Witch Way to the Apocalypse?

“Hello, Dearie?” Granny shouted from her rocking chair. “Oh there you are. Did you have a good day at College?”

“Hi Granny, s’OK, I suppose. You know that guy I was telling you about…”Alice twisted her feet together and wrung her hands behind her back in the way she always did when she was nervous. “Well, I’ve brought him back… since Mum’s not here. You said it’d be OK if…”

“For Christ’s sake, Alice Smith, stop being so wet. Bring him in, bring him in. Let me take a look at him.”

Alice retreated. “Stan?”

There was the sound of shuffling bodies maneuvering in the narrow hallway, of shoes being removed, words of reassurance and Alice reappeared dragging something reluctant closely behind her.

“Granny, this is Stan; Stan, this is Bryon – my Granny.”

Granny cast an eye over Alice’s prize. “Be a love and pop down to the chippy – get your old Gran a bag of chips.” Granny fumbled in her pockets and extracted a fifty-pound note. “And you can keep the change.” Alice’s mouth shaped seamlessly from one of outraged protest to join the rest of her body in obsequious supplication.

“Come-on, Stan. It won’t take long,” Alice said, snatching the note from Granny’s fingers.

“Stan’s staying here,” Granny said sharply. “Aren’t you Stan?”

It wasn’t a question and Alice gave him an apologetic look before fleeing from the room, clutching the enormous red note triumphantly. The sex could wait. Loud, asymmetrical clomping echoed from the laminate floor as Alice dug her feet into her slip-on shoes and scuffed her way down the hall. The house rattled as the front door slammed, leaving an empty malevolent pause.

“Hello ‘Stan’, or should I say Spawn-of-Satan, Master-of-Lies, Lord-of-Darkness, Devil-Incarnate, Author-of-all-Sin, Tempter, Wicked-One, Enemy-of-Righteousness…”

“Just ‘Stan’ is fine,” the Dark One interrupted.

“I was expecting you to pop by.”

“Really?”

“Well, it is the end of the world tonight. Can’t very well have the end of the world without the Destroyer-of-Souls now can we? Cup of tea?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Not really. I’m here to kill you.”

“Yes, yes. Thirsty work though, death. Sure I can’t interest you in a nice cuppa first?”

The Dark Lord glowered.

“Something stronger perhaps?”

“This isn’t a social call,” Stan said, through sharp, gritted teeth.

“Oh yes, right. Sorry. The death thing.”

“Namely yours.”

“Ah, yes. Nice body, by the way.”

“Thanks. I quite like it.” The Dark Lord gave a half turn. “Low mileage, only one previous owner. Not so careful of course, otherwise it wouldn’t have become… available.”

“Speeding?”

“What else? That little bit of evil engineering I managed to slip into the A666.” Stan went as misty-eyed as it was possible for something ‘born’ below to get. “That blind dip has proved to be a steady earner for our side – yours too… apparently the passenger earned a reprieve with his last words.”

“Really?”

“Evidently, they were ‘slow down for Christ’s sake you’re going to hit that fuc…’ Worked-out well for him that he didn’t get to finish that last word, otherwise he might have been joining us in the basement.”

“Speaking of which, I have a proposition,” Granny said, eyeing Stan with her one good eye. Stan recoiled, it was unsettling when Granny did that, even for a demon of hell. It looked like the eye might escape its socket at any moment. “You being such a horny devil and all might find it interesting.”

“Oh?”

“I’m offering you Alice.” The Dark One laughed out loud with the volume and suddenness of an overhead thunder-clap.

“Why would I accept one soul, when soon I can have them all?”

“I’m not offering you her soul. I’m not offering you her mind – although you’re more than welcome to what little there is of that. I’m offering you her body… to do with as you will.”

Granny paused to let Stan conjure-up a few choice actions. She watched as he carefully crossed his legs, instinctively hiding the growing erection, and took a sip from her glass.

An odd look took hold of Granny’s face, her eyes bulged and she made a horrible retching noise before spitting the contents back into the glass.

It took a few moments before Granny had fully regained her composure. She made a sour face before lowering her good eye towards the glass. The gelatinous, green-and-brown contents were steaming slightly.

“Sorry, that’s my phlegm glass. Maggie gets awful cross when she catches me spitting on the carpet.”

Granny reached under her blanket and extracted a bottle of 18-year-old Caol Ila. “I keep this bottle for emergencies,” she said, eyeing Stan, who looked horrified. She swirled the contents round, examined them carefully before popping the cork and downing the lot. She smacked her lips and gave a sigh of contentment.

“What kind of… emergencies? That… that wasn’t urine was it?” Stan asked, screwing-up his face and uncrossing his legs. Granny’s face looked thoughtful for a moment. She examined the bottle carefully, held it to her nose and inhaled deeply. A slightly puzzled frown disturbed her brow. Granny played her tongue experimentally around her mouth.

“No it was definitely whiskey.” Granny’s brain swam back into focus. Alice. The up-coming end of the world.

“There’s witch-blood in those veins, but not pure enough to cause problems in the bedroom, if you catch my drift.” Granny didn’t agree with this ‘talking-like-a-lady’ malarkey that Margaret insisted upon in ‘her’ house. Granny liked to call a spade a spade and then everyone knew what everyone else was talking about. Talking in riddles was so new-age. “Just imagine yourself fucking a witch. Your throbbing cock violating her in every imaginable way.”

Stan made a noise. It wasn’t a human noise. He re-crossed his legs. “I don’t know; I’ve got a very good imagination.”

“She’s a virgin but she’ll do it. She’ll do it all – for you. She’ll be yours, to have, to possess.”

Stan did some rearranging in the crotch department. After being stuck on Earth for over 6000 years, to have a virgin was one of the few remaining joys in his miserable existence.

“Oral?” he asked. Granny nodded.

“Of course. Vaginal and anal too. Those are just your basic holes,” Granny said, dismissively. “Any human can do that.” Somehow Granny spat the last word in a way which slapped Stan across the face… with a salmon. A whole frozen salmon.

“There’s more?” Stan asked, intrigued.

Granny gave Stan a withering look. “She is a witch, Stan. Not a very good witch. But a witch none-the-less.”

“What… what else do witches do then?” There was doubt in the question. Stan was suspicious, wary of being drawn into a trap. The only experience he’d had of witches was in the difficulty of killing them and making sure that they stayed dead. Shape-shifters were the worst. Stan hated shape-shifters, although his life in that regard had become much easier since the invention of the long-barrelled shotgun. Furry or feathery, it didn’t much-aid an escape from a barrel-full of hot lead. Head-hoppers were just as annoying but the collateral damage made them more fun than the shape-shifters as it was usually best to kill anyone within a ten-mile radius when you found a head-hopper, just to be sure.

Stan found his mood darkening at the memories. He’d forgotten just how much he hated witches. If Granny Smith was the last of the great witches, he should just get her killed now and then he could… apart from her granddaughter, apparently… which meant there was a generation missing. Margaret? Stan decided that he may as well wait until Alice came back with the bag of chips. Then he could kill them both and have something to eat before hunting down the other one.

Granny Smith is wrong on that score, he thought. Killing didn’t make Stan thirsty; it made him hungry.

“Well for a start…” Granny said, sensing the relaxation from DEFCON 1 to DEFCON 3. She leaned forward enthusiastically. “Actually, it’d be easier to show you.”

There was a tickling sensation in the front of Stan’s brain. Something akin to fingertips prodding and poking: searching. Something was invading Stan’s personal space. He didn’t know what it was but he knew who it was. Witchcraft.

Stan didn’t like it. He’d heard about witches getting into people’s heads and he’d seen witches head-hop just before he cut theirs off. Some called it ‘Headology’. He hadn’t realized that the phrase was so… descriptive. He tried to resist but the thing inside just grabbed him around the throat and held him against the inside of his skull as it continued to search. He needed to kill the bitch right this instant. But he found that he couldn’t move. Stan watched in horror as the thing flicked through what passed as his soul like a Filofax. It was exploring him, finding-out how he worked. Sensations came and went. Tastes, heat, cold.

Stan gasped as the tightest, hottest, wettest pussy he’d ever imagined slid down onto his cock. He could feel it pulsing, milking pleasure from his manhood. It made his claws curl. His eyeballs were still responsive and he looked down but there was nothing there. His trousers were still fastened, and he could see the impressive mound of his cock. It was twitching in response to the phantom pussy that was sliding up and down it. But other than that, there was nothing unusual about its appearance.

Then the world disappeared and was replaced by something weird and wonderful. The images flashed past so quickly that he couldn’t comprehend them. Occasionally they paused, like someone scanning through a free newspaper and finding a story they liked the look of. They were his fantasies. And other things even better than fantasies. Dreams. His wildest dreams. Forgotten dreams.

There was no sensation of time. But he was beginning to feel tired. Sick as well. His brain simply couldn’t cope with what was happening. His biological CPU was overheating. The quantity of information was too much. If whatever was happening to him didn’t stop soon, Stan had a feeling that his current body would be permanently damaged. He didn’t care about the body as such, although he had developed something of a soft-spot for it given that it had proved to be such a hit with pretty young women. They would do anything for him while he was in this body. Apparently it had more than a passing resemblance to a popular music star. Stan was prepared to put up with being called ‘Justin’ if the girls in question would let him bury his cock in their backsides for an hour or two.

Then the flickering stopped. It was that girl off the television: Lauren. The one who did the weather in the morning. Only she wasn’t doing the weather. She was naked, straddling his lap, feeding his cock into her pussy. It was really happening. Each and every one of his startled senses reported back the same confirmation. She was really there with him. Her soft naked body was pressing against his. There was a faint scent of citrus which got stronger as Stan pushed his face into the nape of her neck. His lips touched her skin and he tasted the sourness of her perfume… but also the soap residue from a hurried shower. There were no inconsistencies. He was fucking his favorite weather girl.

Oh My Fucking God. Stan shuddered as the sensation of an icy-flaming sword cleaved through his body. It was unacceptable for a devil to use the ultimate swear word: the ‘G’ word. “Sorry,” he thought, looking down. “Just ‘fuck’, OK?”

It was still real. Lauren was still there with him, murmuring sweet nothings about a ‘warm front moving in from the south’. Stan had no idea what a ‘warm front’ actually was but instinctively felt that he would enjoy one if he ever found one; especially if she was there to share it with him.

Her hair was falling down about her face. She was smiling, ‘wishing for everyone to have a great day, despite the weather’ and ‘to remember to take an umbrella’. Every word that came from those lips was utter sex to Stan. She was Happy (to hand back to the studio). Her tiny tits were just begging to be chewed. A Biting wind from the north, Stan thought in her voice. As if hearing the thought, Lauren offered one of her tits to his mouth and he bit the nipple. She gasped her approval, gripping his head with both hands. He pulled back, stretching the flesh of her breast. “Come for me.” It was a dirty demand and Stan simply couldn’t refuse.

“Oh Lauren,” he sighed, happily. Stan’s cock pulsed violently and he felt the warm wetness flood into his… underwear.

Stan’s world snapped back into the living room. Lauren was gone. Instead there was Granny gyrating her hips inappropriately. “It’s been a long time since I’ve released the spawn of the Devil.” Granny sighed while re-arranging the layers of clothing covering her crotch. Stan wished he could move; anything to avoid the sight which was currently being burnt into his memory. If only he could at least close his eyes. Was that a gusset? Or something much, much worse?

“I think I’ll have to change me knickers.” Granny scratched herself in a manner which will have the censors reaching for their scissors in the film adaptation of this story, and then had a further rummage elsewhere in her hosiery which produced a pipe and tobacco pouch. “Always fancy a nice big bowl of t’bacca after an orgasm,” Granny sighed as she extracted a generous pinch of Latakia. “You don’t mind if I smoke do you Stan. Silly question, really. You being from ‘down there’ – course you don’t mind. Don’t you go telling Margaret though,” Granny warned, pointing the stem of her pipe at Stan. “Otherwise I’ll have to tell her how you took advantage of a defenseless old woman.” Granny winked in a lascivious manner which would have made Stan vomit if he’d had any control over any part of his body.

Granny found her box of matches and lit a pair. After a few seconds of gummy sucking noises, the sulfurous odor from the burning matches was replaced by an intense peppery fragrance. As the first wisp of tobacco smoke curled up from Granny’s lips, Stan found that he’d been released. The stuffy fullness in his head disappeared, like a sinus suddenly releasing. He was repulsed but the memories of what he had felt before… it had been the most powerful sensations of pleasure he’d ever experienced. Pure hedonism. Stan loved a bit of hedonism. He wanted to experience that again.

Granny nodded. “Imagine how much better it would be with her… with Alice.”

“Are you still in my head?”

“Of course not, filthy place. Wouldn’t dream of hanging around in there.” Granny winked in a manner which made Stan’s body tense. “Of course, some of the filth wasn’t too bad. I liked the bits with me in… and watching all those innocent girlies getting their bottoms boned brought back some happy memories.” Granny wormed herself deeper into the cushions. “Of course all that will stop if the world ends.”

“What will?”

“Anal sex with virgin girls. No-one gets born down there, remember. They’ll be no new girls coming onto the scene for you to deflower. It won’t be long before all the girls have given it away.” Granny took a long drag on her pipe and spoke her next thought through a cloud of smoke thick enough to suggest that her lungs were on fire. “And you’ll have to share with the other demons down there. Unless you agree to call it off.”

“Call what off?”

“The whole shebang. This End-Of-The-World nonsense.”

There was the sound of keys in the front door. “I’m back,” Alice called. A pair of shoes hurtled down the hallway like a bowling ball down an alley. All manner of boots and shoes fell like skittles at the far end. They were the sounds of a girl in a hurry.

“I’ll just get you a plate, Granny,” Alice said, but her eyes were on Stan as she smiled. There was an underlying something which Stan recognized from the leery old woman sitting opposite him. But there was also an innocence and freshness which were long-lost attributes as far as Granny was concerned. Stan smiled hungrily at the stunning body blessed with more than a little stupidity: Alice was a perfect combination as far as Stan was concerned. She was sweating slightly, having obviously run back in her enthusiasm to be with him. It put Stan in mind of what she would look like after he’d fucked her. He felt his desire stirring.

Alice returned with the plate of chips. “Thanks Dearie.”

“Granny?”

“Yeth Alicth,” Granny asked impatiently through a mouth full of chips.

“Should I let him stick his thing in my special place?” Granny stopped chewing and her good eye roved from Alice to Stan and back again to her granddaughter.

“Yeth.” There was an exaggerated gulp.

Alice smiled. “Oh goody!” she exclaimed. Her hands flew up into the ‘Y’ of the YMCA before coming together in an excruciatingly-loud clapping. She ran from the room.

“Aren’t you worried about me being up there… alone with your granddaughter?”

Granny shook her head. A grin formed on Stan’s face. The kind of grin which watches the herd from the long grass and launches into action only as the nursery full of younger meat on wobbly legs starts passing by. The door closed.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” Granny Smith cackled. She liked cackling but didn’t get much of an opportunity to do it these days. Not for real anyway. The cackling quickly broke-down into a coughing fit which had her reaching for the phlegm glass. Something that looked like a pickled walnut was launched into the murky depths and only slowly made its way back to the surface. “Oh, that’s much better,” Granny said cheerily, punching herself in the sternum a dozen times. Granny patted herself down absently. “Where’s that bleedin’ pipe gone?” The pipe was forgotten as she found the remote control wedged somewhere uncomfortable.

“Virgin? My arse.” Granny broke down into another fit of laughter as she flicked through the channels and found something loud which she turned up even more. There were some things an old woman didn’t want to hear: the howls of a disappointed demon being among the top three.

In case you’re wondering – Granny discovered the location of the pipe after a repeat of A Question of Sport was coming to an end when smoke started billowing out of her cleavage.

Meanwhile, upstairs…

Alice had dutifully taken Stan to her bedroom and had removed all her clothes, including her supportive undergarments, which she was currently in the process of folding away. Alice was unaware of what was happening behind her…

One of the things that virgins need to know if they want to maintain that status whilst in the company of demons is to never turn their backs. Demons have no resistance when it comes to temptation, so if a girl bends over and presents herself to a demon what follows is somewhat inevitable. Such is the advice translated from the first edition of Vyrgynyty – Ye mayntaynyng of (1610). The advice may be 400 years old but it’s as true today as it was then.

I’ll show the bitch. Stan’s cock swelled impressively as he lined it up on Alice’s virgin arsehole. This is going to be fun.

Luckily for Stan, the wall at the bottom of Alice’s bed wasn’t solid. Otherwise he might have seriously damaged his favorite body part, it being the first to collide with the plasterboard. His erect penis punched a hole through 10mm of gypsum before it collided with the uneven and decidedly uncompromising brickwork of the real wall, lurking two inches behind the fake one.

Stan’s penis bent dangerously. It hadn’t been designed to act as a crumple zone and did little to slow the rest of his body. Fortunately for Stan’s penis, the rest of Stan was following about seven inches behind; a fraction of a second before it sustained serious injury, the rest of Stan collided with the plasterboard.

Surprise, more than anything tangible, held Stan’s body in place. He hung like a piece of three-dimensional wall art for a few moments before he peeled off the wall and landed back on the bed. He looked down and watched as the last of the blue energy dancing around the crown of his once-magnificent erection evaporated with a zingy pop. “Ouch.”

“What are you doing down there, you silly-billy?”

Stan’s eyes rolled in his sockets. Important information regarding the state of his testicles following the impact had just arrived in his brain by express mail. He read the message and decided that he didn’t like it one little bit. This was going to hurt quite a lot. A wave of nausea washed over him and a sickening ache took hold in anticipation of the agonies to come. Stan had once had a nasty accident involving the crossbar of a bicycle. He winced at the memory and felt a tightening as his wounded testicles tried to retract into his body cavity. This was going to be worse.

Stan opened his mouth to express his dismay at this unexpected turn of events. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be; he was a demon, the ultimate demon. He shouldn’t be getting beaten-up by a girl. Stan’s world suddenly darkened to match his mood. It also became hot and filled with an intoxicating musk. His eyes rolled back urgently, like the reels on a fruit machine. They focused just in time to see Alice’s pretty pink arsehole dropping towards the bridge of his nose. Stan cringed and tried to work-out which room was directly below Alice’s bedroom. At least floorboards were softer than brick walls and he wasn’t likely to go through penis-first this time.

The impact, when it came, was welcome. It was soft and springy – exactly the kind of impact you’d expect when a teenage girl sits down heavily on a demon’s face. Stan smiled a smile which you’d only normally see very briefly if you were on the wrong end of an attack by a great white shark. At least he tried to smile that smile; the tops of Alice’s inner thighs were clamped so tightly to his cheeks that his face resembled a goldfish trying to eat a lemon whole.

An all-consuming lust washed away every ache in Stan’s damaged body. An atomic dust cloud rose from his crotch as plaster was thrown into the air by the enthusiastic response of his cock. Alice smiled at the corporeal reply from Stan’s prone form and pushed herself down harder. She liked a man who enjoyed being trapped under her crotch; the ones who insisted on regular breathing were such a disappointment.

This is more like it. Scarlet eyes glinted in the darkness as Stan’s hands slid along the silky length of Alice’s thighs and took a tight grip of her hips. He didn’t want her to go anywhere.

Stan’s lungs demanded that he lift her off his face such that he might take a breath of sweet air. Stan’s brain conferred with his cock and they vetoed his lungs; air would have to wait – nothing was sweeter than Alice’s pussy.

Instead, Stan pulled down sharply, forming a vacuum over the lower half of his face, making Alice giggle. Stan didn’t hear the giggle or the sweet noise of Alice sighing happily; he couldn’t hear anything besides the rasping of air as he started breathing through his ears. Sometimes it paid to be a demon.

Alice wriggled, trying to encourage Stan to lick her. What was keeping him?

Stan’s tongue was still unraveling. Not all the way; he’d hold that trick back for later. One trick at a time, he thought. It’s not just length that matters. A devil’s forked tongue had other advantages… as Alice was about to find out.

Stan stabbed his tongue into Alice’s labia and licked right from the top of her slit to the bottom. It ran on instinctively across Alice’s perineum before cautiously probing her arsehole. Stan liked arseholes. They were forbidden places and he felt naturally drawn to them. He had an affinity for girls’ bums as a whole. He liked spanking them; whipping was good as well and there wasn’t much that beat a good caning. But a more recent memory overtook the good times. Stan’s cock throbbed warily. Although excited by the exploration of his first witch’s bumhole, the threat of a re-insertion into the construct of the room was still a worry.

However, there was no agonizing pain this time. In fact, there was no resistance at all. Alice was letting him lick her arsehole. Sweet, virginal little Alice was encouraging him by grinding down on his tongue. Perhaps that was the way to gain access… perhaps he had to make her want it: only then would her witch’s defense lower, allowing him to sink his cock into her anal depths. Stan liked the idea of sinking his cock into Alice’s anal depths. He wanted it more than anything he’d wanted in his existence and all he had to do to get it was to make Alice want it too. Of course, it wouldn’t be as fun as just taking what he wanted, but he didn’t fancy triggering her unnatural defenses again. If he just bided his time, he’d be able to fuck Alice every which way – or should that be ‘witch’ way, kill the disgusting old biddy downstairs and then destroy the universe at his leisure.

Stan’s tongue slithered between Alice’s thin labia and dived into the depths of her vagina. He felt her body jolt as he ran the tips of his tongue up the front wall of her ‘tunnel of love’. Stan liked that euphemism. Every girl he’d ever licked in this way had fallen in love with him. Without exception. He toyed with the idea of simply licking her clitoris to make her come but Stan enjoyed a challenge and set off in search of the infamous G-Spot. It did exist, contrary to the beliefs of most men and some women. And Stan was the man when it came to finding G-Spots; he had an advantage – Stan’s stereoscopic tongue could taste the difference. It was subtle, even for a demonically-enhanced pallet but Stan savored the coppery-heat of a G-Spot rippling with orgasmic delight. It was there.

Alice raised a perfect eyebrow in surprise. Despite the heat, her body shivered. She twisted her head to one side, as though listening for a burglar creeping around downstairs and opened her mouth to say something. To her surprise, the word came-out as a purr. A muscle twitched, somewhere deep inside. It did it again. Then another followed the example of the first and with almost unseemly haste muscle after muscle cramped. Alice’s other eyebrow, also shaped into a perfect arch, joined the first.

“Oh, right,” was all she said as the cramped muscles released all at once and threw her into a violent orgasm.

Stan felt the inner glow of a job well done. His hands were still clutching Alice’s hips but it was like trying to keep hold of a wildcat with a degree in spelling that’s just heard it’s going to the ‘V.E.T’. He knew Alice wasn’t trying to escape. Not really. The lack of blue electricity arcing through his fillings told him that. She’d just lost control of herself… and it was Stan’s job to ensure that Alice remained in that state for as long as possible. So he continued licking, glad that he was breathing through his ears since the juices flowing from Alice’s pussy would have drowned a mortal man as surely as a pretty mountain stream bubbling happily over a thirsty rambler trapped under his enormous rucksack.

Alice had lost count of the orgasms. After the first dozen they rolled into a continuous wall of ecstasy. Her fingers slipped down and rubbed her pleasure bean. Whatever Stan was doing down there was something new but she’d had similar sensations by rubbing the button at the top of her sex. Her mother had told her that she shouldn’t touch it, except to wash it.

However, Granny had had different advice. “You just keep rubbing it, Dearie. Even when you get tired, just keep going. Only stop when the world explodes.” The world hadn’t exploded later that evening but Alice felt as though it may have been knocked off its axis a little. Her world had changed anyway. She’d liked what happened. A lot. And even the embarrassment of Granny’s knowing leer hadn’t put her off trying again. And again.

“I don’t know what’s happening to the soap,” Margaret complained. “But we’ve nearly finished this bar already and I bought extra this week as we were running low.”

“The buggers have probably changed the recipe,” Granny replied quickly, throwing Alice a look sharp enough to split a water molecule back into two ‘H’s and an ‘O’.

“You don’t have to use the soap, Alice; your fingers’d be just as good. Better even,” Granny said, nodding to herself sagely. She waited until Alice had a mouthful of hot tea before continuing. “Bet your twat is lovely and clean though.” She chuckled, tapping the lip of her pipe against her teeth. “Oh dear, you’d best clean that up before your mother comes back. You know how precious she is about that bloody carpet.”

Alice threw off the guilt about what she was doing and concentrated on the sensations. The same familiar spark flickered into life as soon as she touched herself. But it was as though she’d taken that spark and carried it to a lighthouse and lit its lamp.

“Ooooooh Fuck!” she cried, as the searchlight swept over her. The sensations faded but they were already sweeping around again; another orgasm on the way. It flared; another joyous release. There was no real satisfaction – the darkness only made her hunger for another sexual high.

This was what her body had been waiting for, craving for all this time. Sex. It was better than she had thought possible and Stan… Stan was amazing.

A few minutes ago, Stan would have agreed with that sentiment. Now he wasn’t so sure. Who was this girl? He’d heard about insatiable sluts but he’d never thought they were real. No girl had lasted more than a few minutes with Stan’s tongue lashing her G-Spot. They rolled off with that same glazed look on their faces and asked him if there was ‘anything’ they could do in return.

“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing… but, no I’m sorry, I can’t even ask.” After some cajoling, Stan would ‘reluctantly’ admit that he’d always wanted to try anal sex. The girl would look doubtful for a moment and then persuade him that it was OK. That he wasn’t a pervert and that she’d been meaning to try it sometime anyway and where did he keep his lube?

The surprising thing was the number of girls who didn’t need his ‘persuasive help’ in coming to this conclusion since the advent of internet porn. Stan often lamented for the bad old days when sticking his cock in a girl’s arse meant something. A girl’s anal innocence was something a demon should take, not something for a girl to give willingly. And she certainly shouldn’t enjoy an ass-fucking. What was the point of that? It was one of the major reasons Stan had decided it was time for this world to come to an end. That and the fact that some of the people living in it were so evil; it was difficult for him to make his mark, to stand-out. Plus it fitted-in nicely with the prophecy of those crazy bastards who spent all their time building pyramids in the middle of the fucking jungle. The Myans? The Aztecs? Stan didn’t give a fuck about religion. Even the Satanists he’d encountered had turned-out to be a bunch of twats.

But Stan had stumbled over something he did give a fuck about. Or rather, something that he really wanted to fuck. In all the miserable years on this soggy little planet, he’d never had a witch’s arse. And he desperately wanted to add one to his collection before he went ahead and destroyed the world and everyone on it.

He’d been so close. It had been there ready for the taking… or so he’d thought. OK, so he couldn’t take Alice anally without her consent. He’d be willing to make do with ravishing her tight tushy if that would free him up to get on with what he was here for. The destruction of the Earth. Ultimate victory of darkness over light. Stick one to God and all his cronies. A fearsome jolt of agony speared through his body at his use of the ‘G’ word. He was usually so careful… that was twice in one night.

The pain receded. In fact the only part of him that was hurting was his tongue. It had cramp. Alice shifted. At last. Stan let go of her hips and she lifted off his face. Something wet and pink flopped limply down the side of his nose and up onto his forehead.

“Your tongue’s…” Alice paused as she examined Stan’s oral tool. Her eyebrows leaped in unison before gathering in a frown. Stan saw her searching her limited vocabulary for the best word. ‘Amazing’ he thought. ‘Spectacular’ – probably too many syllables; ‘Wonderful’; ‘the best’.

“Stopped,” she concluded. Stan was furious. He’d been down there for God knew how long. A hot rapier pierced his flesh and sliced through every major organ, including his favorite one.

“Yrugh fuhing rich,” he shouted. “Rive reen roun rare ror fuhing rowhers!” Fortunately for Stan and the world as a whole, Alice didn’t comprehend the angry outburst.

“Would someone like a blowjob?”

Stan frowned. He wasn’t used to being rewarded for calling a woman a ‘fuhing rich’.

“Res, reeese,” he said, feeling somewhat confused. He howled in pain as Alice spanked his wounded cock.

“Sorry, it’s covered in dust. It looks well manky. Just a sec.”

Stan suffered the indignity of his conquest nipping to the bathroom to recover a flannel with which Alice inflicted a mini bed-bath. “That’s much better,” she said, admiring her handiwork. “Now let’s have a little taste.”

Alice climbed diagonally across Stan’s body like a black widow across her freshly-spun web. His cock cowered nervously as Alice’s toothy, open mouth descended. Stan gasped as Alice sank down, swallowing his entire pole in one smooth movement. No girl had ever done that to any of the cocks he had possessed. It felt truly amazing. Alice’s smiling face peered up at him. She was smiling, not just with a sexy row of white teeth and slender lips – it was something much deeper than that; she seemed genuinely excited by what she’d just done. Aside from a trail of warm saliva right the way down to his scrotum, Stan wouldn’t have believed what had just happened. Had Alice just deep-throated him?

“Your cock is fucking delicious,” Alice giggled, playfully slapping the wet meat against her freckled cheeks.

Stan’s blood was boiling. Who was this evil-temptress; this virginal whore? Alice had not only taken everything he had thrown at her, she had taken control. Stan had fucked tens of thousands of women through the centuries, but never one like this. She was immune to his charms. He had licked her until his tongue had gone into a spasm… and she’d wanted more! Was this what it felt like to be a man, a mere mortal? In the power of a woman? Stan’s mind was racing as Alice moved round and took each of Stan’s balls into her mouth and gently sucked. Was this what it felt like to be… vulnerable?

Stan looked down and immediately wished he hadn’t. He felt the transfer of power as he met her eyes. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful; Stan had fucked some of the most stunning women ever to have spread their legs and had had them begging him to perform the most depraved sex acts imaginable. No, it wasn’t just the beauty, although she was beautiful.

It was her. Everything about her. Fuck in hell – he’d failed to satisfy her! That in itself was… intriguing. He’d met his match. A woman who could take everything he had to give… and demanded more. Stan felt more alive than he had in decades. He’d been looking for something new. Here she was: a challenge. A charming, beautiful challenge.

Perhaps he was going weak. Vulnerability. He wasn’t in control. She was acting of her own free will and that free will was leading her to suck his cock with the greatest degree of proficiency; Stan groaned as Alice continued to deliver a dangerously delicious blowjob. Then she stopped.

“Are you going to stick your thing in my special place?” Alice asked, nervously. “Only Granny said that I should wait until I met someone nice before I have…”

“Nice?” Stan grabbed an angry fistful of Alice’s hair but screeched to a halt as his nails dug into the back of her neck and sapped all the strength from his body. He didn’t see the lightning this time but he knew it had been there, coursing through him, protecting her from him. He was glad that it had. He had been going to kill her. Stan hated being called ‘nice’. Fucking hated it. Such a nothing of a word. Kill her? Stan felt regret. That would have been such a waste.

He couldn’t resist as Alice’s weight pushed the frozen slab of his body back onto the bed. “I love it when you pretend to be naughty, Stan.” The words oozed through to his soul. There was something achingly familiar about the scene. What did humans call it? Déjà vu ?

Every sensation from Stan’s immobilized body seemed to have been amplified; every nerve ending shocked into a state of full alert. Perhaps it was simply that there was nothing else to report; Stan couldn’t move a muscle.

In fact, one muscle was moving and it was Alice who was moving it – she was angling it up as she straddled Stan’s inert body. Stan gasped as the tightest, hottest, wettest pussy he’d ever imagined slid down onto his cock. He could feel it pulsing, milking pleasure from his manhood. It made his claws curl. Or at least it would have done if they hadn’t been frozen in place. It was a vision of the future, Stan realized. When the old bag had been rifling through his brain, she had been showing him what was to come. The future. The fact that there was one came as something of a surprise to Stan.

The quietness let him achieve something approaching a meditative state. The all-consuming anger and hatred burnt themselves out. And as the blinding emotions stepped aside, other memories from the future came flooding back. Alice’s arse; it was going to happen with him. Oh My Fucking… oops nearly did it again.

The world wasn’t going to end, not tonight anyway, not if Stan had anything to do with it.

Stan stopped fighting. It was quite a revelation to just stop, to give in. Not that Stan was capable of doing anything but give in at that moment. Just as in his prophetic dream, Stan lay there. Only this wasn’t a fantasy girl. This was a real girl who had overpowered him, stunned him into submission and chosen to share herself with him.

It was deliciously dirty, in an innocent, loving kind of way.

The velvety clench of Alice’s pussy continued working Stan’s over-sensitized but numbed cock. The totality of his supplication filled Stan with a whole host of new emotions. The instinct to kill her had been replaced by something unknown which made him want to protect her – from himself for starters. Confusing thoughts of choosing to stay with Alice, of fucking only her ‘for as long as they both shall live’ seeped through a backdoor in his consciousness; for a demon and a witch that was quite a commitment. Wasn’t that part of a ceremony that took place in those big buildings used to worship the other side?

Moments later Alice took him over the edge into the most spectacular of climaxes. Do not think the ‘G’ word. Do not think the ‘G’ word. Do not think the ‘G’ word.

Colors swirled, like an aurora of deepest red as Stan’s body succumbed. They seemed so real.

That was because they were: Alice smiled as her eyes followed the kaleidoscope of rouge patterns, the power of Stan’s orgasm making the air in the room glow. But she didn’t watch for more than a moment. Alice resumed riding Stan’s body. The intensity climbed quickly, winding tighter. The climax was there, just beyond her reach. With every plunge, she added an undulation, a twist, anything to reach it. A little bit of magic.

A spot of blue joined the passionate light show. Stan watched as it pierced the flame-red cloud. The colors fought each other before they mingled and finally combined. Stan found himself wondering whether he could impregnate a witch. Perhaps he had just done it. A father, him?

A different kind of warmth to any he had previously felt filled him. It might be nice to hear the patter of tiny hooves about the place.

Nice? Did I just use that word? Oh My God; what is the world coming to? Not an end, that’s for sure. Stan’s lips curled up into a smile. It made unused muscles ache.

Hey, I just used the ‘G’ word and nothing happened. Cool.