Authors: Alexis Adaire
Tags: #Erotica, #Sex, #Deviant, #Paranormal, #Devil, #Satan, #Horror, #Dubious Consent, #DubCon, #Dominance, #Submission, #Short Story, #Fiction
Copyright © 2014 by Alexis Adaire
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Twisted Pair Publishing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Caitlyn Mathis was 15 minutes into her weekly hookup with friend-with-benefits Ryan when she got the call from her mother. She rolled over in bed and glanced at her cell phone on the nearby night stand. What the hell could her mom want? It was almost midnight on a Friday night. Ignoring the ringing phone, she tried to ease back into the sex. Ryan was sweating as he diligently pumped his semi-erection in and out of her, but she could tell he was beginning to tire. Orgasms had always been a tricky thing for Caitlyn. Given ample time, though, she could usually manage one with Ryan. She felt the vague stirrings and closed her eyes as he continued pumping his almost-hard cock. The orgasm was building now, almost within reach. She moved her hips in time, greeting Ryan’s pounding as she felt herself about to crest that first wave.
The phone rang again.
Caitlyn looked over. Mom again — something must be wrong. She sighed.
“Sorry, I have to get this,” she said as she reached for the phone.
The gate arm of the hospital parking garage raised and Caitlyn drove in, searching frantically for an open spot. She’d barely gotten any real information from her mother, just that her younger sister Amber had been admitted with some kind of strange virus and was in serious condition. How could this be? Amber was only 23, five years younger than Caitlyn, and was the picture of health. A nurse, she had just returned from a trip to West Africa with Doctors Without Borders — and she looked fine when Caitlyn met her for lunch just days earlier.
Caitlyn eased the car into an empty spot, then hurried through the over-street walkway leading to the hospital, her thick mane of blonde hair flowing behind her. She was at Ryan’s condo when she got the call from her mom, and the only clothes she had were a pair of jeans and a Cleveland Cavs T-shirt. Both items were tight and sexy, the reason she’d worn them that night, but she felt a bit awkward as she walked through the hospital at this late hour with her large breasts pushing against the Cavs logo.
Her mother saw her rushing down the corridor and met her halfway. Caitlyn listened through her mom’s sobs as she brought her up to speed: an unknown virus, likely from an insect bite while overseas. The symptoms had begun with a sore throat and fatigue, but rapidly escalated. She was now near-comatose with a high fever.
Caitlyn entered the room and stood by Amber’s bed. She took her sister’s hand and squeezed, saying, “Always trying to get attention, aren’t you?” Amber’s eyes opened slightly and Caitlyn reassured her, “Don’t worry, I’ll find out what’s going on and make sure they take care of this quickly. We’ll get you out of here in no time.” Amber managed a feeble smile.
A talk with the doctor early the following morning deflated Caitlyn’s sense of optimism. They really didn’t know exactly what was causing this. They had started intravenous antiviral therapy, but were still trying to get a handle on what was wrong with Amber. The doctor’s parting words stuck with Caitlyn: “At this point, all we can do is pray.”
She sent her mother home to get some sleep, promising to stay at Amber’s side until she returned. The two of them agreed to keep a bedside vigil. Caitlyn sat looking at her sister, her fine blonde hair and delicate features, perfect nose and full pink lips. She’d always thought of Amber as the picture of innocence, and to see her this ill broke Caitlyn’s heart. As she studied her sister, Caitlyn’s mind wandered back to the wreck five years earlier that had changed everyone’s life.
Caitlyn and her dad had been hit head-on by a drunk driver. Mr. Mathis died instantly, something she didn’t learn until a month later when she awoke from her coma. Her injuries had been severe — a traumatic brain injury, shattered vertebrae, a broken hip and fractured ribs that had punctured her lungs. Caitlyn’s mother said later that doctors told her there was less than a 10 percent chance of recovery, but she’d somehow pulled through. Amber, only 18 at the time, later told Caitlyn that she knew things would be okay. The ordeal had taken a toll on the family, though. Her mother had seemingly aged a decade during that month, and happy-go-lucky teenaged Amber had become a withdrawn, melancholy young adult.
And now this. It wasn’t fair. Caitlyn watched Amber sleep, fighting to stay awake herself.
Someone nudged Caitlyn’s shoulder once, then a second time, harder. She cracked open an eye and saw her mother. It was just after noon and Caitlyn had been asleep for a while. There had been no improvement in Amber’s condition. On the contrary, doctors said she was entering a “critical 48-hour window” and if things didn’t improve soon, they weren’t likely to.
Her mother insisted that Caitlyn go home and get some sleep. Caitlyn promised to return later that evening to take the night shift at her sister’s bedside.
Caitlyn had no intention of going home. She needed a drink badly and pulled out of the parking garage in search of the closest bar. Just a few blocks away she stumbled on the Lucky Devil, an obvious dive. Perfect.
Heads turned when Caitlyn walked in. Despite her tired appearance, or maybe because of it, she looked sultry as she slid her tall, lithe frame onto a barstool. The jeans and Cavs shirt may have fit right in with the bar’s afternoon crowd, but her perfect breasts and gorgeous ass would have stood out even if she hadn’t been the only woman there.
“Maker’s Mark, rocks,” she told the bartender, taking a nice long slug when her drink arrived.
An hour later, Caitlyn was still on her second drink. She’d told herself she’d have one, then go home to get some sleep, but the first drink whispered to her to order another. There were about a dozen guys in the place, all typical dive-bar patrons. She had already shot down three lame pickup attempts and another three guys who just asked if they could sit and drink with her. The three who hit on her were an older guy in a button-down shirt with vaguely Western flourishes, a middle-aged ponytailed biker asshole, and a thirtysomething body-builder guy in jeans and a Pearl Jam T-shirt. Caitlyn let them know in no uncertain terms that she was not there to socialize.
Looking completely out of place was one guy wearing a dark gray tailored suit and tie who sat around the corner of the L-shaped bar and smiled at Caitlyn when he caught her looking. She averted her gaze and waited for him to show up with an idiotic opening line, but he never came over. In fact, he seemed completely uninterested in her.
Caitlyn finished her drink and tried to signal the bartender for the check. Before she could get his attention, though, the man in the suit was standing next to her and motioning for the bartender to bring drinks for the two of them. “Don’t waste your money, I was just leaving,” she said.
In a strikingly deep voice, he replied, “Don’t worry, I own the place. Have a drink with me.”
Caitlyn didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t called her “baby” or “gorgeous” and had barely acknowledged her until now. Still, she was ready to go home and get some sleep. He held out a business card. “I’m Chris,” he said.
Those eyes. Holy Jesus this guy had beautiful eyes. They were light brown, almost orange, and looked particularly striking combined with his olive skin, chiseled face, jet black hair and a day’s worth of razor stubble. She took the card and looked at it. There were only two lines:
The Lucky Devil Bar
“Caitlyn,” she said. Chris was probably in his thirties, and though he wasn’t handsome in a traditional sense, there was something undeniably attractive about him. The way he dressed? His regal posture? Maybe his confidence that bordered on arrogance? Caitlyn couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He was tall, at least 6’3”, and damn, he looked hot in that suit.
“One drink, Caitlyn,” Chris said. “You look like you can use a friend who’s not going to hit on you.”
He took the bar stool next to hers. Caitlyn knew she shouldn’t, but found herself reaching for the glass anyway.
As they drank, Chris didn’t talk much about himself, choosing instead to ask Caitlyn about her work (“I’m a contract attorney”) and her religion (“recovering Catholic”). When he asked why she was drinking alone, she told him about her sister and the hospital, tears starting to well in her eyes.
Chris put a hand on her shoulder and said, “I know it’s tough. Makes you feel helpless, like it’s totally out of your hands, right?” His hand was noticeably warm. Caitlyn nodded and dabbed her eyes as she looked across the room where the older man was now playing pool with the ponytailed biker.
“I can help,” he said.
Caitlyn stopped short. Was it the whiskey? No, this guy had clearly said what she thought he had. Now she was wary — maybe he was a typical asshole after all, just waiting for a moment of weakness before making his move. “Help how?” she asked.
Chris took a drink, then said, “I can make her well.”
“Fuck you,” Caitlyn blurted out. “That’s not funny.”
“Don’t get upset. I’m absolutely serious,” Chris said.
“And how the hell would you do that?” she retorted. “Wave your magic wand? You’re really pissing me off.”
“I’m the devil,” he said.
Caitlyn stared at him, then laughed “You’re a douchebag is what you are,” she said, standing up.
“I can help Amber. I have that kind of power. What would it take to prove it to you?”
“I’m outta here,” she said, turning to leave. Chris reached out and gently grabbed her elbow. His hand felt hot on her exposed flesh. Caitlyn turned to face him. “Let me go,” she said. “Now.”
Chris locked eyes with her and she felt instantly uneasy, restless. “Caitlyn, someone in this bar will be entering the gates of Hell in three minutes.”
“Let me go!” she shouted and pulled away, but her voice was drowned out by a commotion near the pool table. The biker was livid as he swung a cue stick against the table, shattering it in two.
“You fucking hustled me!” the biker screamed at the older man, who was backing up. “You’ve been sandbagging all along!” He put the jagged end of the broken cue stick against the other man’s neck, then said, “You’ve picked the wrong motherfucker to cheat, asswipe.”
It happened so fast, Caitlyn was startled. The older man cowered against the wall, pleading. Suddenly a shout came from the other end of the bar: “Police!” Caitlyn looked down the bar and saw the bodybuilder, pistol drawn. “Drop the stick and back away,” he said tersely.
The biker was livid. He glared at the older man as he set the broken cue stick on the ground and backed away with his hands in the air. The cop approached him and told him he needed to leave the bar immediately and not come back. The biker argued, then reluctantly left when the cop refused to budge. Almost as quickly as it started, the situation had been defused.
Caitlyn looked at Chris. His flat expression betrayed no feelings about what had just happened, but she knew one thing: Nobody had died.
“You failed, Lucifer,” she said sarcastically.
Chris smiled. “Please, child — I’m not finished yet.”
A loud moan came from the pool table area. The old man was bent over, hands clutching at his chest. His face was beet red and he was covered with sweat. He suddenly looked up, staring straight at Chris, then collapsed on the ground as several people ran to help.
Caitlyn slowly turned to look at Chris. The last thing she remembered was his grin. Her skin crawled and the room spun, then everything went black.
“Don’t try to get up. Just lie there. Deep breaths.”
Caitlyn’s eyes slowly focused on the man hovering over her. He was a cop — no, an EMT or something. She turned to look around and realized she was outside, lying on the sidewalk outside of the Lucky Devil. Chris Titan! She panicked and tried to sit up, but he was nowhere to be seen. The EMT eased her back down and reminded her to take deep breaths and try to relax.
When her senses fully returned, Caitlyn asked him about the old guy in the bar. After making sure Caitlyn didn’t know the man, he told her that he’d suffered a heart attack and died.
She wanted to get home right away. The EMT said she shouldn’t drive, so he helped her hail a cab and told her to go straight home and to bed. As the cab pulled away, Caitlyn remembered Chris’s evil grin and the way it made her skin crawl, as if hundreds of spiders were running all over her. She recalled his prediction of imminent doom for someone in the bar. Oh my god. It can’t be, she thought.
Then she remembered his words: “I can help Amber. I have that kind of power.” She hadn’t mentioned her sister’s name — or had she? She couldn’t remember. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
The cab dropped Caitlyn off at her apartment. All she wanted was to get some sleep, to stop her brain from buzzing about what had just happened at the bar. She remembered the business card Chris had handed her earlier and fished it out of her pocket. Looking at it, she saw that the letters of his name had somehow rearranged themselves and it now read: