It Is Good To Be the Demon Ch. 01

As old Mick used to sing "Please allow me to introduce myself.." Well no, I'm not the Devil, nor would I have anything to do with him. I do however at times call myself the "DEMONMASTER", but it is not as in a "Demon from Hell", but rather as "The Dom from Hell". More on this later.

I am a musician, fronting my own band. In this day of the quick "download" it is refreshing to find that there are still people out there that appreciate and even search out halfway decent bands that can and do play "Classic Rock" that folks our age can use to steal little moments back from our youth , and just Dance or hoot and holler, grind to, seduce to, or whatever floats your boat.

We do fairly well, play 3 nights a week, plenty of ladies...And interestingly enough, a lot of the younger kids (old enough to get in that is) are starting to search this kind of stuff out as well. Kinda makes the old heart proud.

Anyway, I do the band thing, and I DJ a couple of nights a week, and while you'll never get rich that way, "It's a living" as they used to say. A friend of mine and I write and record our own tunes. We put out a new song on the 'Net once in awhile, basically just because we can, but trust me, there is no money in original music anymore. Not when ten minutes after it hits the web, it is already being stolen. So we console ourselves with the download numbers. I mean they must have liked it to at least take the 30 seconds to download it, right?

Fuck, I'm getting old.

Speaking of which, I've just entered my early 50's. It's funny how time breaks it off in your ass. I mean in your 20's you're "hitting" anything that breathes, and stays still long enough.

In your 30's it's pretty much the same, except you find that you enjoy a little chase once in a while, before "bagging and tagging" it.

In your 40's you tend to have relationships that last a few months, because It's nice to be able to wine and dine, or come home to a lady who you don't always have to sexually perform for. But these are relationships that you will always mess up, just because some new piece has started flirting with you from the dance floor while you play. And try as you might, you know you are going to fuck up a good thing, but you do it anyway. And the whole decade seems to revolve like that.

Mind you, I'm talking from a musician's point of view, your mileage may vary.

Now hold on out there, I can hear you starting to mumble "Hey where's the rough sex, the rape and pillaging, you know, the crazy shit I read this damn category for?" It's coming, just keep your shorts/panties on for just a bit more. To understand the story, you must understand a little bit about me, otherwise it'll be a story with no context. And I was taught long ago that "context is everything"

Now, Where were we...oh yeah, so now in my early 50's (it really started in my mid 40's) I've come to a place in my life where I know full well what I am; I'm a mean, sadistic, cold, calculating, evil, one fucking bastard of a Dom. Any sub that places herself in my path, is in for a world of pain, humiliation, shame, and fucking her own dad in the public square if I tell her to do so.

And that's just for starters.

I'm a little over 5 and a half feet tall, and go around 235, a fat little bastard you might think, but trust me, put a guitar in your hands with the air fans blowing your hair around, and the stage lights hitting you just the right way, and suddenly you are David Fucking Coverdale.

And no, I do not have a dick that goes to my knees, more like 6 and half inches long, but, also an apparently impressive girth as has been pointed out to me many times. In fact I had a girl once who gave me a great line;"Honey, you might not touch the bottom, but you'll damn sure bust them sides out!" She probably stole the joke, but it earned her quite a few fun rounds with The Demonmaster.

Ah, and there we are, back where we started with the DEMONMASTER. All through my 20's and 30's I really had no idea what Dom or sub meant, I just knew I was pretty aggressive in sexual situations, and was gradually moving into being rougher as well. As my mid 40's were about to start I had one girl say to me, "you are quite a rough Dom, aren't you?" I'm like "What?" and she proceeds to tell me about Dominance and submission or as I learned later; D/s.

Well I started reading and learning about this stuff, and after awhile it dawned on me "I'm NOT a freak, this shit actually exists!" And from then on, it was a matter of finding my boundaries, what I could get away with, and what I couldn't. How subs have different kinks and how use those kinks against them...and on and on. So, now I'm the bastard that I described to you a few paragraphs ago.

And yes, as I've gotten older I've gotten more picky about my conquests. I still get the occasional quick groupie blowjob once in awhile, just to let off steam so I can be the cold bastard with a sub that needs to learn a lesson, or maybe just needs me in full "Demon Mode" as I call it.

In other words, I lead my dick, my dick doesn't lead me. And that my friends, can be a real "mindfuck" for some submissives.

And since I brought up the occasional groupie encounter. It seems like the perfect place to actually start this sordid little tale.

We are in our first set, and the place is gradually changing it's entire look as the the "Happy Hour" shift is slowly leaving, just as the evening crowd is starting to come in. We are cranking pretty good, when I can feel eyes on me. You'd be correct in saying "You're the guy up there playing and singing, of course people are looking at you, ya dumb ass." Well that's true of course, but you can tell when someone is really paying attention to YOU, not the band, not the lights, not even really paying attention to the song.

Well, when you play for places like we do, that holds between maybe one to two hundred people, you can usually find that person pretty quickly. Although as soon as you meet her eyes, and she realizes that you know she is the one. Well of course, then her eyes start looking everywhere but at you.

I size her up pretty well, as I gather that she is the woman at her table with a few friends, for whom she takes on the task of being that table's "life of the party".

We've all seen her in one form or another, The one that laughs a little too loud at the jokes, She's always trying to get one of the friends to go ask a guy to dance. She goes out of her way to "mother" the one girl at the table, who either just had a break-up, or is getting a divorce or whatever the case may be. And she finds herself drinking just a little more than she normally would.

And of course, tonight she is really laying it on, as she just got the singer to look at her, and she could swear that she saw the same loneliness in his eyes, as she just knows he saw in hers. She is always dressed for the occasion of the "Girls Night Out", meaning a shorter skirt than she would normally wear, a little heavy on the make-up, trying to be the woman she was 15 or so years ago, when the pot belly thing at home that she calls a husband, used make her feel pretty and wanted.

She has more than a few extra pounds, without being obese. A good set of breasts up top, both in size, and firmness (though this really relies on how good the bra is, or how much she has been blessed by Mother Nature). The hair is almost always auburn/brown, which when the light hits it just the right way, it gives off just a tease of red.

She is usually between 40 and 50, though those are by no means the firm age range, but really just more of the average.

Now that she knows she has been noticed, she just has to get on the dance floor, either with a girl friend, or one of the many horny guys looking to get laid. Every time she faces toward the stage, she looks my way to see if I am watching her moves, as she tries hard to be sexy and seductive.

On a normal night for me, I would just give her a few grins, and enough attention from the stage to let her know she is appreciated. Any chat between sets, that she might pursue, is usually just to sincerely make her feel important as being a fan of the band, without giving her any hope that there may be a more intimate time later on in the evening.

Now, as I said, that would be a normal night. However On this particular night, The Demon is playing the stage.

So at this point, I make sure to make eye contact with her, every time she turns my way. A quick grin, maybe a wink now and then, and I can almost visibly see her go from cool and collected, to hot and sweating. And as an extra little invisible touch to her mind, I make sure I'm looking straight into her eyes, when any romantic or poignant line comes up in the lyrics, as if I'm singing them TO her and JUST for her.

Now it is the bass player's turn to sing a nice soulful tune. The timing couldn't be better, as it gives me the chance to step off of the stage and mingle with the dancers, all the while playing the pretty but simple chords on my the guitar. My lady ("prey" would be more apropo) has ditched her dance partner, and is back in her place at her table. Obviously, she has seen us play before, and knows my little routine of going out onto the floor during the slower songs. I can only assume she is twitching in her seat as I go by each table, playing and smiling, until I get to hers. Because as I get there she goes almost rigid, eyes boring into mine with both fear and need shining in them.

The other girls are kind of giving her "oohs" and "aahs", as it is readily apparent to them, that she is both enjoying and being ashamed of her infatuation. After the deep gaze, I kind of blow her a kiss, and move on down the row of tables. I can hear her table all a twitter now, like a bunch of high school girls.

Man, I love my job.

I make it back to the stage right on cue, as the soul tune ends. The band immediately jumps into a "foot stomper" to close out the set. I make it a point to only glance at her once, as I grind and scream the song to a close. I tell the crowd we are taking a short break, and to please tip the waitresses. I make my way to the back door, glance back just enough to be sure she is watching, then step out to have a smoke.

I've got to hand it to her. She waits a full three minutes before coming out. It takes her a few seconds of looking around at the few couples who have stepped out to "get to know each other better", before she spots the glow of my cigarette. I am back in a much dimmer lit area, sitting on one of the few "picnic tables" that are out there for the monthly smoked rib dinners put on at this particular joint. She tries to make her approach seem unhurried and normal. Her nervous face and very noticeable shaking lips give her away as she slowly slides up to sit down next to me.

Thank God, that good old Florida does get chilly at night during the fall/Winter months. This allows her to have a plausible reason for her hard nipples to be trying to poke holes through her bra and top. I take a good long look at them, making sure she sees where my eyes are. This puts her on the defensive very quickly. I can almost hear the gears in her head, the rushing thoughts of "he must think I'm some kind of slut, coming out here after him, and my damn nipples aren't helping...yet, I love that he is looking at them. God, he must really think I'm a slut". I didn't know her thoughts for real of course, but over the years, I've gained the instinct to make a good guess at it.

I decide to test it, and her, by simply asking "But, you are aren't you?"

"Wha..What?" She stammers out, while she performs the feat of a sharp intake of breath at the same time, something I would not have believed possible.

"Look, time is short, we both know what you were thinking. I merely asked "But you are aren't you?" now answer me!"

She begins to stammer again, but I start to get up as if going back in. The "yes" came very quickly and very low.

I sit back down, "yes...what?" Her eyes look at me, as if begging me not to make her shame herself.

"Yes what?" I ask in very stern voice.

"Yes, I'm a slut" she whispers, her head now bowed.

"Oh no you don't, look in my eyes and say it clearly!"

"I am a slut" she says again. Her nipples visibly grow even harder and I can smell the distinctive aroma of a woman as she grows aroused.

"You liked having to say that, didn't you, slut?" I knew I had found the door to one of her kinks.

"yes"

"yes what?" Now her eyes meet mine as if to question what I wanted.

"YES, WHAT!" I repeated in a very hard voice.

"Yes Sir" she says very humbly, almost as a question, her body again shaking.

"Am I "Sir" to you now slut?"

"Yes Sir"

"And what are you to me?"

"I am your slut, Sir"

"Good girl"

Our eyes have been locked for this little exchange, her eyes telling me so much. But the change in them at those two little words; "Good girl" showed me that she was almost overwhelmed, like she had found a part of herself that she had been searching to find, for a very long time.

I stood up, leaned against the back of the building, and crooked a finger at her to come to me. She got up slowly, her look saying she knows what I want, and she is more than ready. I take her by surprise, by wrapping my arms around her, and drawing her to me. I then place one hand at the back of her head, and pull her in for a very deep, yet very rough kiss. Once she understands what is happening, she starts trying to pull herself in even closer.

I must admit, that her hard nipples, which I could feel on my chest, ebbing and receding with her every breath, almost derailed my intentions of starting her evening's "Mind Fuck", and just go straight for the quickie. But knowing that I had about a minute to get back to the stage kept me on track.

I broke our kiss and quickly turned her around, putting her back to me. I grabbed a good hand full of her hair, and pulled her head back so her ear was at my mouth. I told her that every time I look at my slut from the stage, I'd better see her panties.

"I don't care how you work it out, but I better see them every time, slut!" this said in a sharp whisper. I kissed her neck quickly, let her go, and then simply walked inside and took my place on stage.

We were near the end of the first song before she came in. As she walked across the dance floor to get to her table, she kept her head slightly down, never looking in my direction. when she did sit down, she looked everywhere but at me. I know this because I took a quick glance at her as we started the next song. Her legs were closed.

Now on this second song, the chords are much more challenging, so I had to devote my time and attention to what I was doing for the entire duration of the tune. When we finally got to the end, and everything worked like it should, the crowd thanked us with a big round of applause. Sometimes, I live for just these moments when band and audience have really connected, and have more or less taken a little trip together.

I looked her way. She was looking at me, but her legs stayed closed.

Well, I certainly knew how to deal with situations like this.

Demonmaster Style.

For the next couple of songs, I never looked her way. I sang and played to just the crowd, looking over the prospects. There were more than just a couple of "Hot and Ready" looks coming my way. Just as there were for the bassist, my other guitarist, and the drummer. It looked like all of us could have fun tonight if we so chose.

Now, one of the faces I had seen out there was Linda, My Darling Linda. This girl was 5 feet and 5 inches of gorgeous. What little extra weight she may have, she carried well. From her big C cup tits, all the way to her "fuck me hard" hips, with just the right amount of booty. She looked like a Blonde Angel, a Prom Queen, and as pure as the driven snow.

And no one knew just how wrong that assessment could be, better than I.

Linda is pretty much my best friend, my confidant, and the best fuck I'll ever find in this world. The only way I can describe her that makes sense to me is ; As much as I am the Demonmaster, the "Dom from hell", she is just as twisted as I am, only going the other way as in the "submissive from hell".

This girl would have to be on the edge of death before she would ever use a safe word.

I know you're thinking "bullshit". All I can say to that is, you don't know her.

I however DO know her, in ways you could only imagine. The problem is that we are dangerous. Dangerous to each other, and dangerous to anyone that gets caught up in the wave, as in wanting to join us. We can only be "together" in small doses. But, we ALWAYS have each other's back ANYTIME one needs the other, for ANYTHING and EVERYTHING.

Now that you have a good working knowledge of Linda, the next few moments should make sense to you.

I told the crowd, in a fake warning type of voice, "Guys, you better get ready to hold on to your ladies, because Tim is going to sing a couple in a row for us, and you know how much they love his singing. If you aren't holding on to them good and tight, they just might float to the stage and overwhelm "ole" Tim. And then what the hell would we do without Tim thumping on that bass? So guys, grab your girl, hold her tight, and dance with her like you mean it!" The crowd went wild.

Did I mention, I love my job?

As the music begins, I start my "walking in the audience" thing, never once looking at her, and flirting with every female that gave me a second look. I even passed right by her table, grabbed one of her friend's hand, and kissed it like a gentleman, and winked at the other friends, and walked on. Yeah, I missed a couple of notes, but that's how it goes sometimes.

I finally make my way to the opposite side of the room, working my way closer to my darling Linda. I get to her, and she immediately jumps from her chair, comes to me and lays a lip lock on me. I had turned my guitar down, in anticipation of this, so nothing was heard "out of tune". Tim brought the first song to a close, giving me the opening to break the kiss, and we both applauded with the rest of the audience.

Linda leaned into my ear and said "It looks like you're doing the "ignore" routine, which little fishy are you working?"

She knows me too damn well.

"The heavy one, almost straight across the floor"

"Oh, you mean the one that is staring holes in your back? She's cute, looks like she'd be fun."

The second song had started a few seconds before, giving me cover to spend a couple more moments with Linda. "What is she supposed to be doing?"

"The panty thing, and she's not cooperating"

Linda then said "alright, killer, go back to the stage and look at me, I'll show her how it's done."

I said, "you would have done it anyway."

Funnily enough, she said "You know me too damn well"

I played and flirted my way back up to the stage, just as the song was ending. The crowd of course, showed Tim their appreciation with a standing ovation.

Our lead guitarist was up next, doing his best SRV, and damn sure Rockin' the House! It took merely moments for the dance floor to fill up with people doing the second most primal dance known to man (I really shouldn't have to tell you the first one).

My "prey" is in there, and she is really laying it on, the guy with her not knowing the reason, and not about to ask. She looks up at me, I simply wink and incline me head toward Linda. When my "prey" looks that way, she sees Linda, with legs slightly parted, and we both have a very good view of her pink panties. Then the song ends.

Linda is really putting on a good show for me, even to the point of touching herself as she speaks to the guy she came with and not caring who saw it. "Prey" girl takes it all in. She turns to me, eyes pleading, but just can't bring herself to do it.