Demons Pt. 03

Story Info
A story of my life.
2.1k words
4
3.3k
00

Part 3 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/09/2023
Created 06/27/2018
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

My face pummeled the couch, muffling my cries, until he ripped me from the couch and threw me on the floor, slamming into my pussy again. I can still see his face, glistening with sweat, eyes full of something darker than aggression, something that looked suspiciously like hate, staring as though he was looking through me at something else. I was really surprised that he wouldn't beat me with all the rage I could tell he had. He didn't seem to care about my limits at all. He wasn't pushing them, he was just ignoring them. Maybe I hadn't found a dominant, maybe I had just found a socially awkward asshole. Maybe I wouldn't be back after all.

I woke up the next morning to a frantic call from my mother, making sure I woke up in time to make it to work. I smoked a cigarette with him and he walked me to my car. The copy of Hawking's "A Brief History of Time" was mine to borrow. As I do with most of my lovers, I insisted on kissing him goodbye, and I left with all of my reservations and bad feelings safely tucked away in my subconscious.

Over the next few days I received new instructions from him. I was to prepare myself to domme other girls for him by reading up on psychology. I found a few new studies, and learned some interesting new facts. For example, did you know that researchers have found that people with a strong belief in destiny are far more likely to ghost their partners? Maybe finding that study was a premonition.

He had told me that the "first few sessions" would be just us, no new girls, but suddenly he turned up the pressure. I was to find two new girls every day and send him pictures, this was my new "job." I already have a full time job as an administrative assistant, write prolifically, and am getting my master's in forensic accounting. Following the discovery that one couple I was talking to (and domming/subbing virtually) was actually just a single guy, my mother begged me to stop meeting new people, and I told her I would. I stopped checking my Fetlife profile and posted a goodbye. I was fully ready to kick back and take a break with the multitude of partners I already had, when Michael sprung this new "job" on me. I sent him a picture of one of my friends, telling him I might be able to talk her into it, but that I would need several weeks to do it. He continued to press for more, despite my telling him about my moratorium one new partners.

I should also mention that he is not the first man to request that I find other girls for him, damn near every man I've met has requested it. I guess it just comes with the territory when you are a bisexual unicorn. However, he is the first man to straight-up demand that I find subs for him. I wasn't even sure I liked him by himself yet! Yes, the sex was fun, but things still seemed off, and after all he did live two hours away from me. I told him this, that I wanted to get to know him better before I brought him other girls. "What don't you already know?" came his response. He accused me of being possessive. I'm not sure if he meant possessive of him or possessive of my female partners, but I didn't appreciate that. "You are just a strange man who lives in the woods and fucked me, hypnotized me, and gave me a book about theoretical physics. That's where we stand now," I told him.

He continued to press me, and after a particular slow day at work gave me some time to think, I decided to break things off, texting him that I was tired of pushy men using me to meet other women. I then, as I do, took a nap, waking up around 9 or so to a string of vitriol. I had expected this, of course, but the nature of his texts caught me off guard. At first he told me I was "full of shit," then accused me of being possessive again in a strange speech about "humans and their pathetic emotions," then said "don't act like we broke up, darlin, we were never together" (duh,) then after a few hours of getting drunk and high he sent me a few more texts that didn't seem to have anything to do with what I told him (I don't care what you did to your porch, Michael.) After a few more hours he sobered up and called me a "fat ugly bitch that I thought was a man at one point," which cracked me up given his own pudginess. He told me I could keep the book, as long as I beat myself with it. He accused me of "hiding" behind a text and compared me to other women in his life, saying that "imbecile whores" were all the same, and that women just have to "be there" to fuck successfully, while "studs have to be smart." Him referring to himself as a stud made me laugh so hard that I had to reply.

"Sugar, I've been asleep all afternoon and woke up to find you've been talking yourself in circles for hours. I will keep the book, I like it. As for me being ugly and pudgy, I'd encourage you to look in the mirror first, but it doesn't bother me. I have plenty of partners that are perfectly happy with my body so I don't give a shit what you think. I'd also encourage you to send pics of your hard cock and stop describing yourself as "muscular" before a girl drives all the way out to see you so she isn't disappointed when she arrives. But all in all, I had a good time the other night, you just had to get greedy and fuck it all up. And I'm not hiding behind any texts, if you wanna call and yell at me you are welcome to but why waste each other's time? Also my phone can't download pics from texts so I have no idea what you did to the porch."

"If you want me to beat the shit out of you like you wanted now's the prefect time."

He called me. "What do you want?" I said.

"You know I have PTSD, you know I'm a psychopath who doesn't handle emotions well and you've triggered rage."

"I know that."

"So because I'm a male who produces sperm you think I'm a bad dom?"

"I never said you were a bad dom." I was thinking it though. (When you have Jamie to compare him to it's frankly insulting to Jamie to even think about comparing them.) "I'm tired. I've had like six threesomes in three weeks and I'm tired of group sex. It is not my job to find women for you to fuck, that's your job. So again I ask, what do you want?"

"You know I can find you, right? I can track your location through your cell phone, and I really want to beat the shit out of you."

"I know you can find me, and you can threaten me all you want it's not going to change my mind. You called me ugly and pudgy, and like I said, you can just look in the mirror if you want to see that."

"What so you think your body is in better shape than my body?"

"I didn't say that, you have muscles...under your pudges."

He hung up and texted me a string of numbers with the word "location." I guess they were supposed to be geographic coordinates of where I was sitting on the porch. I thought about my sweet, innocent family inside: my mom watching the news and eating pickles in her chair, my sister laminating craft projects for her kindergarten class, my dad asleep upstairs after a long day of work. What kind of psychotic nonsense had a brought to our doorstep? I texted him back:

"I know you can find me, Anybody can find anybody on the internet. You don't scare me, sugar."

He sent me more rambling nonsense, followed by the word "bye." I cheerfully replied, "Bye!" and assumed we were done, but then he started crying about how everyone he cares about dies or leaves him, and I started to feel sorry for him. Curse this woman's heart!

So I put up with his shit for another week. The man had threatened me, insulted me, but I ignored it, because he promised he would hate-fuck me the next time he saw me, and that sounded fun. I asked him why he insulted me; he replied that an alternate personality had been born inside him due to trauma in Iraq, that his alternate came out whenever he felt emotions, which was rare because of his psychopathy. The alternate came out when I sparked rage in him and wanted to hurt me, because his alternate "loves to hurt." But his ridiculous ego and grand delusions became more and more laughable. He claimed (this blond-haired, blue-eyed man with a British surname) that he was only "pudgy" during the winter because he was "half eskimo" and that during the summer he would become magically toned, I just needed to wait. He also told me that he regularly sneaks onto college campuses posing as a grad student and gives lectures on his crazy ideas. I was going to drive out to see him that Saturday, but I was deeply conflicted. Saturday morning came and my anxiety was unbearable. I broke down and made up a stomach virus, telling him I couldn't see him because I didn't want to throw up on his cock (I have thrown up on cocks before, after all, and it is deeply unpleasant for all parties involved.) I spoke to him briefly by phone:

"I'm sorry, sir. I really do want to see you, I'm just very sick."

"Well, we'll talk about it later..." he said in a threatening tone, "Feel better."

That did not make me feel better. I immediately went inside and told my family everything. They were shocked that I continued to talk to him after the insults and threats, and that I hadn't told them as soon as it happened. They were also terrified that he would make good on his threat to find me. We changed my phone number so he could not track me that way. My father was furious and insisted that we file a police report, stating he would drive me to the police station to make sure I did it. I told him that wouldn't be necessary and called the station myself, requesting an officer come to our house.

An attractive officer with ginger hair and lovely eyes walked up our porch steps.

"Cassie? I think we went to high school together! I'm Riley Walsh."

"Oh yes, Riley, I remember you! We never hung out but I remember you. Please sit down, you're about to hear a lot about my sex life. I apologize in advance."

Riley didn't mind. He sat on our porch for several hours while I told him everything: about Paul, about the breakup, the cocaine, the many partners, the wild sex, the BDSM, and finally about Michael. I knew I had no grounds for a restraining order or charges, I just wanted someone to write down the story, in case he ever mistreated another girl.

Riley told me of his own sordid past, and for a brief moment I strongly considered trying to fuck him, but then I realized that that was pretty fucked up. Trying to fuck the cop filing your report about a crazy stranger you fucked is not something stable people do. So for now, me and Riley are just friends.

"Cassie, please be careful. You're smart, and you're a good person, and I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

"I will."

After changing my number and blocking him on all fronts, I have not heard from Michael. Riley told me he would probably lose interest after about a week and I hope that's what happened. All our pets had to stay indoors for a few weeks and we still lock our doors more often than we should have to, but I'm not afraid of him anymore. Michael, if you're reading this, I didn't want to hurt you, but you're batshit crazy. Get help, and don't ever treat another woman like this, or you will spend your life alone. Thank you for the book, I learned a lot. And stop calling yourself a dominant. Start calling yourself an asshole.

Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
Share this Story

READ MORE OF THIS SERIES

Demons Pt. 02 Previous Part
Demons Series Info

Similar Stories

Cumming Home Welcome home from work, baby.in BDSM
Bad Slut Argument between a slave and a master is resolved.in BDSM
Greedy Little Holes Jane remembers being taken hard by men in the bar bathroom.in NonConsent/Reluctance
Erin's Story Pt. 01 After 90 days of dating, Erin finally opens up.in BDSM
Just a Slut in an Uber My slut can't help herself on our way to a party.in Exhibitionist & Voyeur
More Stories