Demon I was 14 when I first heard the demon. It whispered to me one night while I lay awake in bed. At first, I thought it was just the wind blowing through the tree branches outside my window. But soon the muttered sighs and whistles became distinguishable words amongst a continuous whispering stream - almost as if I was hearing them against a background of white noise. "... She could be yours ...Take her ... tie her ... stuff her mouth ... do anything you want to her ... anything at all ..." The demon was referring to the object of my pubertal fantasies: Penny Kallel. An 18 year old blonde who had moved in three houses down the street a few days before my previous birthday. I thought about her all the time, and what it would be like to have her as a girlfriend. Even though I knew I didn't stand a chance with her. "... Anything .... Anything at all ... keep her in your basement ... tied and gagged ... forever ..." "GO AWAY!" I screamed at the voice. And go away it did. A few moments later my mother burst into my room. I told her I'd had a bad dream. Eventually, I convinced myself of the same. ***** I next heard the demon when I was 21. I was in the middle of some fairly amazing sex with a woman named Janie I'd met a week earlier at an on-campus bar. We'd discovered through whispered conversation that she was into being restrained during sex - something that I'd always had an interest in, but had never mentioned to any previous partner for fear of rejection. So, with an empty bottle of vodka beside us, I proceeded to tie Janie to her bed. Wrists spread and bound to the corners of her wrought iron bed-head. Ankles bound in a similar fashion to the bottom of the bed. Although she hadn't specifically requested it, I'd also pushed a wadded up handkerchief into her mouth and tied it in place with a maroon silk scarf of hers. Then I'd proceeded to tease, tantalise and torment her body in every way I could think of. But it wasn't until I was actually grinding my hips against hers, and experiencing what it was like to truly be in control, that the voice began its urgent whispering. "Yeeessssss ... this is how it should be ... but she does not ... sufffffeeerrr enough ... Make her suffer ... Make her yours ... foreverrrr ..." For a few agonizingly long moments, the demon's words sounded ... correct. I felt as if Janie was nothing more than a cock-tease who deserved everything I decided to do to her. She'd led me on. She knew I was into bondage and was only teasing me this one time with it. I suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, that as soon as I untied her, she would be gone from my life forever. "Of course she will be ... she doesn't want you ... no-one does ... kidnap her ... bind her soooo tightly ..." There was a longer than normal pause. "... Torture her ..." I leapt off of Janie and out of the bed as if I'd been given an electric shock. I stood there panting with my erection still straining as Janie looked up at me in concern. But the voice was gone. I untied Janie, and apologised to her by saying it hadn't worked out for me. And although we saw each other quite frequently after that (we liked the same type of nightlife), she never spoke to me again. ***** For the next two years, I was too afraid to date anyone for fear of awakening the voice. At that stage, I was convinced the voice represented a very sick part of myself. So after a long debate with myself, I decided to seek help. My first port-of-call was my personal doctor: Natasha Carlisle. She'd been my doctor for almost ten years and I was very comfortable with her. She must have been a little over 40, but she only looked 35. She had long dark hair that was generally tied back in a bun, deep blue eyes, and beneath her impeccably tailored suits and coats, an impressively svelte figure. Not that I thought of her in anything other than a professional manner. Dr Carlisle listened to me closely as I awkwardly explained that I was hearing voices. When I was done, she asked a few clarifying questions, and then organised a referral for me to a psychiatrist friend of hers. She also prescribed an apparently "low-key" anti-psychotic. "Am I going crazy?" I asked her late in the session as I was preparing to walk out the door. She leant back in her seat. On this particular day she was wearing a royal blue skirt suit by Giorgio Armani. It looked good on her. Almost too good as she casually undid the buttons of her jacket. "Now, what would make you say a thing like that?" I barked a little half laugh. "I'm hearing a voice, Dr. Carlisle. A voice that tells me to hurt women." "And do you want to do what that voice tells you?" "You asked that already, I told you 'no'" She met my gaze squarely. "Now why don't you tell me the truth." She punctuated her sentence by licking her lips. I swallowed hard, not knowing what to make of this sudden turn of events. Natasha stood up and slipped out of her Armani jacket. Underneath she wore nothing but a lacy black bra that held a pair of well formed breasts. I stumbled for words, but nothing comprehensible would come out. "Shhh," she said as opened a drawer and rummaged through her desk. "I don't want you to say anything more." She withdrew her hands and dumped a pile of nylon rope on the desk. "I just want you to tie me to my desk ... and hurt me." I tried to protest, but she was already unzipping her skirt and walking round the desk to stand beside me. In this instance, she wasn't wearing any underwear. "Now," she virtually purred, "tie me, gag me, and make me scream." A loud roaring began in my ears and I felt as if I was going to explode from the pressure that was building within. I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to slow my pounding heart. I was almost hyper-ventilating. "Mitch?" I heard Dr Carlisle ask. I opened my eyes. She was sitting behind her desk again, all her clothes back in place. There was no ropes, and nothing other than professional concern in her expression. "I lost you there for a minute. Are you okay?" Nodding quickly, I mumbled a "Thank you" and hurried out of her office. ***** I took my drugs like a good little patient and reported to Dr Carlisle's psychiatrist friend on time, twice a week, for the next 18 months. He managed to convince me that I had some resentment issues toward my mother, because, according to him, I'd been over-protected as a child and blamed my mother for this. This resentment had apparently generalised to all women, and had further mutated into a sub-conscious desire to hurt them when they were at their most vulnerable - during sex. It all sounded good in theory, and to be truthful, I was ready to latch onto anything that would explain my "issues". By that time, I was working a well paid job in a stock brokering firm, had a good circle of friends, and a bright future. The only thing missing was a partner, and people were starting to put pressure on me to have a date with their sister's friend, or their aunt's neighbour's daughter. If I could sort out my "issues", I figured that I could probably take the occasional person up on their offer, and stop wagging tongues before they did any real damage. Plus I liked the idea that I was "fixable". But try telling that to the pretty blonde girl I found hanging suspended by her wrists in my bedroom late one Friday night I'd been out drinking that night, and had ended up falling asleep on my sofa. I had a killer of a hang-over when I awoke at about 5am, so I took a few aspirins, had a tall glass of water and staggered upstairs to go to bed. Seeing the girl, however, instantly made me forget my own discomfort. She was tied brutally tight. Her hands were together above her head, and her entire weight hung from the rope connecting her wrists to the ceiling support beam. Her toes dangled a full six inches off the ground. Her feet were bound together and thin cord was wrapped around her stomach and disappeared between her legs. It was tight enough to put a deep indentation in her already flat stomach. Her breasts were tied by a complex harness that looked like it served little purpose other than to squeeze her malleable mounds into un-natural and circulation stopping positions. Her lips were hidden behind multiple strips of wide white tape, although it was clear by her bulging cheeks that something had been crammed into her mouth to further silence her. And her body was covered in fresh whip welts. I would have released her right then, but paused for two reasons. The first was that her eyes widened and she began to shriek into her gag as I snapped on the light and entered the room. The second was that I was suddenly assailed by the voice again. "Isn't she pretty .... Taste her fear ... Give her more pain ... Feed on her torment ..." Only this time the voice wasn't a whisper that sounded like it was echoing in my head. It was stronger and had more substance. A glance at the girl to reveal the direction of her terrified gaze confirmed it. The demon was standing right behind me. I turned slowly to see a red scaled creature that stood only four feet high. It had leathery wings and claws for hands and feet. A tail snaked out of its backside and whipped around behind it as if it had a life of its own. Its features were dog-like in terms of its muzzled face, incredibly long fangs and small yellow slitted eyes. For some reason, I was more relieved than scared. The fact that the girl behind me could also see the demon meant that I wasn't insane, and that I wasn't the sick and twisted individual I'd begun to suspect I was. The demon's muzzle curled in what may have been a smile. "Hello Mitch ... care to join me ... in torturing this poor girl?" As soon as it spoke, I knew I was in trouble. Its words had an instant effect on me - numbing the outrage I was feeling at years of being violated; stoking the pent up lust I had from years of self-enforced sexual abstinence. All of a sudden the idea of hurting the bound girl seemed almost too good to pass up. "Yessss ... you feel it .... You want it ... just like I do ... I've worked on you for so long ... but everyone ultimately gives in ... everyone ..." It waddled forward on its small legs and extended a claw toward me. In it, was a rolled up bullwhip. I reached for it, but at the last second, grabbed the demon's scaled forearm and wrenched it in close to me. "Fuck you," I hissed, "and everything you've done to me." I flung the thing as hard as I could against the closest wall of the bedroom. It slammed into the plastered brick with a dull thud and slumped to the ground. Without pausing, I leapt over to it and kicked it half a dozen times in the head. I stopped when I saw yellow bile squirt over my shoes. Turning, I jumped up onto the bed and untied the rope anchoring the bound girl. I lowered her as gently as I could amid her stifled sobs of relief. The gag was next. I was afraid she might choke. I was just peeling the corner of the tape away when I heard a slithering sound and felt something crash into my side. I rolled with the blow but ended up beneath the demon. I looked up, expecting to see its muzzle darting at my throat, but instead froze with disbelief at the sight of who was sitting astride me. Dr Carlisle, in all her naked glory, struck me with a back hand, her face a mask of rage. "Ten years ..." she spat in the same sibilant voice the demon had used. "... Ten years I spent ... programming you ... preparing you to be a messenger of the Dark One ... Ten long years ... and THIS is my reward ..." She lowered her face to be nose to nose with mine. Her eyes were yellow and slitted, not human at all. "How?" she demanded. "... How did you resist ... me?" I shook my head. "I guess you just picked the wrong kind of guy." With that, I threw all my weight to the right, heaving Dr Carlisle from me. I tried to get to my feet as quickly as possible, but a claw raked through my calf muscle. I collapsed back to the floor in agony. Dr Carlisle stood slowly. Her eyes glittered menacingly. "Then it must be time to cut my losses." I didn't have to strain to pick up her emphasis on the word "cut". Dr Carlisle's face rippled and her lower jaw began to push out. A row of large fangs emerged, saliva glistening on them. She started toward me, and I knew I was dead. With my leg gone, I couldn't even stand, let alone fight back. Then suddenly, a rope was looped around Dr Carlisle's neck. I looked past the demon to see the girl I'd partially rescued using the rope she'd been suspended with to throttle the demon. Her hands were still bound, and her mouth was still covered by the white tape, but she was clearly winning. The demon seemed helpless against a bound and gagged girl who couldn't weigh more than 50 kilos. Deciding not to question my luck, I crawled over to my entertainment system and smashed a fist through the glass door of the cabinet. Ignoring the blood gushing from my knuckles, I snatched up the largest piece of glass I could find and crawled back over to the struggling women. Rearing up, I plunged the shard through Dr Carlisle's heart. The demon screamed with what sounded like a hundred voices simultaneously, sending the girl and I ducking for cover. Abruptly, the demon burst into a dark mist that quickly formed a descending vortex and disappeared into the floor. I finished freeing the bound girl, thanking her profusely as I did so. Beneath the tape, she'd been gagged with her underwear, and had no idea where the rest of her clothes were. So after she'd finished sobbing on my shoulder, and we were done comforting one another, I gave her a set of my clothes and tried not to look at her whip marks while she changed into them. But I did see the horrible burn scars that lined the inside of her shoulder blades. ***** I still haven't discovered what Dr. Carlisle meant when she spoke of "programming me to be a messenger of the Dark One". Even Beth isn't sure. She's the girl I rescued. We live together now and have done since shortly after that night. We helped each other through the physical and emotional scarring that comes after living through a deeply traumatic event. At least that's what my new psychiatrist says. He's a nice guy, I like him a whole lot more than Dr Carlisle's associate. But then that's probably because he's not a demon. Beth and I had to confront and dispatch the old psychiatrist/demon after he made a rather threatening phone call. And after him, we've had six more come looking for us. Still, we're careful, and we have each other. That's all I could really ask. Just recently, the icing on the cake has been Beth allowing me to tie her up during our love-making. Nothing complex. Just her hands behind her back and a blindfold to cover her eyes. Soon, I'll start to gag her, and after that ... who knows? Sometimes I wonder if it was fate that Beth and I met in the manner we did. We're two very different people, and I doubt we'd ever have gotten together if not for the experience we shared. Maybe that's all people need. I don't know. I'll leave the expert opinions to the psychiatrists. Mostly, however, I'm just glad. Glad that I've got Beth; glad that I'm no longer alone; glad that there are no more voices to torment me in my most intimate moments. And glad that Beth's scars have healed so perfectly - even though I still walk with a limp. I don't even question the white feathers I sometimes find, between the sheets when I'm making the bed, or while cleaning out the shower drain. I figure it's not my place to ask, because it doesn't really matter to me if she is or she isn't. I mean, if there are demons, then it follows that there has to be angels as well. Right? *****
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