Cold seeps in. Strange inner winter chill. Fever numbs my senses. Legs twitch like seizures for hours. Time blurs. Moments ago, I exit a seedy club near Heathrow, suitcase at my feet, hotel keycard burning in my pocket. Stopover night before dawn flight. Street silent, October wind whips my skirt. Guards leer from gates. Waiting for Julie and Corinne after wild England week. Black limo with tinted windows halts. Rear door swings. Vision fades. Black cloud swallows streetlights, two red glows pierce—eyes? First blackout ever.
Dark room. No windows, no clock. Day? Hour? Exhausted. Life unravels. Cold lifts. Heat blooms at my clit, surges belly, swells breasts. Nerves ignite. I grind thighs, hand strokes lips through soaked panties.
The Stopover
Door creaks. Oil lamp flares. Eyes adjust. Two giants loom, 1.90m each, gray hooded coats, faces shadowed. They hoist me by arms. Cadaver-white hands grip my black skin. Legs drag, pins in feet and ass mix with arousal pulse. Narrow corridor, stone tiles icy under bare feet—no feel. Walls glow faint, lamp weird. Distant elevator dings echo like ghosts. My suitcase? Forgotten.
Huge suite opens. Fireplace crackles thirty meters off, runways twinkle beyond arched windows with grimacing gargoyles. They drop me on vast rug, orgy motifs woven wild. Footsteps fade. Silence scares. My moans echo.
Panties drenched. Rip them off, sniff my musk, lick greedily. Right hand dives pussy—two fingers, three. So wet, barely feel. Suck juices, finger again. Crave devouring my cunt. Skirt hiked, pussy bare. Pudgy me, exposed. Grin at absurdity.
Presence hits. Source of heat. Red blood eyes glow, blue humanoid silhouette shimmers. Gaze burns trails—tits harden, neck prickles, thighs quiver. Hands follow, frantic. Rip t-shirt, skirt, bra. Firm black tits bounce free. Roll naked on rug, electrified.
Eyes shut. World shifts. Bed replaces rug. Two perfect naked Sylvains—my boyfriend cloned. Cocks rigid, dripping pre-cum. On all fours, one kneels, massages ass cold then hot. Tongue rims anus, probes. Push back, bury his face.
The Transit
Second offers cock. Suck deep, throat it. Saliva coats shaft, tease frenulum, glans. He throbs. Other laps thigh nectar, bites cheeks. Wish granted—no words: hand spreads lips, fists pussy. Fingers hit cervix, bliss. Hand snakes, tentacles inside walls.
Left hand lubes ass from pussy flow. Fingers enter, then fist. Virgin ass? Pure joy. Why fear anal? His hand shrinks, swells—tentacle probes guts. Not human. Projections. Open eyes: floating five meters up. Creature beside, pounding.
Shut eyes. First Sylvain cums—endless hot jets, best sperm ever. Guzzle, spill some. Lick pink glans, slit. Clit tongue syncs perfect, stretches pussy, milks depths. Orgasm rips.
Cock nudges ass, clit, lips. Impale on massive rod—colder, wider than real Sylvain. Fills perfect, endless lube. Thrusts savage, pubis slaps. Claws grip hips. Eyes open: suspended three meters, scales blue on hands. Neck caress shivers. Climax builds—vagina clenches, thighs quake, tits massaged wild.
Eyes shut. Become Him. Blue-red room. See my green-yellow form, my ass swallowing his icy cock. Smell my amplified pussy. Flip me—face ecstatic, legs lock hips. Claws rake tits, belly. Heat surges his cock. Crush chest-to-chest. Roar, scales bristle, cum floods as one. Blackout bliss.
Wake human. Creature holds, cock-heart pulses inside. Gravity returns. Head on marble chest. Fatigue wins. Smile huge. Keycard glints nearby, suitcase zipped. Dawn runways hum. Flight calls. Whisper: ‘Thanks, my Demon.’ Checkout rush, memory burns. Gate awaits.