How to Love a Blue Demon

by Story, Sherrod

  “More Tina Turner than Diana Ross.”

  “You are good,” she told the reporter laughing. “But I don’t mind comparisons much; it makes me feel good to hear my name in the same sentence as any of those women. Whitney was a star. There will never be another voice like hers. I watched The Bodyguard again after she died, and she was radiant. She was so beautiful. That scene where she sang I have Nothing in that silver dress with head wrap and that curl on her forehead? Undeniable. Did you know that movie was around for more than a decade before Kevin Costner put some feet to it? It was actually originally intended for Diana Ross and Steve McQueen.”

  That reporter swore later that interview was one of the highlights of his career. He wrote,

  “Cassidy Dodge is as beautiful and talented as Whitney Houston minus the angst and the drugs. Both women were stars, but Whitney’s feet did not appear to be as firmly rooted to the earth as this current voice of a generation.”

  Cass liked that bit about being firmly planted to the earth. She took great pride in being practical.

  “I’m no throwaway bitch,” she told Priti, who hated anything “down to earth.” If she could drape Cass in head to toe glitter every day she would. She always complained volubly whenever Cass appeared in the media in the same clothes and tried to nag her friend into shopping more often.

  “I’ll get something new for special occasions,” Cass told her. “Everything else ya’ll are just gonna have to look at me in what I got on.”

  Three hours later, Cass yawned. It was almost 3 a.m. She did some fast calculations in her head and estimated if she packed and showered in 30 minutes she could get six hours of sleep and still make her afternoon flight.

  She’d worked up several tweaks to her set that her band and her fans would love. Lee she still didn’t know what to do about. She’d been restless for months, but she was kind hearted, and she did love Lee, even if she was no longer in love with him.

  He’d been the male star in one of her videos for her last album, and they’d clicked instantly. He’d told her he loved her before they even slept together. Not that he had to wait forever. He insisted on seeing her every day and on the fifth day he said it so sweetly and sincerely, she swore later he just wore her down.

  “He teased me to death,” she said in one of their press interviews and he’d blushed beautifully.

  But that was more than two years ago. Cass liked to shake things up; Lee didn’t. He liked to be comfortable. Their sex life was good, but it was also predictable, so were their conversations. Plus, he was drinking too much to suit her.

  Cass had done it all, but she hadn’t taken drugs of any kind in years, and could count on one hand the number of times she’d been out of control drunk. That wasn’t fun for her anymore. She had no need to mask the unpleasantness of life; her life was fabulous, and being high was temporary. Music was forever.

  “I’m tryna build a fuckin’ legend,” she told a musician right before she fired him for coming to rehearsal stoned, again. “I warned you,” she told his shocked face, right before security showed him out. “My shit is gold to me,” she told the musicians that remained. “This is important. It’s not a game, and I’m not a toy, so don’t play with me. Do what you want on your time. On mine, you work.”

  She washed quickly in the studio’s small bathroom and curled up on the couch. She pulled the blanket on its back over herself and yawned, already half asleep. She often slept in her studio when she was working. With the bathroom, a small refrigerator and the couch she could stay in it for hours.

  She’d already put out her favorite Chanel suit jacket to wear tomorrow. She’d bought it as soon as she was able. She’d worn the suit many times, sometimes just the skirt, sometimes just the jacket. The press often called her the queen of high low fashion since she’d rock one piece or the other with a t-shirt or jeans. But she wasn’t trying to be fashionable. She liked looking good, but that suit represented a tangible moment. It was a wearable symbol of everything Cass valued in life: beauty, quality and freedom.

  Chapter four

  The slave was trying to be quiet, and Eyoen appreciated it. The pitch of her keening was a bit disconcerting. As was the fact that he was distracted. Usually he reveled in the sounds of female moans, of the slap of flesh against flesh and the slick smush of wet cunt around his hard cock.

  But tonight he couldn’t get into it. Oh, his cock was hard, and the lush cunt it was wrapped in was as hot and wet as cunts could be. But his attention just wasn’t there. He sighed, slapping the side of the girl’s flank and leaning back to disengage their bodies.

  She obligingly flopped over onto her belly and stuck her ass out for him. She arched and preened when he stroked her back and her bum, enjoying the caress like the hedonist she was.

  Trini has always been one of his favorites for that reason. She enjoyed sex and had no hidden agenda. She wasn’t angling for baubles or money or position, though he gave all freely. There was no secret longing to be more than his faithful concubine, and for that, before he left for earth he wondered if he should grant her freedom.

  He quickened his thrusts, suddenly wanting to be alone. The moans bubbled freely from her lips now; she could no longer hold them in and he grunted, pleased despite his distraction. He pounded her harder – she’d always liked a good hard fuck – and she cried out his name as she came. She fell forward onto her nose into his pillows, but only for a second. After she sighed gustily and stretched her long-limbed body she took his cock in her mouth.

  Skilled as she was it only took a few minutes for him to spend.

  “Ready to leave, master?” she whispered, her throaty purr pleasing to his distracted ears.

  “Yes, my dear. I am ready. Tell me. While I’m gone would you like your freedom?”

  Trini’s eyes widened. “Freedom to leave the star and go off on my own?”

  He nodded. “We’d set you up somewhere. Isn’t there a package for retired slaves? A certain number of cassa per year and a small home?”

  She nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. I will be entitled to those things in five desha.”

  “It’s a long time,” he said quietly, of the approximately 18 earth months that equaled one desha.

  Trini looked over at her master. He was an incredibly handsome creature, one of the best lovers she’d ever had too. Now, watching him lie on his back, hands behind his well shaped head she knew he’d half forgotten that she existed, and she didn’t mind a bit.

  She rolled over on top of him, straddling his hips and lifting her large breasts in small hands. She watched as his eyes sparked slightly with interest, as she caressed her flesh in the same way his hands soon would. She leaned forward and brushed her nipple against his full, red lips until they parted and began to suck. As he suckled her, she lifted his swelling dick and tucked it back inside her warmth.

  “Let’s talk about my freedom later. Give me something to think about while you’re gone, master,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be lonely.”

  And Eyoen did. But it was Cass that he thrust into, it was for her that his back arched, his eyes closed, and his mouth went slack against the pleasure streaking through his body. It was Cass’ long, brown body he flipped over and began to thrust into as though his life depended on making the warm female beneath him squeal with pleasure.

  Everything was tangled in his mind. His need for an earth woman he had never touched but had watched for years. His desire to put his mouth on her throat, to bite and lick and suck until she screamed out the way Trini was as her second – or was it third? – climax ripped through her body. Eyoen wanted Cass with every fiery breath that he took, every beat of his heart, every surge of yellow blood in his veins.

  He wanted the drops of gorgeously scented sweat that fell onto Trini’s body to fall on Cass, to drive Cass’ pleasure higher because she was unable to resist the pheromones his kind secreted when rutting. He wanted the musician’s short, clear painted nails to score his arms and his back as he piston
ed inside her until the sound became a rhythmic click in an otherwise silent room. He wanted Cass so badly, as the cum shot from his body in great pulsing jets, he called her name.

  Trini just smiled. After all, he was inside of her, whoever this Cass might be.

  ******

  Cass woke up the next morning moaning. For a second she was confused. Was she having a wet dream? But then she realized Lee was licking between her legs. Her back arched as he pulled her clit into his mouth and sucked it like a nipple. He’d pushed her t-shirt up; she felt the air on her breasts and the fabric bunched around her neck.

  “Harder,” she gasped, and he obliged, sucking her so hard it almost hurt before he pushed in one finger, then two, spread them and fucked her with them until she came, his name on her lips.

  She welcomed his weight when he lay down on top of her, welcomed the familiar movements as he made himself comfortable between her legs and thrust inside her. Early in the morning, when he was hungry and she was sleepy, she adored Lee. The familiar scent of his neck against her nose, the thump of his heart against her breast as he began to thrust fast and hard, almost growling as he fucked her, even as her body was winding up for another orgasm, it made her feel peaceful to give him what he wanted.

  “Need to get going,” he rasped, face smushed against her breast post-orgasm. He pulled a nipple into his mouth and began to suck gently, comforting himself, she knew.

  Cass stroked his thick blonde hair and laughed softly. “Hey, you’re holding me down, not the other way around.”

  As soon as the words left her lips she wanted to call them back. They were true. She knew then, even as she smiled at him and let him pull her to her feet, it was over.

  ******

  New York felt good. Chicago was home, but Cass had always liked the frenetic energy that simmered over the Big Apple. It was like having some weird protein shot right into the vein. The paparazzi were more aggressive there, and there were more of them. They knew she’d arrived before her plane ever hit the ground. So did her fans; in the airport she paused to sign autographs until a car whisked her away to the studio where she would record a live set.

  “Be sure to watch me on VH1!” She called, waving and smiling as she was driven away.

  In the studio people would have fluttered around her, unintentionally harassing her as they fawned, trying to make sure she had everything she needed. But Cass wasn’t the typical star. She didn’t need much beyond a plug for her amps, her musicians and a bottle of water or tea from Starbucks. And Priti, Boyd or her second oldest friend Lucky were the only ones she trusted to bring her food or drink. Her assistant, security and manager respectively, they made up the core of her inner circle. Her old friend Tommy rounded out the crew. Tommy was technically an image consultant, but Cass liked to tease her and call her a fixer. She was a fabulous negotiator and problem solver, and while TomTom as her close friends called her, let Lucky do all the in person work, she often leveraged her special skills behind the scenes.

  Lucky and her musicians were already there waiting, having arrived the night before as was their custom to ensure the equipment had survived the trip and was set up to her exact specifications before the show began.

  Lucky, who’d been her very first lover and boyfriend at age 16, had a gift for organization and enough charm to ensure the VH1 people kept to the tight schedule he and Cass had set. They had eight hours start to finish, and everyone knew Cass would hold them to it.

  The time flew by. She’d gathered a crowd of onlookers three people deep by the time she played 10 songs and made everyone laugh until they cried. In all but two she played the guitar, one of three she’d brought with this trip, two electric, one acoustic.

  “She has no idea how beautiful she is,” Priti told Boyd, placing her hand over his on her belly.

  He stood solidly behind her, his chin resting on the top of her head even as his eyes roamed continuously looking for anything – including the boogie man, he’d once told Cass – that might pop out and harm their friend. His thick arms were loose around her, both large hands splayed protectively over her belly. She was four months pregnant, and they were engaged, planning to go down to city hall before the baby came. Priti refused to get married in church until she got her body back.

  “Of course she does,” he rumbled.

  But Priti wasn’t referring to the obvious physical beauty but to the combination of it with the potent talent that Cass unleashed at will. Her voice, a strong vibrato rich alto when she wasn’t tickling upper and lower registers, was like a weapon.

  They’d both seen people cry, gasp and stare enthralled, straining for every word that fell from her red lips. She wove stories with music notes, delivered punch lines with guitar riffs, her long fingers flew over the strings as though she and the instrument were one being with one purpose, to make you feel. Good, elated, horny, sad, rapturous, her range was limitless, Priti believed. So did anyone who had the opportunity to watch her perform.

  Priti’s phone buzzed against her back pocket, and Boyd shivered at the sensation. She grinned and pulled it free, walking out of ear shot to take the call.

  “This Priti,” she said, and listened. “What? Who is this?” she listened some more, and Boyd, who’d been keeping one eye on her even as he continued to watch Cass on stage raised his eye brows and mouthed the word, what?

  “It’s Lee,” she mouthed back, silently thanking God this was Cass’ last song. “He’s been in an accident.”

  “Sire! Sire!” Rierdane appeared in Eyoen’s bathing chamber visibly shaken and out of breath from a mad sprint/shimmer across almost the entire length of the palace. “It’s time.”

  “Gods,” Eyoen breathed, surging to his feet, streams of warm water streaming from his long, muscular body. His host was at this moment dying. He wasn’t ready. He’d known it could happen at any time, had thought himself prepared, but he wasn’t. Something – could it be fear? – had his heart racing, but he stood bravely as his faithful servant came forward and quickly dried him.

  Suddenly he laughed. “How appropriate, Rierdane. I go into this new body as naked as I came into my own.” Then he was gone, and Rierdane was left standing on wet marble tiles with only a bath sheet for company.

  The servant handed the towel to another servant. “Gods protect us,” he said, and returned to the King’s side to talk strategy.

  *****

  Eyoen had been told what to expect, but it didn’t compare to reality. Not at all. It was faster and – though he’d have his claws pulled out before admitting it – it was more frightening, as he shuttled like a ghostly freight train through time and space and slammed into a painful and restrictive space.

  Gods, he hurt. Everything ached terribly, especially his head at the back of the neck. He tried to stretch, to relieve some of the tension he felt, but couldn’t seem to make his arms move. Nor could he open his eyes. His heart rate accelerated as panic threatened to overwhelm him, then, as a voice whispered somewhere in his mind, he calmed.

  “Sire,” said Rierdane. “How fare you?”

  I feel awful, he thought, growling, or at least he would have if he could. Is this normal?

  “The body you’ve taken has been in an accident. The host did not survive, so the wounds were grave, and it will take some time for you to heal yourself.”

  I need no time, he said and would have buzzed himself and his new, battered body back to health, but Rierdane hissed in alarm, and he stilled.

  “You cannot, sire! You are in a human hospital, and were you to suddenly spring up from the bed fully healed there would be too much attention. You must have patience.”

  Eyoen grunted, and his servant laughed suddenly. What is so bloody funny?

  “Oh, my sire, you will be so pleased when you find out whose body you’re in.”

  Before he could demand to know who, Rierdane faded, and he was alone with his many aches and pains. Truthfully he already felt better. His spirit seemed to have resized to fit its new
confines so that horrible cramped feeling was gone.

  He estimated that his host was perhaps four to five inches shorter than he was, which meant he’d been a tall human in life. Big too, though this man’s muscles were not the same size and breadth of his own. Nor was he as powerful. Remembering what Rierdane had said he worried, knowing his own healing ability was far superior to a human’s. Even without deliberate effort, his spirit would heal his body quickly. The process had already begun. He just hoped it wouldn’t happen so fast that he drew attention to himself.

  Things were starting to take shape for him now that he was calm. Instinct told him to keep his eyes closed, but with his minds’ eye he easily discerned that the room was large. He lay in a bed with bars on either side of his body. It was a hospital bed. He’d seen pictures on The Box. The metal bars were to keep his wounded body from rolling onto the floor.

  He could hear the hum of machinery, and knew some of it was attached to him. He could feel the pinch of a needle and the drag of fluid as something dripped into his veins. How primitive their medicine was. Effective in some cases, but primitive.

  His ears pricked as there was a commotion in the hall. His new nostrils flared slightly, and compelled, he inhaled as deeply as he could though it pained him mightily to do so. That scent! The female was so luscious his senses swam inside his thick, painful head. He knew he’d never smelled this woman before. How could he? He’d never been to earth, had never beheld an Earth woman outside of watching them on The Box. But this female in particular, somehow he knew her, and she was coming into his room, two smaller females and a large male on her heels.

  Cass threw the door open so hard it bounced against the wall. It would have hit her had she not already been across the room and at his side.