Witchlights [Sekah & Demungo]

[Sekah]

Jamaal was taking it easy, having a good day, honestly. His shades were tight to his head, summer in New York calling for just a white wife beater and a pair of basketball shorts. He couldn't wait to get home, turn on the AC in his little apartment above a bakery in Brooklyn. It was always too hot when he turned off the AC to let the electric bill rest. The ovens lay right below his bedroom; but that was no issue, not really. It was nice to wake up in the morning to the smell of baking bread and roasting pies. Couldn't beat it.

He was working at an advertising agency, a job he got from one of his mom's old friends, but it was Sunday and he had off, and this ice cream truck was unmissable. Waffle cones were made fresh every morning.

"Thanks, Juan," he told the man, who grinned at him and handed him out the dripping cone. "You're the goat."

"Yeah man, no problem," the vendor told him, and Jay was on his way, glad he had his dreads pulled up in a ponytail so he wouldn't get any ice cream in his hair. It was melting by the second in this heat; he twisted his tongue around the rim to get the caramel ice cream into his mouth, then had to lap a long stripe from his fighers. Caramel cookie dough hazelnut—this shit was the best.

He was heading by a park, an open space, and this was close to the exit for cars entering the Palisades. His big wireless headphones had Tupac playing; it wasn't like he was dancing or anything, but he wasn't necessarily paying attention.

 

[Demungo]

The last few blocks the car trailed the young man oblivious to the kind of danger lurking behind him. Inside sat Donovan DeMont, disgustingly wealthy, strikingly handsome and horribly depraved. Also a literal demon. Not just any demon either; his official title was Prince Malphas, Keeper of the Lake of Fire, Great President of Hell, Commander of the Forty Legions and Sacred Brother to Satan. On Earth he'd be deemed something of a 'big deal' and he was, DeMont was a procurer of sorts. He specialized in rare finds, artifacts, tomes, artwork, reliquaries you name it, Donovan could get it. For a price because there was always a price.

It was why he was following the young man now. Some time ago he had approached the boy's parents (through an intermediary, of course) about selling him a few pieces by Vrubel. The Russian painter had done somewhere around thirty works of his demonic subject matter but it wasn't the painting itself that was desired, it had been the image of the demon. Vrubel had found a way to lock away a minor demon and the interested party believed that possessing the painting would give them access to the imprisoned creature. DeMont hadn't the heart to tell them otherwise but people do the funniest things when they're desperate. They had been willing to sell their soul for just a taste of power and DeMont had been happy to make such a bargain.

Unfortunately the stick in the wheel had been the parents. They refused to sell. They would take no calls, no visits, no money. Nothing he did won them over, nothing he did could convince them to give him what he wanted. Their intransigence cost him the soul. Naturally he was furious and a lesson needed to be learned, the worst kind of course. He hired petty criminals (again through an intermediary), imbued them with a fraction of his might and sent them to retrieve what he wanted. In the end he supposed it all worked out. He got the paintings (as well as a few other odds and ends), got the soul and the parents lost their lives.

However, it wasn't quite enough.

The Walker family had completely inconvenienced him, not only had they wasted his time but they'd nearly jeopardized his standing in the community as someone who gets things done. Some sort of further recompense was owed. Thus, the boy.

Initially DeMont was just going to have him killed, paint the streets with his blood and drape his body over the nearest subway bench he could find. Then he really saw him, took a good long look and felt a stirring, a sensation he'd not felt for some time. Recompense was owed and the boy would pay.

The car was coming along side him now and Sym, his demon chauffeur slowed just long enough for DeMont to fling the door wide, grab hold of the young man's arm and yank him inside the vehicle. Sym didn't have to be told to shift it, no, he hit the gas and the gleaming 1932 Bucciali TAV 12 dashed off down the street.

DeMont kept hold of the other man, it had been hard enough pulling him over the seat to the back but now he had no intention of allowing him any room for escape.

"Welcome Jamaal Walker. My name is Donovan DeMont and you belong to me now."

 

[Sekah]

One second Jamaal was turning to look at the neat old car that was pulling up next to him, his reflection wide-eyed in wonder in the tinted windows.

Then the door opened and he was grabbed and dragged in.

"Gerroff me!" he cried, his foot lashing out and slamming into the side of the car door as it closed. One finger pulled up and pressed to his lips, he started to whisper out a spell his grandma had called a real bumba bloodcleet. He could hear her Patois on the words as he tried to whisper the defensive spell, and blow the side off the old car with it.

 

[Demungo]

The boy was spirited, he like that because it awakened something in him, something akin to the mind and motivations of a predatory animal. He'd caught his prey and now he wouldn't allow it to escape not by any means, especially magical ones. Though the vim and vigor with which he thrashed earned him a hearty laugh.

"Oh no my boy, I don't think magic is going to help you in this case. Especially since you won't be able to use it anymore." DeMont pulled from the floor a heavy pair of silver shackles, ordinary to the common eye but rather efficient against magic users. In a flurry of motion the demon lord had bound the boy's wrists with ease.

"They're made from the chains that bound the Salem witches, I had runes carved into the metal that keeps you from using your paltry magic." Now that he had him fully neutralized DeMont released him to his own space, not that there was much in the back of the car.

"As I had been saying, you belong to me. You are my recompense for your families failings. I will have you since they deprived me of the items I had been after. I think I've won out personally. You'll make a far greater prize warming my bed and displayed before my peers. Now, I understand that this may come as a shock to you but shit happens as they say. This is your new normal."

 

[Sekah]

Jamaal thrashed, cursed, keyed in by DeMont's words what the aim of those thick shackles was.

It was like he'd done nothing at all. Might as well have saved his strength. He held up the thick chains, staring at his slender wrists.

DeMont let go of him, and Jamaal twisted upright, staring in DeMont's face with his cheeks and chin tensed with fear. He curled up on the other side of DeMont, hand yanking on the latch to the door - no luck.

He took what he considered appropriate action, after that, hearing the old sinner's words through the rushing pulse in his ears. He grabbed the slack of the shackles in both hands, and whipped it into DeMont's face, aiming straight for his nose with the heavy chains.

 

[Demungo]

To say he was surprised would have been a strong understatement for in truth, DeMont didn't think he'd ever been so caught off guard before. The demon king's head snapped back from the force of the impact, there came a dull ache in his nose and cheek but other than that all the boy earned was a rumble of laughter.

"You cant be serious. I'm a demon, boy! You can't hurt me." the interior of the vehicle darkened like they were going through a tunnel. DeMont disappeared into the shadows but his voice could be heard from all sides of the car.

"But I can hurt you!"

Suddenly he sprung himself on the other man, eyes wild and red like hellfire. He slammed Jamaal's head against the window, pressing his head against it and applying pressure as though he intended to shatter the glass using the boy's face.

"Did you honestly think you could disrespect me in such a way? The arrogance! I've already killed your parents and sent them to burn in Hell I would be more than happy to add your carcass to the fire!" DeMont dug his fingertips into the boy's scalp, nearly boring into his skull. "I should kill you. Who knows? Maybe I still will but you owe me what your parents deprived me of and I intend to collect."

The lighting in the car returned to normal and DeMont was sitting in the same place he had been, hand pressed to his nose and eyes on the other occupant. Snow was falling all round the old vehicle as it made its way up a rocky road high into the mountains. A far cry from the warm New York streets.

Before them stretched a massive home built right out of the side of a cliff, it was immense and intimidating and the car slowed to a stop before it.

DeMont snatched up the chains just as soon as S'ym opened the door to allow him out. He alighted from the back and practically dragged Jamaal up the snow blanketed drive way toward the main doors.

"It's clear to me now that we can't be civil and go about this the easy way at all. Very well then. Brutality it is."

The heavy wooden doors swung open, DeMont tossed the boy inside the house like he was tossing a bowling ball down the lane. He followed after him, the doors closed and the sound of powerful magic buzzed about them signaling they'd been locked.

"Just remember, I tried being nice."

The demon was on him again, tearing his clothes from him, leaving welts and red marks on supple flesh as he did so and only once the boy was completely naked did he remove his hands from his body.

"This is to be your natural state when in my presence. Unless we're out I want you naked. Better ease of access that way."

He took hold of the chains that kept the witchboy captive and used them to drag him further across the floor and up the hardwood stairs.

"Normally, I'd just fuck you here in the foyer but all my toys are upstairs."

The bedroom doors opened just as the front doors had and closed and locked the same way.

DeMont dropped his prize on the bed and looked him over while he himself began to undress. He was a muscular man, tanned skin and dark eyed. His gaze was intense and seemed to take in every detail in a person or in this case, one particular person. He removed his shoes and pants and revealed himself to be more than adequately endowed, going in raw wouldn't just hurt, it would tear.

He walked toward a nightstand and produced a jar of amber liquid, it danced in the light as he approached the bed with it.

"In Hell we use this to polish floors with but on humans it makes a suitable lubrication." He set it beside the bed and then paused as if remembering something incredibly important.

"Satan help me, I almost forgot."

Again he manhandled the other man only this time he flipped him on his stomach and pinned him by sitting on him in order to keep him in place.

"Forgive me, I became a little too overeager. You can't keep those chains on you forever."

DeMont waved his hand to call over the bottle of lube and a candlestick which he held in one hand and lighted with a wink.

"Just as I used the runes on the metal to bind you, so now must I do it again."

DeMont crooked his pointer finger, focused on it and the nail grew becoming sharp as a talon.

"There now, I'm ready."

Without further preamble be began to carve small runes into the flesh of the boy's shoulder. He was performing a simple spell but a powerful one, he whispered it while he continued to carve:

Now I take your fate in mine
And with this spell I do entwine
Your powers
I forever bind
From now until
the end of time

Spell completed he picked up the oil then stopped himself and returned to carving:

Until all days end this spell will see
Your mortal soul belong to me
This is my will, tis fates design
That soul and body both are mine

Finished with his work he wiped the pooling blood away and slowly poured the oil into every nook and cranny of tender flesh and then he brought the candle down onto the boy's back and set the oil ablaze. He watched it burn its way into the skin, heard it sizzle and pop as the magic embedded itself into the younger man's very being.

Eventually the fire extinguished itself and what was left was beautiful handcrafted work, a line of runes down the shoulder, burned and seared into perfect skin. He hadn't seen finer work done.

"It's done and now finally, you are mine." He sent the candlestick floating back to its place, its purpose served. Next, DeMont with oil in hand, rose from the boy's back and parted his legs; then dipped the formerly clawed finger into the golden oil. He spread a generous enough amount on the little pucker, applied some to his own sizeable length and only when he was satisfied that all was prepared, he gripped Jamaal by the hip and began to sink the boy down on his cock. He pushed himself in slowly, not for any other reason then he wanted Jamaal to feel every single inch entering him. DeMont continued until he was all the way inside, savoring the heat radiating around his cock, the way the boy's insides gripped him, he shuddered and groaned with pleasure.

"By Satan you're tight, fuck but your ass is so good!"

Now that it was established that Jamaal probably had the best ass that he'd ever fucked, DeMont got to work, he planted his large arms on either side of the boy and began fucking into him, his thrusts were slow, there was no sense rushing this, not when Jamaal felt so good. No, he was going to take his time and enjoy every single moment and take from the boy everything he could.

 

[Sekah]

"I can hurt you," Jamaal snarled. "I'll find a way."

Oh, he was going to get his hands on some fucking demonsbane or holy water post-haste.

Jamaal didn't go quietly, he struggled, tugged, twisted, and had to be dragged off his feet to get out of the car and towards the house. It loomed over him like a monstrous creature poised over the gates of hell. He saw pale, sickly plants clustered in an old garden. The door then swallowed him up as he was flung inside, and went tumbling end over end.

"Fuck! Fuck you!" he shouted.

He'd known what to say to the men who took his parents' and sister's and grandmother's lives. He'd found the words, he'd been eloquent.

But when he was faced with the crass, barbaric creature who'd ordered their murders, he couldn't go down gently. He screamed at DeMont. "I'm gonna wipe you off the face of the Earth!" he shouted.

As the clothes were stripped from him with enough force to break his skin, make angry red streaks and the darkening lumps of bruises hard to see on his umber skin, he snarled at DeMont like a wild animal, struggling viciously.

He'd held his nose. He could be hurt. And right now, Jay wanted him in agony.

The stairs banged his knees as he refused to walk up them, dragged up shouting. More bruises, more lumps, more microcosms of pain; they seemed small in comparison to the torn-open wound in his heart and head.

He'd never gotten over it, he just thought he had—the murder of his family. Faced with a fate like this, Jamaal went down kicking and screaming, like a tantruming child.

He scrambled away on the bed, got off it as DeMont undressed, staring around for a weapon.

But DeMont was quick, and with a tug of his arm and a crook of his smile, he had Jamaal well in hand, over his knee. Jay groped back for soft flesh to pull—the man's sack would do—but he couldn't stop it.

He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life.

Well—maybe once before.

Then the demon started carving.

Jamaal started screaming. Not words anymore, not loud recriminations and toothless threats. He screamed in pure animal pain and fear, his flesh parting open by DeMont's claws or knife or whatever he had.

His back was in utter agony. It hurt; it hurt. Like burning, he thought. Until it happened, and he learned what burning truly felt like. The dark, whiskey-flavored voice of the demon spelled out Jamaal's doom. Jamaal tried to jerk and twist, to mess up the runes, to save himself.

He was held too tight.

And the oil—the oil stung, and he hissed, arching his back. He thought he was being given antiseptic—cleanser for the wounds, so they wouldn't gangrene and rot and ruin the man's hard work.

Then he lowered the candle.

What's it like to burn alive? What's it like to feel flames consume your flesh, the nerve endings scream, then deaden, as deeper ones scream. Jamaal thrashed like a landed fish, twisting and squirming, howling like the beast he'd been made into—a creature of hell, from now until forever more.

And he knew, deep in his soul, that the demon lied—that he'd never see his family again, because they were in heaven.

He lay limply in DeMont's arms when it was all burned away. His back was spurting blood from opened vessels, hurting, hurting like nothing—like no one had ever done before.

And Jamaal began to weep and bawl like a very little boy. He cried out for the one person he missed the most in all the world. "Mommy..."

The woman who was gone, who'd been gone, who this creature had taken away. It wasn't a thought-out plea. He couldn't know how much his words echoed those of the elderly, close to dying, lying in nursing homes and still crying out for their mother. It was the knell of death upon him. It was the end of his soul's life.

And he hadn't even traded it.

Bathed in sweat, he blearily felt his legs being opened. He lay totally still, the pain too intense to allow frivolous movement, as something cold and wet stroked his hole. But for God's sake—the sake of a deity he no longer belonged to, he realized with a startling clarity in the murky fog of his mind—he hadn't even stretched him. The lube was for his sake, not Jamaal's. He might as well not have used it, as the biggest cock that Jamaal had ever taken spread him wide and tender, aching. He hurt. He wept; bawled. His hands clenched in the bedsheet, no longer willing to search for soft flesh to tear. He shuddered so much his trembles were like a leaf in a galestorm, shaking, jerking, twitching.

Jamaal's ass was beautiful, tight and small and with skin so satin smooth that you would be able to see the cane marks, the deeper bruises vividly.

It rippled under each thrust.

When he was told what a good fuck he was, a bizarre echo to the few boyfriends Jamaal had taken, Jamaal managed one last, small, sullen, "Fuck you." His voice shook; he was weak and sliding into the warm bath of shock, and it was a struggle to stay awake.

And somewhere, Sheitan laughed.

 

[Demungo]

"No, no I don't believe you will." DeMont chuckled darkly in response to the boy's pitiful recrimination and in response just fucked him deeper.

"Do you know-" he said between grunts, "How difficult it was to find you at first? I credit your grandmother, she must have been able to block you from me in her dying moments. Still-" he pushed in deep, "It was a minor inconvenience at most. I'm a demon king, not some rank amateur."

He'd never admit that it had been more than that, whatever the dead old bitch had done, it was like she'd wiped all magical traces of her grandson from the face of the planet. It had taken more time than he'd thought possible to hunt him down. In the end he'd won and he wished he could see the bitch's face while he fucked her pride and joy.

What a fuck it was too, Jamaal was good, he was tight and his ass was firm but silky smooth to the touch, he'd never encountered anything like it and the feel of the boy? Incredible! He wrapped around his cock like a lover's lips. His ass took all of him which was no easy feat but it accepted him as though it had been waiting for this, as if Jamaal had always been meant to be his.

DeMont pondered this while he pounded the boy beneath him, he didn't believe in fate but there was something about the boy that felt right, he was meant to be owned and fucked and fucked some more. That was the younger man's purpose and it was his right to have the boy as many times as he desired. Especially now that he owned him, the spell was completed, the transfer done. Jamaal was his until the end of time. He'd been stripped of his magic, his only existence now was to be a fucktoy and DeMont delighted in the idea.

"I'm going to fuck you every chance I get, I hope you know that." he cooed against his ear, "You're beautiful and you're mine and I intend to enjoy everything your body has to offer at every opportunity. I own you now, your soul, your body...all for me."

 

[Sekah]

Jay was loopy with pain and endorphins, sliding into and out of shock as the moments passed. His skin was getting cold to the touch, and it was a potentially fatal affliction, but what did that matter, if he died?

In life and death, Jamaal was DeMont's. His limbs shivered and shuddered, and he slurred something. He felt he should care deeply about what was happening, but with the recent burn molten agony down his spine and DeMont's cock forcing him open and wide and holding him there, like you'd hold an elevator or a door, a way to get inside.

"You d-d-don't own me," he forced out. His teeth were chattering. His hands were shaking, clutching the sheet, no longer filled with the strength to fight. "You'll never own me—"

—but it felt futile, the way he said it. God. God, please.

He looked up at the window, his face shiny with sweat.

Show me some light.

 

[Demungo]

DeMont was happily engrossed in watching the way Jay's ass rippled upon every thrust into it that he almost missed the riveting retort from his new toy. How predictable and in all honesty quite contrary to the truth, he was owned. He belonged to DeMont in every single way and there was no way in all the hell's that he was ever letting him go. He fucked him harder for even suggesting it.

What he needed was for Jay to understand that his life was now only meant for one thing, that he was only good as a sexual toy and what a toy he was!

Demont railed into his tight ass, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of the boy's hips while he pounded into him over and over and over again. He didn't care that he was getting cold or that he was possibly on the brink of dying, why did it matter when he could just bring him back? He didn't think Jamaal understood what his new life entailed exactly. He was his for all time and that brought with it all kinds of fun little things he'd soon discover during his new life of sexual servitude.

If he wanted to die DeMont saw no reason not to let him and so he shoved the boy's face deep into the bed, holding him there while he fucked the most perfect ass he had ever experienced in his life. He couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to, Jamaal just felt too good and when he finally came, shooting his seed into him, shot after shot he roared his pleasure and then silently thanked the fates for his good fortune. He stayed buried in the body beneath him until he'd grown soft and pulled himself out and then he let his hand off the back of the boy's head.

"Sy'm!" he called for his demonic servant who showed up seconds later. "Take him. Get him cleaned, have the demon doctor see to his new markings and then I want him dressed. The finest gold nipple clips I think. Oh and a chain from those leading to a cock ring-gold as well. Uh, have something shoved up his ass, maybe jeweled. I want him decked in finery so that I can take him later to Hell and show him off. That will be all. Notify me when it's done.

The large yellow demon nodded only once. He hefted the man over his shoulder and took him away to prepare him.

DeMont watched the two forms go and as soon as they were gone from sight he dressed himself in a dark robe and strolled out onto the balcony of his mountain home. Taking Jamaal had proved to be one of the best things he'd done in a very long time. The boy was magnificent and soon all would know and all would envy him and his new toy.

 

[Sekah]

Weak, gasping cries left Jamaal's mouth. He was still letting out those broken mewls when DeMont shoved him face-first into the mattress. Jamaal shivered in a staccato beat against the sheets, in too much pain to register. Then he realized he couldn't breathe.

Oh, God, oh my God, he couldn't breathe.

Jamaal began to jerk and twitch, lost breath screaming into the pillow. He reached back and shoved and scraped and clawed at the hands holding him in the mattress, fighting a losing game with no strength to win.

All that the world was narrowed down to a pinpoint—the pain of Jay's back, his ass as a cock forced it wide, his lungs as they tried to draw in breath and couldn't.

The last thing Jamaal was aware of was DeMont roaring behind him like a lion victorious over a kill.

When Jay swam to consciousness again, a cold voice was in his ear. "Hold him still now, Sy'm. Yes, like that." Jay's eyes cracked, and then flew open as he howled into the air, clenching his hands in medical bindings. "There we go," the high, thin voice said. "He's all set. Take him."

Jay was weak as a newborn kitten, unable to lift his hands or his legs, his breath sounding like a workhorse.

Wait, breathing? Hadn't he—stopped—breathing?

It didn't matter now, as he slowly came to to realize the rocking was a man's back beneath him—or he thought it was a man. The color of his skin was all off, a slimy gold like a dragon's hoard.

"Where're you taking me?" he asked him, and then squawked when he was tossed into a chair. The big golden creature—who didn't look remotely human, with those flat reptilian lids and blunt, slitted nose—came close holding two little clamps swaying down to a strange golden ring.

"Get the fuck off me!" Jamaal slurred, and tried to push him away uselessly as the clamps were stuck onto his little, perked nipples. No sooner had the creature turned to fitting the ring over his limp cock, hefting his balls almost delicately, than Jamaal undid the clamps from his nipples, hissing in pain.

"Get off!"

"Youngster, you won't like what he doess to you if you keep taking thosse off," the demon hissed.

"Fuck him and fuck you," Jamaal snarled.

"Don't sssay I didn't warn you," the demon sighed, and soon had Jamaal's fists bent in a chicken wing behind his back, and latched there with a golden manacle shaped like a figure eight.

The clamps were pressed back over Jamaal's nipples, his whole body covered in the sheen of his sweat.

The final touch was a golden plug encrusted with diamonds and pearls in a strange pattern Jamaal had seen on the walls of his captor's room. Then a short trip back to the front hall over the burly snake-creature's shoulder, and Jay was back in front of DeMont again.

 

[Demungo]

He sensed the boy's arrival before he was actually brought before him but turning and seeing him over Sy'm's shoulder caused him to break out into a smile.
"Ah, alive and well I see. And oh, what's this?" DeMont left the balcony railing and approached demon and man, he spread Jamaal's ass to get a better look at the diamond encrusted plug that had been shoved up his ass.

"Well, doesn't that just fit you so perfectly?" he indicated that Sy'm should set him down on the floor and so the big demon dropped him to his knees in front of the towering demon lord. DeMont took Jamaal in completely, from the clamps to the cock ring to the look on his face and he felt himself grow hard.

"I am going to fuck you so much, just...all the time. I hope you realize that." he took another long, lascivious look, predator taking in prey and then he shrugged and changed the subject,

"There's a party that we're going to go to. It's being thrown by my friend Vlad Tepes and it's supposed to be quite the engagement. Everyone in Hell who's anybody is supposed to be there. I can't wait to show you off, you're going to look amazing naked and on my arm and then after, I'm going to take you back to me palace in Hell and probably fuck you until the sun comes up the next day. Sound good to you?"

 

[Sekah]

Jay tried to kick when DeMont spread his ass so casually - like he was picking over drapes in a department store, and he'd found the perfect set.

"Fuck you," he hollered, and tried again to kick him, the wind up and kick back hard over the snake-guy's shoulder. Jamaal pushed at the golden skin, wriggling, growling thoughtlessly, into the air.

"I hope you realize I have a vested interest in making those fucks as unpleasant for you as I possibly can," Jamaal snarled, but it was a sacrifice, a surrender. He gave up a pawn, maybe even a rook. He admitted that he couldn't stop the rapes, and his only recourse was to find ways to make them uncomfortable, as unenjoyable as possible. But Jamaal was an inventive young man, and he'd find ways to make DeMont rue making him his eternal slave. Maybe enough that one day he cast him aside.

Maybe.

It was the closest thing to a plan Jay had, considering he was in hell up against a demon. But couldn't the Devil himself be tricked?

He let DeMont finish talking, brown eyes silently smoldering, and then snapped, "Peachy. Can you tell your corn snake to let me the hell go?"