The Demon and the Thief

When Peter came to himself, he was lying in the cellar, naked and with his hands tied behind his back. His feet were tied to either end of a wooden board, forcing them wide apart. He was lying on his back, and the cold dirt beneath his skin was chilly. He immediately began to sob, for he could not move his mouth. A large ring of solid metal had been forced between his teeth, forcing his jaw open, and it was secured by a leather strap tied at the back of his head. He'd been completely immobilized, and understood perfectly why he'd been tied this way. He screamed at the door, dribble falling from his lips. He simply couldn't move, and his buttocks were killing him. Everywhere he looked, there were giant spiders. Nasty looking, big fat spiders crawling in their nets with unnatural speed, and it scared Peter to find them coming his way. The basement door creaked and opened, and Peter tried to sit up, hoping for salvation from whoever came downstairs. Maybe Jack had found him. But no. Peter shrank away and sobbed as he saw the hideous demon again, its face twisted and vile looking. The ungodly thing put a candle on a shelf which stood by the foot of the stairs.
Approaching Peter, the demon disrobed, leaving a black robe on the floor, revealing an erect human looking cock at the base of his groin. He walked to stand over Peter, and pulled the young man by his hair, up to a sitting position. Peter tried to struggle, tried to scream, to avoid the bruising grip of the demon's hands angling his open jaw for the cock. There was nothing he could do, and he gasped and coughed at the cock which was forced into his mouth. Peter's buttocks were on fire, partly because of the pain and the chilly dirt he was sitting on, partly because the feel of the erect member in his mouth sparked something in him again. The demon gripped his curly hair tightly, holding Peter's head still all the while he began to thrust. It was sickening, and Peter strained every muscle in his body in an attempt to avoid the cock. His jaws ached terribly, wishing it would all be over. He began to sob, and couldn't avoid the lump in his throat which worsened the feeling of being choked. He hated the metal ring in his mouth, really hated it.
After what seemed like hours, the demon finally came, flooding Peter’s mouth with his semen. He forced Peter’s head backwards, forcing the human to gulp it all down. Peter wanted so bad to throw up, feeling sick at the unfamiliar bittersweet taste. Why couldn’t he pass out already? He gazed up at the hideous looking demon, but was surprised to find the ugly mask replaced with what appeared to be the face of a man. But in the half dark, he couldn’t be sure, and the face was partly obscured by strands of dark hair. The face shifted again, and Peter sobbed and turned away as the face before him twisted and distorted into something half-rotten and evil.

He caught me unaware there, for a moment, though I don’t think he understood that he saw my true appearance and not this illusion I’ve created. I bend down and grab hold of the plank between his legs. I attach it to a rope and I hoist his buttocks up in the air, tying the rope to a hook in the low ceiling. The cellar smells of decay and rotten potatoes. I glance at the spiders, and it fills me with disgust that they do not approve of my handiwork. I simply grin at them, telling them to shut up with the whispers. I watch my slave strain in his confines. I move over to him and I undo the leather strap around his head, releasing his jaws from the metal ring. It’s a toy I’ve enjoyed using many a time before. He shrinks away, fills his lungs with air and screams out his terror as I touch his face. Delightful. I open my pants and reveal my waiting erection. He screams as I force myself inside, fill him with my manhood in one thrust down to the very shaft. He screams again, screams for his god to come and save him, screams of pain. I grab hold of his hips, locks them in a bruising grip all the while I begin to thrust in and out, my senses exhilarated by his sheer fear. Just by this divine smell alone do I become more aroused, quickly reaching my peak again, and I empty myself inside him with a growling moan, satisfied for now.
I untie his feet and whip him to his knees with one end of the rope. He’s gasping and sobbing, tears and snot running from his eyes and nose. His hands stay tied behind his back, and I make him crawl up the stairs on his knees, watching him grovel and toil before my feet. His unmasked terror and the sight of his shivering, bruised body are already again arousing me. It’s almost annoying what a tease he is. We get to the top of the stairs, and I cannot restrain myself anymore. I come up on him from behind and loop the rope around his neck while I force his legs apart, scraping the skin away from his knees on the coarse wooden stairs. I quickly undo my trousers, and I part his buttocks, finding my way into his entrance again. He screams anew, begs me for mercy and fights for air. I thrust in and out of him relentlessly, his fear fills my nostrils. His sobs are music to my ears. But then he goes limp. His sobs ends and I understand that he just lost consciousness. Oh well. I stop and pull myself out, sniffing at my bloodstained member. The blood glistens in the half dark. It’s not mine. I grin proudly.


It was about midnight when Jack Dorset arrived at the Windy Whistle Farm. Time to go to work and have some fun for a change. He parked the car outside the house, but immediately noticed that the kitchen door was wide open. The nocturnal air chilled him as he stepped outside, and he walked over and peered inside. He called for Peter. No reply. He went inside to search the house, finding the shower to be running upstairs and a modest lamp light being lit in Peter’s bedroom. But no sign of Peter. He turned the shower off, and called for Peter again. No answer still. He went back downstairs, and was startled to find a man in old looking clothes sitting in one of the comfortable arm chairs, stirring his teacup with a silver spoon, one leg resting casually across the other.
“Sorry, you won’t find your friend here tonight. He’s ... out cold. In the cold night, I mean” the stranger said to Jack Dorset, flashing a short grin, “he told me you’d show up, and he told me to tell you there be no more thieving around. He’s ... a bit tied up. At the moment. As it were. Savvy?”
“And who might you be? I don’t recall having seen you around here before. Exactly where did Peter go?”
“I’m his ... boyfriend. Just arrived from London. He’s, like I just told you, outside. Returning stolen property, savvy?”
“Boyfriend’, ey? Didn’t know Petey was like that. Thought he hung out with that girl” Jack Dorset said, grinning slyly, making his way towards the kitchen, “well, he better not be selling my share.” He left the way he’d first come. He had goose bumps all over, and something didn’t feel quite right about the man in the living room.