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“Some eastern tribes did not follow the practice, but I came from a western tribe that did. Would you prefer otherwise, Jeffrey?”
“No! It’s just, um, interesting to know.” He licks his lips again as he starts to stroke me. His hands are small, very much so compared to mine, but not lacking in strength or dexterousness.
As he strokes me, he looks at my lips, then my eyes, then my lips, and is oh so subtly rocking against my thigh. More of my own desires stir, and I am growing fat in his hand, as I ask, “Would you like to feel us together?”
Jeffrey’s eyes snap to mine again. “Yes?”
I think he doesn’t quite know what I mean, so I lead again, first sliding down my trousers so he can better take hold of me. He looks at us then, watching between us as his pale fingers glide over my dark and ripening cock. I reach for the clasp of his jeans and tug them and his underwear down his thighs.
Jeffrey’s pink prick bobs up to greet me. I still his hand on mine, but only so I can move our bodies closer until our cocks touch. Then I wrap both my hand and his around us. Together, we stroke, and Jeffrey whimpers, pressing his forehead to my chest for balance.
Even like this I can tell his eyes are open and on us as our hands move and our hips rock. His whimpers grow more insistent, and when I speed up my strokes, my rutting, he matches my pace. I whimper too, and soon, we are a harmony of low moans overlapping. We rut and stroke through the growing slickness like dawn is approaching and our communing must end when it does.
The slide of Jeffrey’s hot, wet cock against mine looses some of the monster in me. My eyesight sharpens, fangs sprout, with my tongue already slit. My nails become points that I am careful to not graze along his skin too sharply. So much more of me could change, but I hold back, and only a ripple of color like the fall of a sudden shadow turns my skin violet.
Jeffrey tilts his head up and licks the bob of my throat like he is chasing the color. He latches on just to the side of it and sucks hard in the same moment that he comes. He comes and comes and ruts into his mess, causing more friction until I come too.
It has been my privilege to bring him pleasure as a painted and adorned damsel, but to share pleasure is the true honor, to be with him unadorned and unpainted just as thrilling.
Jeffrey licks lightly at the skin he suckled, and then tilts his head up higher. The amethyst hue is gone from my skin, but he reaches with his unsoiled hand to tap my fangs through the slack of my lips. “Your incubus is showing.” He chuckles.
“Would you like for me to remedy that, Jeffrey?”
“No! Only if you want to. I like the other way you look.”
“And the feel of my tongue?” I slither it out in a flicking tease to catch his fingers.
He chuckles again. “Definitely that.”
“Would you like to wish us clean, Jeffrey?”
“Yes, please. I wish that.”
The mess is gone in a blink, though our naked skin still connects when we unwind our hands, and I feel Jeffrey twitch against my cock, as he is softening. If he wished it—if he wanted it—I would help him harden again gladly.
But though he kicks away his jeans, he adjusts his underwear back over him, so I pull up my trousers in kind. Jeffrey snuggles into my arms, and it is a strange yet wonderful thing to have some of my sharper edges out while holding him, such as my claws gently touching his cheek as I brush his hair aside.
“Can you… maybe stay? Just until I fall asleep,” he says. “I wish for you to keep holding me until then.”
I smile, kiss his temple, and whisper, “It is my honor, Jeffrey, to answer that with… as you wish.”
Chapter nine
Jeffrey
June 5, 1885, cont.
I did find a hole, a walled-up part of the caves that had to have been put there by a person, and when I dug away at those stones, what I found within, chained like some Greek Titan, was worth any danger or toil I had suffered through thus far.
Although this Titan looked even more devilish than one might imagine, with fierce features, wings, claws, and horns too, when his amethyst eyes opened, there was no malice in them. Only longing. Only desperation to be free.
Anyone reading this might think me mad for believing the intentions and pleas of a chained beast, but I know that kind of longing. When you have sought freedom all your life, you recognize it in those who stand before you.
He urged me to accept his amulet, a treasure by itself that, if sold, would have seen me freed all on its own from my current life scrounging for scraps. But he assured me that if I accepted it on his terms, I could have so much more. I could wish for and be granted almost anything I desired.
Naturally, I agreed, and his chains shattered like glass. He transformed before my eyes into a man, and with a shake of our hands like true partners, I vowed then and there to never be under the mercy of anyone else’s desires again, lest I set the terms to fulfill them. If this meant I had just made a deal with the Devil, so be it. I was already in Hell, and as they say, ’tis better to rule there than to serve in Heaven.
The entry ends there, and a glance at the next one dates it weeks later, starting to describe Mattie’s hunt for “seamstresses” to begin building her empire and eventually acquire one of those new buildings being built above the tunnels.
