw the line of light that was the bottom of the door sweep down and aside as his hand was made to give up its clutching hold of the soon-to-be corpse that had just been beneath him. Devon cursed, and flailed, and cursed again as the blood rushed to his head and he struggled to get right side up again. 
“Yer sick, Dev. Devvy Dev. Widdle Dev’s got a itty bitty boner, d’aaawwww!”

“Fuck you, Nasr! Put me the fuck down and get this gross ass shit offa me right the fuck no-”

The words were cut off again. Down Devon had gone, right onto his own head. He groaned, dazed, and kicked at the immobile legs that were stretched out beneath him. 
He managed to get himself sitting, though the tight hold of one of fucking Nasr’s fucking tails was still about his left ankle. Devon drew breath to speak even as he leaned forward to try and pry it off. And that—was when the other one came. Fucking Nasr!

Tension about his throat. Thick and fleshy. Too hot, with sliding scales across his skin. Not slimy or gross, but Devon couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand it, and there it was on his neck! His heart pounded hard as a drum in his head for it. His fingers caught at the sinuous curvature, but there was no purchase to be found, and he might as well try to dig his fingertips into glass. 
Something sharp was at his hips in the dark. Nasr was laughing. Not his usual grating cackle, but a low, rumbling laugh that vibrated past the motor of the fridge in the corner. A laugh Devon could feel in his bones. 
The squeezing eased. Devon gasped. It tightened again. He kicked, encountering the fleshy resistance of the nearby corpse.. but no Nasr. No Nasr despite the sudden sharp cuts at the outsides of his hips, down along his thighs. He could feel his jeans peeling away, could feel his own blood rolling readily along his skin. Devon drew a deep breath in order to scream, but that awful tail tightened down even harder. 
No screaming. Just the pounding in his head, and one leg pulled up and high. The other curled and kicked. Nasr’s laughter rolled over him. Through him. Devon jerked and writhed as the cutting burn slid over his ass, and then up the small of his back. 
Still fuckin’ hard as David's marble ass, Dev? Sick fucker,” Nasr cackled in the dark, the words seeming to come from several directions at once. 
Devon was distantly aware of hands catching his loose leg, and then the caught one. The world was turning fuzzy about him. The crushing pressure at his neck eased, and the thrumming of his heart turned momentarily less loud for it. The laughter had stopped, and there was another sound. Fleshy and wet. Devon rasped out a breath. The urge to call for help was weighty, but doing so inevitably got the would-be helper killed. He settled for a pained silence and grunts of effort as he struggled against Nasr’s hold. Shit, but it would help if he could see the fucking demon!

No sooner had Devon thought it, did Nasr’s eyes suddenly appear in the darkness. A sickly orange and yellow glow above him that was narrowed in malevolent delight. Devon struggled again in the demon’s grip, his arms flailing toward the looming eyes, but there were no satisfying impacts to speak of, no flesh at all to grip. 
Instead there was a sliding, squirming, sinuous wriggling along the crack of his ass. Devon bared his teeth and snarled past the thick spittle that had formed in the front of his mouth. 
“Don’t you fucking dare, Nasr. Fuck, fuck, shit fuck, don’t you fucking dare!”

Nasr’s cackle was loud, washing over Devon and grating at his ears. 
The press at Devon’s ass, while intrusive, was warm and slick. A sticky sort of slick. It started tapered, wiggling past the protesting pinch of muscle, but swiftly stretched him wide. Wider. The passage between mild discomfort to pain was less than a second. And then it began to wriggle. It didn’t back out. It didn’t piston or pump. It just fed hot and writhing into him, leaving his insides as pained as his outsides. And still he was hard! Seeping, achingly hard. Fuck he hated Nasr!

“Yeah baby. Yeah. Nnnhh-- y’like that, doncha? Doncha, fuckface? Fuckin’ take it!” Nasr taunted as the wriggling, slippery appendage went sliding deeper.

Devon shuddered hard, his breath quick and heavy around his whimpers and cries. The cramping was starting to set into his gut just as the thing went sliding abruptly out. Out, and out, leaving him feeling too loose, nearly hollowed. He choked out a sob for it, the sound ragged and torn in his own ears, but nothing compared to the scream as the thing returned. It pressed in fast and hard and deep, twisting violently about within him. 
Devon’s screaming was cut off by the tightening of the tail at his neck. It was crushing, digging, and his head went to pounding. His eyes felt hot and swollen, and he thrashed and jerked violently within Nasr’s hold. He clawed at the air, grazed skin, or scale. His thoughts were too scattered to make sense of what was happening just then. Maybe it was both.

A blinding flash of light focused itself vaguely into the image of Nasr standing tall and emaciated above him, his engorged cock standing lewdly away from his body, sagging under its own weight as it dripped on Devon’s skin. There was the distant ah-ah-ah of the screen behind Cindy’s perpetually whining voice, but the bang! was lost to her screaming. The sound was shrill enough to cut through the high pitched whine in Devon’s ears. But already, even in the light, the world was turning dark around him. Nasr’s gleeful stare rose from Devon and fixed on the shrieking Cindy. The last things Devon saw before he fell unconscious were the sharp points of the demon's teeth as he smiled his wide, inhuman smile.

1 comment:

  1. Your way of writing is very unique. Some of the descriptions and word-usage is odd to me, but not unwelcome. I've got to ask: are you originally from the UK? The dialogue that Devon usues is not something that I'm familiar with, but so unique to him that it doesn't bother me at all. I really loved this story. Devon just said FUCK IT and killed the lecherous bastard. Good for him! And he got off on doing it.