Masturbation Monday: The Devil

During the Sisters in Smut Convention Summit, three erotica authors walked into a bar and spotted a cowboy, an angel, and a devil. Caught up in the reverie, three stories were born. This one is mine.

“Whiskey on the rocks, please. ” The soft voice of the woman stoked the fires of my being. I hadn’t felt this way in eons and I couldn’t dampen the curiosity that flooded my mind. She sat a couple of stools down from me and I tried not to look. “Thank you. ”

Instead of looking at her, I look at her hands as they rotate the glass. Long fingers, tipped by clean, unpainted nails. Colorful bands wrapped around her right wrist. She hadn’t sipped yet and I can’t help but wonder if she would or if it was just a comfort holding the drink.

Butch the bartender heads back in my direction. He’s an old cowboy who used to ride the backs of bulls trying to fling him off. He’s a little slower moving these days, old age and rough life can do that to even a man as strong and obstinate as Butch. I hold out my glass. He adds extra ice and fills the glass about halfway. The ice starts melting immediately. It can’t handle my high body temperature which spiked when the woman spoke.

Finally, I give in to curiosity and look directly at her. Flame red hair, pale skin that almost glows in the dim light, and a look of uncertainty on her face. The way her features shift in thought, when she shakes her head back and forth as if saying ‘no’ to the voices in her head, make me wonder what kind of trouble she’s in.

Taking a deep breath, I try to tamp down my inner devilish nature. Every time I step foot on the plane of human existence, something strange happens. I have no idea what it may be this time, but it’ll definitely be less devastation than the last time I was here.

Attempting to catch a whiff of this woman’s soul to find out who she is deep down only gets me the ages of smoke layered on the walls and ceiling from when people were allowed to smoke inside. Even though they had outlawed it years ago, you could still smell the cigars and menthols people had enjoyed way back. I sip my watered whiskey and clean out my senses just as the door bursts open.

The music isn’t loud and the others at the tables are oblivious as to what just walked in. They’re too enamored with their technical devices and conversations to realize what kind of danger they were in. Butch knows. He and I have an understanding. I come and go as I please and I don’t burn the place down. But this is a new player in the mid. Butch is armed and dangerous despite his appearance of feebleness. The woman looks over at the door as the angel walks in and stiffens. Her throat tightens as she swallows hard.

Feeling for her, I slide down and allow my extra warmth to engulf her. She’s colder than the arctic wind. Laying my arm across the back of her stool to help warm her up seems like a good idea. A gentleman would do that for a frightened woman, right? Leaning in close, I whisper. “It’s okay darlin’. I’ll keep you safe.”

She turns and looks me, blue eyes wide with anxiety. The angel moves towards the bar and we both turn to keep him in our line of sight. He’s a mess. His hair is spiked up in random directions as if he’d been pulling at it. The tie he wears is crooked and loose. His rain coat looks like it needed dry-cleaning weeks ago.

The woman moves closer to me. A chill floods me. I haven’t been cold since the fall. It’s a strange sensation and I don’t have time to contemplate the meaning right now. I have to keep an eye on the angel to make sure he doesn’t have any avarice in mind.

Delving deep, I taste sweet sinfulness upon my tongue.

He sits a few stools down on the opposite side of me. Butch sidles up to the bar, his cowboy hat looking wicked when the lights flicker. Thunder rolls above in the sky outside and somehow, I know it’s the fault of the woman I’ve decided to protect.

Before I can shift to keep the angel in my line of sight, pain rips down my spine. I think he’s gotten the jump on me. Lightning strikes something outside and the power goes out. The room goes silent as the jukebox whirrs to a stop. Phone screens are the only light and people are starting to panic. Another flash, this time inside the bar, streaks by me. Someone, I assume the angel, cries out. Fire flares up and people run for the exits.

The woman is dragging me outside. I have no idea where Butch is, but I fight long enough to turn around and look at the Palace Saloon. It’s going up in flames. The old man is going to have to limp out of this one on his own. “What the hell was that?”

“Holy fire.” Then she’s pushing me in front of her and up into a giant truck that can’t possibly be hers. She hops in after me like she knows what she’s doing and peels off. Things start to fade and go wonky in my vision. I’m passing out. The best way to heal my wounds would be to feast upon her soul. I take another deep breath and smell wanton female next to me. It’s too late and I fall into a sea of black as I pass out.

“Wake up.” I’m being shaken. I almost jump and hit my head on the roof of the truck before memory comes flooding back. Rubbing my face, I try to get rid of the drowsy feeling. I test my body. Other than a few cricks from the odd sleeping position, I appear to be healed. My wounds must not have been as bad as they felt.

I hop out of the truck and see her standing in the bed above me. She’s laying out a sleeping bag. Stars fill the sky above us. It’s as if the storm earlier never happened. I wonder who this spitfire is that I’ve found myself relying upon instead of the other way around. And then she turns to look down at me, hand on her cocked hip. “You ready for a feast, devil? I’ve got a meal for you.”

Is it possible that this woman knows who I am? My mouth drops open as she kicks off her heels and starts stripping off her jeans and tank-top. The bra she wears is black as night, but the thong she’s got on is my favorite color; purple.

I hop into the back of the pickup and pull her close. The fact that it’s not storming keeps niggling in the back of my mind. I can’t stop myself. “What happened to the storm?”

With a roll of her eyes, she grabs me and licks my lip, then digs her nails into the back of my neck. “Nevermind.” She yanks my shirt out of my pants and starts stripping me naked. I fall to my knees and wrap my hands around her hips. Rubbing my face against the lace of the purple thong, the scent of her sex strong in my nose, I lose a little control.

My temperature starts to bubble up and I can feel the flames within growing. My skin glistens with perspiration. I grab the panties and rip them off. She grabs me by the hair as I lift her left leg over my shoulder. Delving deep, I taste sweet sinfulness upon my tongue.

Read Part Two: Masturbation Monday: The Angel and The Cowboy

Read about The Cowboy at Dr. J.’s website.

Kayla Lords got a kick out of telling us we should definitely write a group of stories that go together. You may thank her for all this smutty goodness on Twitter.

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