What’s better than a high-powered, seven-speed deluxe fucking machine?
A demon-possessed, high-powered, seven-speed deluxe fucking machine, obviously.
Candles, pentagram, athame, chanting. Gotta concentrate doing this stuff, it’s not the sort of thing that’s easy to explain to an insurance company if it all goes horribly wrong. And screwing up black magic brings a whole new meaning to horribly wrong. Trust me, you need to get it right first time – there won’t be a second.
Drawing an accurate pentagram around a fucking machine requires some serious trigonometry skills. Probably not quite what my maths teachers had in mind when they initiated me into the arcana of Pythagorean Theory, but I’m sure they’d be pleased with my prowess, if not my objective.
A dab of my blood on the machine components to bind the occupant to my will. That’s important – don’t want this thing going on a rampage through the neighbourhood. Now there’s an unhygienic thought. Can you imagine the headlines? No, don’t start laughing, this is serious shit. Concentrate.
In the gloom of the candle-lit attic, a patch of more intense darkness begins to solidify around the centrepiece of my contraptions. Result. Now is the most dangerous part, the demon will be wrestling against the binding; looking to do damage, wreak havoc, cause chaos, and most of all free itself from the constraints of my calling.
A prickle of delicious anticipation runs across my bare skin. Oho, this is going to be fun. Heat slips from my cleft, trickles between my thighs. Ever been fucked by a demon? All that rage and urge for destruction, so much savagery and harmful intent, harnessed and directed inside you with burning, insatiable desire. It’s the ultimate hatefuck experience. Mmmfff.
The hefty black dildo attachment gleams in the candlelight. Ectoplasm makes surprisingly good lube; a fact you’re unlikely to discover in the pages of Cosmo, but which is worth knowing nonetheless. Incantations completed, I wreathe the finishing gestures across the thickened air between myself and the rippling shadows twined about the machine’s chassis, and contemplate my newly-upgraded toy with glee.
The LED buttons, formerly a serene shade of blue, now glow hellfire-red against the control unit casing. With a snarling undertone to its hum, the machine judders to life.
This should bring my electricity bill down a bit. Who needs mains power when there’s a satanic presence handy?
Clad only in my protective amulet, I step into the pentagram and instruct my new servant in the customary backwards Latin. The usual; do what you’re told and I’ll let you go. Eventually. If you can imagine a machine shuddering with hate, picture that.
Nothing makes me as wet as barely-bridled malevolence. “You want your freedom?” I taunt, positioning myself on all fours, spread wide against the nudging tip of the demon-infused dildo. “Earn it.”
The demon shrieks with rage and plunges the dildo deep inside my cunt, its already-generous measures swelling to monstrous proportions within me. Filled and pinned, I can only howl my desperate, greedy joy, laughing in between gasping breaths at the sensational power I have harnessed.
It wants to batter me out of its way, rip through my flesh, tear past my body and claw its way out into the world, but it can’t, and its frustration is transmitted through every inhumanly precise thrust, every spiteful twist. This knowledge, as much as its savage punishment of my flesh, tears the breath from me in gasps, sets tongues of fire dancing through my veins. It has no choice but to pleasure me, an act so fundamentally incompatible with its nature as to enrage it even further. Such glorious irony.
Hell hath no fury as a demon trapped inside a piece of sex equipment.
After my eight explosive orgasm, my throat is raw from screaming, my cunt aching. I crawl, drooling and panting out of the pentagram, being careful not to smudge the markings with the sweat dripping from my flushed skin. To my rear, the fucking machine smoulders and glows sullenly. I’m almost tempted to keep the demon awhile, but even in my state of fucked-to-exhaustion, I know better than to fall asleep with a pissed-off supernatural presence in the house. I have just enough energy left for the banishing, and then I’ll send it back.
Until next Halloween….