The Demon and the Thief

I feel my black magic seep into his veins, watch his fearstricken eyes fill with blackness. I open his mind with an imaginative nutcracker, cracking it ever so slightly, just enough for my demonic powers to flow inside unseen, unnoticed. I watch the effect this has on him, as he grows more frightened by the minute. It's a mind blowing, brainwashing effect to have him aroused and horrified at the same time. It's nothing new. I do it to them all. It's addictive. In the end, they don't feel alive without it, cannot achieve orgasms or feel sane at all without it in their system. And when I cut them off, when I end the constant supply of magics to their veins, it's the end. They all go mad, committing suicide, for they find themselves so desperate and alone, they are unable to live without it. Car crashes, hangings, slicing of the wrists, the heads through the television sets, oh the list goes on. Despite their misery, they're so incredibly inventive. I can but laugh at them. Clowns in a circus.
He's so tight, it almost hurts. The tightest virgin I've had in a while. He's relaxing a bit now, growing a bit angry. Angry and more aroused. I command his body for more, sliding my hands up and down his chest in hungry caresses, stroking his erect nipples, the hairless, perfect torso, riding him a little lighter, allowing him to get in touch with the fire inside his groin, angling my thrusts. I see him gasp, his black eyes roaming through the space in front of him, searching for something steady to hold on to. A face, something to direct his emotions at. I tease him a while longer, taking his cock in my right hand, propping myself up to a comfortable squatting position. Oh look how gorgeous you are, my little snake! So pretty, so full of despair and horniness. The tears streaming down his cheeks remind me of the ocean. I can smell the salt. My thoughts go to my father.
The snake in the grass, trapped by a much more powerful sparrow, grunts and stir as I pump him in time with my thrusts. I follow him incognito on his emotional journey, hovering in the outskirts of his consciousness, enjoying his flight upwards towards an orgasm unlike anything he's ever experienced. This will be the one and only time when everything is new and never tried before, the one virgin flight into damnation which they all go through.
He gasps for air and pulls at the cord which keeps his hands immobilized, writhes and stirs all the while his mind is torn between the unwillingness, the rape and the good feelings, the increasing willingness of his body. The body is separating itself from his mind, and that is a good thing. For me. For him, it means betrayal. Betrayal of the self.
He begs so prettily. Please, he stammers, pretty please let me g-go!
It could easily have been those words, but not from his lips. Oh God, he shouts, oh God save me! I laugh at him. God's no where around for the wicked and the cruel.
He's getting closer, I can smell it, his pre-cum, the odor of his sex, the scent of fear mingled with the salt of his sweat and his tears. The beating of his terrified heart drums in my head like waves crashing upon the shores. The blood rushes to his groin, stiffens and thickens his erection even more, building up the momentum. I decide it's time to reveal myself to him, and I make sure I twist my features into a hideous, demonic mask, portraying a monster and demon in one.
He comes, comes hard, and screams as he sees my face, meets my gaze. For it is not the face of a man inhis twenties, no, a mask of evil. The last of the light fades, and his terrified, wide open eyes are swallowed by darkness. The terror has given him new powers, and he writhes and thrashes even more as the peak of the orgasm washes through him. He sobs, for the poison in his veins is filling him completely, blinding his senses, and in his head he sees demons wherever he turns to stare. He's bucking his hips shamelessly, and I struggle to fight them down, pumping away into his hole without care, grunting and growling. I refrain from biting his neck and sucking him dry of blood. It would be to let him get off the hook too easily. I pay attention to every last whimper, making sure my thrusts grow in power the more he whimpers. Oh sweet punishment!
Then I erupt, filling him with my sperm, making sure I'm deep inside him when I do. There it will remain, and fester. Like a poisonous parasite. I growl loudly, knowing the noise reaches beyond the Gates of Hell so everyone will know. Peter Drinkwater is mine.