September 7th, 2011
Demon Familiar

Inescapable summoning pulled her from the abyss, and in the moment of her mortal birth, pride gripped her. She refused to stand-in for another, to glimpse her image in the mirror and know it was a copy of the original, a fantasy made flesh and based on a woman known as Storm.

She created herself in an image of her own making, choosing facial features more feminine than masculine, but only slightly so, minimizing the energy that would be required in order to shift between her two physical aspects. She did the same with her height, the knowledge gained the instant the familiar-bond snapped into place allowing her to match her body to Miguel’s, so that when they lay entwined, male to male, or female to male, their eyes and lips would meet and their genitals would touch in perfect alignment.

Miguel Julio Torres. She tasted his name, felt the hum of it through her veins, the beat of it in her heart as her cunt throbbed, her clit already erect, a tiny version of the penis she possessed in her male aspect.

She gave herself generous breasts, for her pleasure as well as his, though it galled her that the unknown Storm was also lushly endowed. Her eyes she left the dark sapphire blue she’d chosen when first called and forced to serve as a soul-sighted bloodhound wearing only the illusion of humanity.

She made her skin tone similar to Miguel’s and her hair the same black as his, though vanity sent it cascading down her back in thick waves. It would cost her energy to shorten it when she shifted forms, but perhaps Miguel wouldn’t require it.

Red lips pursed together in a frown. Scattered among the impressions gained with the forming of the familiar-bond were numerous images containing women who’d come to Miguel’s bed. Blondes, some natural and some dyed, their bodies a variety of shapes and sizes. There were no male lovers.

It confused more than concerned her. She’d watched the mage carefully as he’d woven the secondary spell into the medallion, the incantations that would allow her a mortal existence. Only a male witch capable of feeding both of her aspects sexually could trigger the summoning.

Shrugging off thoughts of Miguel’s past lovers, she glanced down at her naked body, its form shimmering at the edge of true existence, not yet real enough to touch and be touched though it hungered for both. Moisture glistened on her inner thighs, a wet invitation for a man’s fingers and mouth and cock. For Miguel’s. She could feed from others but to do so would only be a continuation of the existence she’d sought to escape. The longing to be human encompassed more than possessing flesh and blood.

A dark triangle of pubic hair pointed to her clit and opening. She made herself bare then thought better of it, saw in her mind’s eye her male aspect and settled on a small patch of down, something that wouldn’t interfere with the pleasure of having Miguel’s mouth on her.

Satisfied, she clothed herself in miniscule shorts and a shirt tied beneath her breasts. Sandals followed, and a thin, folded collection of paper money, though unlike her physical body, the money and the things she wore were similar to faerie glamour. They would last only three days in the human realm. And once she stepped from the glimmering edge of the abyss, the place where creation was possible, she would be limited to a human form.

The spell crafted by the mage would pull her essence fully into the human realm. It would allow her to change her appearance and gender, to become a human shapeshifter, though the magic feeding the spell, and tied to her demon nature, would need to be replenished.

With a final assessment she took that plunge into mortal existence, leaving the void of dark potential to merge first with a narrow tree shadow and then to emerge from it. Her lungs filled with the sweet scent of flowers and she lifted her face to glorious sun, closing her eyes as she felt its heated caress on her skin.

The sound of music reached her, touching places inside her, drawing her forward as surely as the familiar-bond allowing her to find Miguel did. She went willingly, forcing herself to move slowly, not for the sake of pride but so she could savor the sensation of being truly mortal. Of having a heart that beat not because she had to maintain the pretense of being human—as she had when she came to this world as a demon lord’s tool—but because she needed it to live.

That heart skipped into a rapid beat as she stopped in front of the house. Voices and music beckoned from the backyard. She glanced downward, resisting the urge to smooth her hands over her breasts, to rub her palms against hardened nipples before moving lower, across her abdomen, to slip beneath the waistband of her shorts.

Her channel clenched hungrily, her entire body shivered with the need for carnal touch and physical joining. Anticipation burned in her belly like fire, hot and eager, spreading upward to fill her breasts.

She chose to go directly into the backyard rather than pass through the house, each step heightening her need, pressing her clit to the soft material of her shorts. A smile curved her lips at the decadent feel of it, the knowledge she was bare beneath her clothing where others wore undergarments. At the gate she paused again, this time to gather her control and try to tamp down the natural allure that came with her nature. There was only one man here she wished to seduce, and be seduced by.

Opening the gate, she stepped into the backyard. A dozen pairs of eyes were immediately drawn to her, half of them darkening with lust, but only one pair mattered. Miguel’s. Her body tightened in need and appreciation. Fantasy assailed her, where always before she’d been the creator of it.

Hunger and craving became inseparable, an indistinguishable part of the familiar-bond that stretched between them as their eyes met across the distance. The confidence of her kind becoming like surf against a sandy beach, claiming ground then giving it up.

Pride assailed her again, demanding he choose her of his own free will. She cast a tentative smile, breath coming again only when he took the first step toward her.

Dios, everything about her called to him. Whoever she was, he hoped she wasn’t with a date. He could no more stop himself from crossing to her than he could prevent himself from chasing a running criminal.

It felt like his cock was on a leash and she was drawing him forward. And his eyes…it required a supreme effort of will to keep them lifted to her face when the hard press of nipples against her shirt kept trying to jerk them downward.

Reaching her, he held out his hand. “I’m Miguel. Are you looking for someone?”

Heat spread across his cheeks at how that had come out, a proposition backed up by a willingness to make good on it. He was half afraid he’d drop to his knees and press kisses to her belly, even with an audience full of cops.

“I think I’ve found him.”

Jesus. He was grateful for the cold beer in one hand and hers in the other. Otherwise he might have reached for his cock like a kid just figuring out the pleasure to be found in masturbating.

“I wasn’t officially invited to the party,” she said. “I heard the music and… Do you think it’s okay I’m here?”

Miguel squeezed her hand, wanting to carry it to his lips, his chest, his dick. “Consider yourself my date.”