Date: Wed, 9 Jun 2004 11:13:04 -0300
From: Ruthless <ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca>
Subject: "Marplot" (Part 1)

	Most humans are really not very cute. Now don't get me wrong. I
like fucking humans; the job has some dandy perks. But look at it my way.
If a guy or a girl is good looking they can usually get all the sex they want.
And in this day and age that implies that all the good-looking humans with
a taste for sex are out there getting laid twice a night if they like it.
Repression? You don't find too many cloistered nuns, seething with the
burning burden of their virginity anymore. Instead of pale pure pristine
nuns, the humans who are most vulnerable to succumbing to sexual
temptation of a demonic nature are the sexual have-nots, the plain Janes
and the spindly Willies that couldn't land a partner if they walked into a
bar and offered to suck for free.

	Even a mere thirty years ago when monogamy was a big thing, I
had a chance of landing some gorgeous, chaste wife neglected by her
husband. But in the last few years even those aren't vulnerable any more.
They've taken the advice in Women's World Magazine and stood up for
their right to at least a weekly lay. If they don't get satisfaction at home
they trip out blithely to seek it elsewhere with never a qualm nor a need
for a nudge from me. Now it's a steady stream of singles bar rejects,
losers, cripples, fatsos, and emotional basket cases...

For example, one time recently I got assigned to ensnare a forty-six
year old woman who lived in a special care home on a respirator. There
were tubes here, tubes there, and a special harness to keep her from
slouching and cutting off her inhalation, not to mention a plastic
mouthpiece that entirely ruled out the burning kisses that are my stock in
trade. Honest, by the time I got close to her I was so wound around with
medical appliances that it looked like I was the one who had been trapped!

	Mind you, she did have the softest skin and the saddest limpid
eyes. She was worth it.

When I reported down to our head office in the Nether Regions
with my infernal temptation activity report, I was glumly mulling over my
very latest human conquest. I had taken a stringy lady lawyer with a
selfish and greedy personality and a cruel tortured soul and added
lasciviousness to the list of the sins that she regularly succumbed to.  But
it hadn't entirely worked. As soon as I had dematerialized out of her
dreams she had gone straight out and got herself a boyfriend. She was
being nice to him and feeling happy for a change, which was definitely not
the way our evil machinations are supposed to work. My mind was as full
of doubts as my arms were full of form S76534TG673-47.

"Doris," I said to the secretary plaintively. "Do you suppose that
sometimes we're doomed to failure?"

I laid the three requisite copies of form S76534TG673-47 on the
corner of her desk. Since the form has to be filled out in triplicate the heap
wouldn't fit into her in basket. In return she handed me the paperwork for
my new assignment. Since that included every little piece of information
deemed potentially relevant, the whole thing she handed me was about the
size of the Los Angeles telephone directory.

Doris thoughtfully scratched one of her noses with a tentacle.
"You can't win them all, Marplot." She advised me. "You do what you
can. But you know despite your best efforts sometimes humans get a
moment of "G-word" as a quite undeserved, unfair gift."

"We all know Rehtaf Ruo is in complete control of his Evil
Machinations," I said. "And I'm sure I don't carry the taint of Free Will,
even though I do have a lot of contact with the humans. I follow his orders
just as exactly as I can. So you're right, Doris, it's got to be something like
Heavenly Grace."

Doris looked prim. My outspokenness had shocked her. "Don't use
bad language in my office, Marplot, if you please!"

Doris is a really good secretary. I mean a really bad secretary, the
very best bad secretary in Hell. The very worst. Whatever. She makes my
job a lot easier, so I was immediately sorry that I'd used the F.W
expression and the G-word in front of her. I really didn't want to offend
her sensibilities or make things harder for her. We have a couple of secret
agreements. Hidden between pages 496 and 497 of the first copy of form
S76534TG673-47 that I'd given her was a one page precis of the other
2183 pages. And tucked into the assignment she'd just passed along to me
in between page 100 and page 101 was a file card with all the basic
biographical details on my subject that she'd made for me.

"Sorry." I said sincerely. "I'll save the metaphysical subjects for
when I'm seducing intellectual humans who succumb to the meeting of
minds and get swayed by profound logic. I got a bit carried away there.
Somehow things just didn't turn out properly with my last affaire-d'amour
and I'm feeling bitter."

"Hang onto that bitterness, then." She said approvingly. "And
you'll do all the better job this time because of it."

"Any hints about what my new assignment is?" I asked.

"It's a man." Said Doris.

"Oh Boy." I said flatly. I had visions of triple EEE cup under-
wiring. The sad fact is that for most men the image of irresistible sexual
temptation is overly endowed mammarily. And since I'd be taking the
human form best designed to seduce my victim, between bouts of sex I'd
probably have to wear a harness to support the things as substantial as the
one that physically challenged woman I'd mentioned had been buckled
into to keep her upright. Only hers was white cotton canvas and mine
would have to be decadent violet satin acetate with a daringly deep
plunging decollete. My cleavage would probably be the size of a fat man's
butt. And I'd be prone to killer backaches and deep pink shoulder-strap
trenches in my shoulders.

I really prefer to be a man when I go tempting, but I don't get any
choice in it. You know how it is with jobs. I just get the assignments and
do them. Lately, looking like a Brad Pitt clone all the time was getting to
be a bit of a joke, but even that was better than trying to locomote in a
bipedal position with measurements of 72-22-38. Well, maybe this guy
would have a fixation on flat-chested supermodels. Please, let him have a
crush on Kate Moss!

"Can I bring anything back for you when I return from up there?" I
offered.

"Well..." Doris hesitated, not because she couldn't think of
anything. "I've heard that humans frequently say they think the software
they use has got to have been demonically inspired. So I don't think
there'd be any objection to you bringing something like that down here.
Right, Marplot? Do you think you could get me some kind of computer
software designed for personnel management?"

"No problem." I nodded. "Next time you see me I'll have a soul
enslaved and the very best software program that Microsoft produces."

There are seven branches that work out of the Nether Regions. Our
Covetousness Department for example does much of its best work during
prime time when the most expensive commercials produced are aired on
TV. But the Lust Department, which is my branch, still does a great deal
of work at night. I chose the hours of darkness to penetrate the apartment
of my new human victim.

Moonlight filled the room just after midnight. He lay sleeping. His
name was Thomas Niles. He was thirty-one years old and he made his
living installing windows. He had been a widow for the last three years
and had been celibate since before his wife had been diagnosed with
cancer more than two years earlier.  Her presence was still strong in the
moon pale room.  On one dresser her brushes and perfume bottles were
still laid out. On the nightstand her picture smiled at the sleeping man. He
still slept on his own side of the bed, facing and with his arm out stretched
towards the empty place.

I peered at the picture. A blond, huh? The lost wife of his dreams
had a cool, introspective look to her. Her hair was pulled back in a loose
pony- tail. Her face was elegant. Her mouth was kind, and most satisfying
of all to me, her chest couldn't have been any bigger than a B cup.

Not bad. If I had to play the part of the lost wife returning I'd at
least wear a body that was livable. I might turn heads on the street but not
because I was a walking jiggle show.

Then the man began to awaken and his need and his ache and his
imagery flowed invisibly towards me. He never stirred. I felt it like
warmth; a subtle wave of longing that washed over me, through me, into
me and left me changed. In the space of a single deep inhalation I had
become the partner he could not refuse. I looked down.

I did a double take. Then a triple take. No doubt if I had read all
4921 pages of my assignment instead of just the file card, I would have
already realized that the guy was gay.

I was male. Two small dark nipples were nested in curly hair. I had
a flat stomach with an enticing navel, a neatly trimmed bush and since no
gay guy ever turned down an extra inch of cock, a nine-inch arrow straight
penis. I had a runner's legs. Subtle dense muscles covered my frame.
>From the chest down I was a hot little number. And from the chest up?
Well, I immediately took a spin around and peered into the mirror to see.

The mirror fogged. They do that. Sometimes they even crack.
Mirrors may be inanimate and insensate but they have an instinctive
aversion to demons. It was only because of long practice in not causing a
stir in the boudoir that I was able to keep it down to a slow fogging over.
Before it fogged I saw my face.

Sensual lips. Even white teeth. A clean-shaven chin and lip. Curly
brown hair. Big dark thoughtful eyes. Thomas Niles must go for the
thinking-deep-thoughts look, because I had that in common with the
portrait of the late wife, but that was all I had in common with her. She
had been a lovely woman but I was a handsome hunky guy instead.

Of course, I didn't have much time for self-appraisal. Like I said,
the man was waking up and I was there in his bedroom for a reason. I
turned to stand over the bed again.

His breathing was a little shallower. His chin was tucked down, his
eyelids heavy. Could it be that for once I'd drawn a human subject who
was something of a looker himself? I leaned over even farther. His hair
was damp and tousled with sleep. His face was square and strong and
masculine and vulnerable. Under the covers his body was slim and
compact. But his mouth was like a work of art. Oh my, Yes. I'd lucked
into it this time. The guy was damn gorgeous. He was as gorgeous as hell!

At first all I did was lean over him and breath. With my eyes I
fucked him, letting my gaze thrust at him like a cock surging slickly into a
grateful body.  Oh that mouth... I took slow warm breaths while I savored
the sight of him and he slid into a waking dream. His eyes opened.  Hazel.
Not that I could really see them in the dark other than as intent gleams of
luminescence but they had to be hazel. They were such beautiful eyes.  He
turned his head and his eyes moved wonderingly up at me.

I shaped my mouth at him reflecting his need with my own. I
touched the smooth shoulder that was covered by the blankets and drew
them slowly down. Moonlight fell in squares on my body as the man
gazed up at me in mystery. When his lips parted in a question I met them
with my own. I kissed him hungrily. His chin tilted and he gasped at the
warmth that pressed to him. His hands came up and took my shoulders.
Deep kisses, urgent kisses. Kisses that said how desirable he was to me.

I pulled the covers down to his knees. The coolness woke him
more, but he went on thinking he was dreaming. He spread his legs wide
instantly. His cock sprang upward. I felt the heat rising from it. His tongue
sought for mine. He tried to pull on me. I climbed on top of him and he
groaned.

For an instant the kiss broke when he felt the sensation of my prick
close against his. "Angel...!" he moaned. I moved as only a demon can
move, kissing and flicking at his nipples, kissing his throat and mouth and
using my hands on his belly, balls and thighs. Now he arched his pelvis
upwards trying to get more sensation on his cock. But I wouldn't take his
cock in my mouth or my hand. I only let my own naked cock butt against
and rub against his organ, making promises, leaving him unsatisfied.

His skin was warm and damp. I teased him, pelvic thrusts, my cock
nudging. He was pulling hard on my shoulders, trying to get me to close
tightly against him, to lock with him. Then his hand slid down and caught
my butt. He tried to pull me against his crotch. I played him, savoring the
taste and touch and scent of his masculine skin. I filled my hand cupped
full of his balls and let my fingers seek and tantalize in his crack,
searching and never finding, coming close. He spread his legs wider and
wider and thrust more upward. He wanted my fingers in his ass, but I
wanted him to plead.

"Yes, more! Oh more!" Thomas groaned. "Jesus, more!"

A lot of humans use the most incredibly foul language during sex,
the C-word and even the big G-word, so I wasn't put off my assault at all
by hearing the J-word. You learn to expect it. He didn't use it again. I
licked his throat almost snarling.  I let my hands play wicked magic
always circling his cock but never touching it.

"Come on. Touch me. Touch my cock, please!"

Now I touched it. He cried out. I pulled compellingly, up and down
on his perfect cock. It was only seven and a half inches, a shade over dead
average. The round head fit my palm perfectly. It burned my palm with its
feverish heat. I drew up and down while out mouths locked and we drank.
I didn't fix on an even building stroke. I teased some more. Soon Thomas
was panting too hard to kiss.

"Puh...oh, Please! C'mon Guy! Oh, Yeah! Do me harder!" He
panted and writhed.

But I didn't do him harder. My own cock was aching for release. I
could have just let myself go and grinding against his thigh spilled my
seed there and then. I didn't of course. It took some discipline. Thomas
made a grab and got my cock in his own hand and he beat on me urgently.
If I'd been human instead of merely resembling human he would have got
sticky hands. As it was, I started to breathe like I was running a race. We
struggled against each other like coiling snakes.

"Oh! Suck me! Bring me off! Do something!" the man gasped.

"You want me to suck you?" I breathed.

"Yes! Yes! Suck my cock! Please!"

I lot of years ago, I would have held off until he made wild
meaningless extravagant promises, like "I'll do anything." Get a heartfelt
"I'll do anything" out of a human and he's halfway to signing over his
immortal soul. But nowadays I prefer a more slow paced technique, more
of a lifestyle seduction. I don't waste it all on a one shot chance. I'm a
sexual artist. By not letting the human know what I really want I can train
him into debauchery. So when Thomas begged me to suck his cock that
was enough.

"AHHHH...!"

He came damn close to shrieking. The thing is, it's not so much
experience as the fact that I really like my work. His cock was just
adorable. And what with other-worldly magic art backed by a honest
innate taste for cocksucking, I would be doing myself less than justice if
all I said was that I was good at it. And by then I was just frantic to get his
thick hard cock between my lips and suck the milk right out of him.

He didn't last long. If he had realized he was awake he might have
questioned my ability to torment the head of his cock with my tongue at
the same time as I deep throated him. He could feel my tongue too running
up and down his shaft in little flickers at the exact same time as I did the
rest. I had him in indescribable sensory overload. In case you're curious,
the secret to this technique is a forked tongue.

His balls tightened and thick spurts of delicious man cream jetted
up into my mouth. I gulped and sucked as surge after surge flooded out of
him. His whole body spasmed in a release more powerful than any he'd
ever known. I stayed on his cock just as long as it took to catch every
savory delicious drop of cum. Then, when Thomas had collapsed in sweat
soaked exhausted release, I let myself melt into vapor, took an invisible
ethereal form and disappeared.

His voice came sleepily. "I shoulda put on a rubber for you..."

I stayed still and watching, the sweat drying on my body. He
opened his eyes.

He looked around the bedroom. Blank amazement put a dumb look
on his handsome face. He didn't vocalize, but if he had he would have
said, "Who..? Where...?" His next gesture was inevitable, the usual one.
He reached down and patted his lower belly, his own bush of pubic hair,
the tip of his spent cock. He had concluded that it had to have been a wet
dream and was looking for his sperm.

I didn't have it in my mouth anymore. You'll never guess where I
put it. I have a useful little cantrip, second nature by now. Before it had
made its way down my demonic gullet as far as my stomach I transferred
it swiftly invisibly, away. I put it back in his balls again. Three, four nights
like this and Thomas Niles was going to have blue balls of the sort that
only repeated nights of passionate sex and no ejaculation can produce.

He didn't find the evidence of the orgasm he had just felt so he lay
back again, mystified and pulled the covers up to his armpits. His
breathing still heaved lightly. He smiled. His sexy head turned on his
pillow as he looked about his room orienting himself, to the picture of the
woman to the empty place in the bed. Her absence didn't make him
somber. He had a lazy post coital shine that was like a gem in the
darkness. Thomas Niles was the sexist male I had made it with of the last
9837 humans, right back to 1967, when I'd made an Iowa farm boy admit
to himself and me that he was a homo as he lay dying in a rice paddy in
Da Nong Foc in Vietnam.

I dived through the door of his boot cupboard right then and there
to deal with my unsatisfied hard on. Squatting in the stuffy fug of sneakers
and work-boots I gave myself a frantic jerking off, with the image of
Thomas shuddering up against me to speed me in blowing my wad. He
was so hot that I just had to have my turn. In just fifty seconds of pumping
I jerked myself over the top. Oh man! Not all humans are cute enough to
get me going but Thomas Niles was a waking wet dream himself.