Come Undone

My demon prince, Rafa Kovacs, is back. This story is what I was TRYING to accomplish with “Stains,” but it’s not so heavy-handed. Just quick, hard, sexy metal action. I like Rafa a lot, and I know I’ll write more stories with him. Enjoy! — Pappy Wolf

Even in the crowd, I could smell you. Smell your sin wafting from your pores, thick and pungent, like smoke from a bonfire. I made eye contact with you then and you grinned like a kid on Christmas Day. You, the big, tough metalhead with your leather and your shaved head and your long ginger beard, which you dyed silver. Yeah, I could smell that, too. And sure, you’re straight, or you were, but one look in my eyes and…! That’s right, asshole, you were drinking in every inch of me as I shredded that guitar onstage. My powerful muscles with their ink-black veins, my mane of hair, darker than night with a blood-red streak down the center, my own monster beard and, of course, my crotch. I’m packing down there, and everyone can see. But nobody guesses how much bigger I can really get. I eye-fucked you and you ate it up, your tight ass thrusting in time to my bulge. Kind of like how you’re gobbling my cock right now.

I sent one of my boys to offer you a backstage pass. He covered your exit, too, casting an illusion that made it look to everyone like you were exiting the arena with the rest of the crowd. He ushered you into the greenroom. And I took you deeper than that.

It’s one of my liminal spaces. Just a small, concrete room with black walls and red lights and a door that appears and disappears as I see fit. It’s warm here, and humid. You can smell my musk better that way. It’s a smoky fragrance, rich with spices. Alone here, just the two of us, with my essence filling your nose and your lungs, you dropped the tough guy act, dropped to your knees, and begged me to let you suck me off. Oh, I plan on doing more than that. I’m going to fuck you to pieces.

I love bad boys. Not in the usual way. I love bad boys because I can really be myself around them. Ask anybody and they’ll tell you I’m a good guy. I pay my crew top dollar, and I never forget a birthday. I’m a gem to work with. Great sense of humor and a wonderful listener, too. Everyone says so. But sometimes I feel the urge to slaughter everyone and bathe in their fluids. I can control it… for a while. That’s why I find myself a true creep, like you. I can see your future, sweet cheeks, and you have the potential to ruin a lot of lives. No worries. You’re in my hands, now.

My true form used to rip out of my body like maggots swarming from a rotting steak. I’ve learned how to ease into it now. I tease you with it, knowing how much it’s going to make you cum later. You’re one of those douchebags who loves villains because you want to be one. You think you’re better than people who actually give a shit about the rest of the world, folks who go through their lives trying to make this place a little less miserable. You’re pathetic. That’s why there are guys like me.

As you diligently work my shaft, I clutch your head with my sharp black claws and guide your gaze upward. My ridged black horns have sprouted from my temples. They’re short for now, just a few inches long, but my goatish ears have grown out enough to protrude from my metal daddy mane. My canines are larger, and my tongue has grown long and pointed. It flicks from my mouth like a serpent’s.

Your eyes go wide, and then they roll back in ecstasy. You slobber on my rod with double speed. Smoke drifts from my pores, eating away my clothes and yours, too. My stout legs throb and flex, bones cracking, sinews twisting, shaggy black fur sprouting from the flesh in rippling waves. They are mighty goat legs now, more muscular than a draft horse’s limbs. And my demon’s cock keeps growing inside your mouth, getting fatter and longer, forcing itself down your throat and into your stomach. You panic, just a little, but our bodies are already bonded. I’ll breathe for us both. And you’ll taste it all. The humid, ashen air, the ripe aroma of sex, even your own delicious sin. The goat horns grow and curve, gifting me with a set of ram’s horns, a symbol of my unique rank. I’m Rafa Goddamned Kovacs, the Demon Prince without a kingdom, and I do as I please.

I’m getting taller and brawnier, and your dumb face shows me a mixture of devotion and terror. My spinal column thickens and sends fleshy spines down my back until my tail emerges from above my firm, furry ass. It’s black and scaly and very, very long, and it terminates in a snake’s head, hissing and dripping venom. My tail writhes and whips about, the snake’s head lapping the sweat from your brow and the tears of joy from your cheeks. And then, in a sudden motion, my tail lashes behind you and sends its snake head into your tight little straight boy hole. You spasm and cry out around my cock, but it’s too late. I’m just enjoying what was already mine. I’m spit-roasting you solo, lifting your weak little “badass” body off the floor like a limp doll. Fucking two holes at once is one of my favorite pastimes. You make a good receptacle, too. I reveal my ragged bag wings at last, and they spread over you in the small room, blotting out the meager red light. I can see you, of course, and you can see my wrathful crimson eyes glowing in the smoky gloom. My huge hooves stamp on the floor in pleasure, anticipating climax. My black devil cum explodes from my cock and tail at the same time, saturating you, spurting from your mouth and nose, filling you until it runs from your eyes and ears, too. Do you understand what’s happening? Can you feel it cutting through you, slicing you up from the inside? There might be something in your eyes suggesting that, as the top part of your head begins to slide away from the rest of it. One final thrust of my body and you come apart into neat cubes of meat and bone.

Not that you’re dead. I mean, I’m not a monster. A flock of imps emerge from the swirling walls of smoke and collect your pieces for processing. You were a pestilence on Earth, but now you can be refashioned into something useful in Hell. Maybe we’ll meet again, and I’ll see what they made of you. I think you’ll understand me better then. I hope so. As much as I despise sin, I sure love a sinner.