“I can’t do this,” he replied, his voice trembling. “Not like this.”
“But this is what you wanted,” the hidden girl purred. “Give in to your pleasures.” She paused. “You do love her, don’t you?”
THEN
The Love Revolution. That’s what the papers were calling it. How the tabloids relished the latest trends, and one this saucy earned more than its fair share of column inches. Stick a few celebrity photos, quotes and Tweets on there. That does the job. If the rich and famous are doing it, why not the rest of us? We can be just like them! Enjoy a taste of the finer things.
It started with novels. The latest wave of erotica to sweep the book clubs and supermarket shelves were even more raunchy and extreme than their predecessors. Nothing had become taboo. Orgies, masturbation, bdsm, incest, bestiality…whatever your kink, ladies, they had the story for you. Covers showed groups of muscled hunks with bulging shorts bearing down on lavish, curvy models in lingerie. The images were nothing compared to the acts depicted within. The books were read with pride. No longer a dirty secret kept on the bedside table, this new and radical wave of erotica could be seen everywhere: being read on the bus, by the pool…even by the school gates. Embrace the freedom, they said. We all have urges, so why hide it?
The sex industry thrived. Couples stayed in. Singles swapped and shared, sampling every flavour.
If you want it, go and get it. It’s only sex!
The Love Revolution, Ren thought and huffed, finished reading yet another article on his laptop. This has nothing to do with love, just an excuse to screw around. The whole country has a fucking hard-on.
In the corner of a quiet pub in East London, he took a sip of his now warm pint and scanned the few other patrons. No-one paid any attention to him or the football match that played silently on the big screen. Ren wondered if these pathetic souls were the casualties of this revolution: driven to frustration with this climate of sex, sex, sex enough to venture out and seek a taste. Some struggle to attract.
Casualties.
Returning his attention to his computer, Ren restored a black window and glanced down the list of names that glowed in light blue.
Good. She hasn’t started yet.
It had been hard at first; finding the right site among hundreds all offering the same. The amount of sex on the internet was astounding. Ren, close to being a revolutionary casualty himself, had been tempted to meet local girls now, find a fuck buddy, or talk to real-life bored housewives, but he believed himself a little more savvy in the world of porn and cybersex.
He wanted an actual woman. An honest to god, right there on the screen, goddess. He needed to see her…read her…know all about her.
His first few ventures onto cam sights were an eye opener. For just a few pounds, you could have a girl right there on your screen, doing whatever perverted act you could dream up. This was better than simple porn. This was live, and you called the shots.
He enjoyed the chat as much as the show. Being a virtual shoulder to cry on earned you a wealth of information. All these girls had a story, families, dreams, and desperate circumstances. It fleshed out his experience. These were no porn actresses, working to a script and wailing in faked orgasm. These were real people.
He wanted one.
The majority of sites were based in Amsterdam or Prague. Ren had neither the time nor money for a holiday on the off chance he’d bump into one of his women. It had to be somewhere closer to home.
He’d found a site featuring models in the south of England. It had been worth the drive to London and the few quid spent on a squalid hotel room for the night. He didn’t intend to sleep anyway.
Hopefully, he pondered, checking his watch. All for nothing if she doesn’t show up.
She had to show up. Why would she change her routine?
Lydia. Lovely, sexy Lydia.
His favourite. The one he’d chosen for this little rendez-vous.
Ren checked the list again. A few names had come and gone, but Lydia remained offline.
He’d wondered where she performed. The background gave little away; a scarlet curtain and a bed with matching sheets. Ren liked to imagine it was her bedroom. Another private little detail to stoke his fire. He planned on asking her tonight. Hell, he might even get to see it! To lie on that bed and make love to Lydia…It had been his fantasy for weeks.
During the many hours chatting, he’d managed to snag a few beneficial details. He currently wore her favourite aftershave, and knowing that she liked the colour black, he’d dressed appropriately in dark trousers and designer shirt.
Lydia liked a drink before work, and she said no one could mix a drink like the barman in the Ship and Anchor.
Ren smiled. His line of questioning had paid off. A slip like that combined with Google, gave him an address.
She had to come for a drink. The barman had even confirmed someone fitting her description came in for a cocktail at around eight every night.
The door opened, and Ren peered over his laptop.
The face was different. Perhaps the edges are a little finer, the angles a tad sharper than the high-res pixelated image on his screen. She crawled about the bed like a sleek predator, but now she merely walked to the bar and ordered a drink. Nothing special.
Ren watched her, analysing every move. This really was the stuff of dreams. How his friends laughed when he told them he’d met someone on the internet.
But now who’s laughing? None of them could even talk to a girl like her.
Ren closed his laptop with a small click and tried to stay relaxed. He finished the remainder of his beer just to approach the bar and order another. Close enough to reach out and touch Lydia, he inhaled her perfume.
Oblivious, Lydia sipped her cocktail and watched the match onscreen.
I’m nothing but a name to her, Ren thought. A handle in a chat window.
She has no idea what I look like.
He opened his mouth, ready to make his play, to speak the words that would make the trip and wait worthwhile.
Lydia grunted and turned, heading away from the bar and to a small booth in the opposite corner.
Shit!
He ordered a second drink and returned to the sanctuary of his own table, almost opening his laptop to check the cam site out of daily habit. He stopped. His prize sat in the same room this time, not on a screen.
NOW
“No,” he moaned at the short figure barely visible behind the glare. “I thought I did…but...I can’t. I didn’t know, damn it!”
The girl chuckled and a small hand pushed a button on the video camera. An LED by the lens flicked from green to red.
“I didn’t know,” she mocked. “Isn’t that always the case with people like you?”
She stepped around the tripod and into the glaring studio lights. Ren tried to look away, remembering the sights from the back room. How could something so…alien be wrapped in such a pretty young thing?
“It’s quite simple,” she continued. “The moment you look, we enter into a deal. You achieve the release you need. I’m worshipped. Everybody wins. Yet there are so many like you that always want more. Didn’t your mother ever tell you to not look behind the curtain? That’s all porn is, one big curtain. Porn. I am porn.”
Ren closed his eyes, desperate not to see her and give in. “You’re the Devil.”
“No,” she said. “There’s nothing as broad as the Devil. I am Lempo, and for you right now, that is close enough.”
THEN
The sudden drop in temperature had taken the night by surprise, and the winding streets down by the Thames held a mist that seemed to have seeped from the cobbles. Lydia had slipped into an older part of town; a place of closed, silent businesses, dark alleyways and the taste of the river at the back of the throat.
Ren followed in the shadows, his laptop in a bag slung over his shoulder.
He’d visited London a few times, but never trawled through its guts in such a way. Grinni
ng, he pictured Jack the Ripper stalking his victim down the fog-shrouded Victorian streets.
The current Love Revolution had embraced the sale of sex, of course. The top escorts, rather than selling their sordid celebrity tales, had become celebrities themselves, sporting the covers of magazines and sitting on the couches of chat shows. All part of the great big love in. The rich and famous now recommended escorts as well as nutrition analysts, personal trainers and fashion designers.
Ren knew he could never pay for sex. It would feel like sharing a condom with a stranger.
Besides, prostitution was all well and good if you just wanted to screw around. This was something else. This was love.
The thought drove him on, slowing as he approached the corner and ducked behind a skip overflowing with rubbish.
This isn’t weird, he reasoned. This isn’t stalking. This is merely…waiting for the right moment.
But dear god Lydia, don’t turn around.
He watched her approach a door over on the right and hammer on the wood with a fist. Light shone between closed shutters on the ground floor windows just above eye level.
Ren peered around the edge of the skip.
His quarry seemed to sense him, glancing back and forth along the alley.
So this is the place, Ren thought, disappointed that she didn’t work at home.
The door opened, casting a golden glow across Lydia’s elven features. Without so much as a smile or greeting, she stepped across the threshold. The door closed behind her with a solid thud.
Great, thought Ren. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
For the past few weeks, he’d timed his routine around her, ensuring he was always online at around eight o’clock. He’d be happy with the chat window and seeing her sprawled on that decadent bed in her lingerie, knowing he could have more at any moment. Even as other customers paid for her time, and she apologised, replacing her image with a still while she entered a private session, he would wait. Ren imagined the acts she would be performing for other men while he made a cup of tea or a sandwich, using the interruption as a much needed break. Jealousy was never an issue. They were just customers. Business.
He weighed up his options. Lydia hadn’t slipped through his fingers. He could always log in, just like always, and keep tabs on her.
I’d know when she was about to leave, he thought, and be out here waiting.
But then what would I do?
He decided to find his way back to the Ship and Anchor pub, have another drink, and talk to her in the chat room. Do the groundwork. Things hadn’t fallen apart yet.
But first…just one look.
Ren crept from his hiding place and after checking the alley remained empty, crossed to the silent building. Standing in its shadow cast from the pale moon, he ran his hands over the brick exterior, trying to find a hand hold or ledge to reach a window. His failure was short lived. An alley as litter-strewn as this provided an abundance of bins and boxes. Quietly forming a study and short stack of refuse, Ren climbed on top and, leaning against the wall for balance, stood on his tiptoes to peer between the rotten slats of a window shutter.
Just my luck, he thought.
Rather than the familiar luxuriant set he expected, Ren stared into a small office complete with desk, chair, computer, and charts on the wall.
He’d wanted to catch a behind the scenes glance; to see what so many men crave. It’s not just tits and arse that make the blood run hot, it’s the person they belong to. Spying Lydia getting ready, checking her text messages while she slips off her clothes to reveal that lingerie, hearing the toilet flush as she readies herself for the hours in front of the camera…this is what Ren wanted. Not interested in just the work of art, he needed to know the artist.
Yet this was a look behind the scenes. This Love Revolution, the sudden rise in sexuality and freedom and acceptable taboo…wasn’t this the artist? The charts showing increased memberships and profit. The cold face of finance. If Lydia and those like her were the pieces of art, business held the brush.
The office door opened, and Ren ducked back into the shadows, peering through the lowest gap in the slats.
The body of a large man filled the doorway as he shuffled backwards, entering the office. The suit was a size too small over the heavy frame. With barely a sound, he approached the desk.
Ren frowned, staring at the bundle within the gorilla’s arms.
He carried a sleeping child.
NOW
“Evil, just as purity, needs authority to guide it,” said the girl, sliding her hand up the bare leg of the writhing Lydia. Ren’s former obsession had carried on her show, even after the camera had been turned off. It was like this creature had flicked a switch, and Lydia would continue to make love to the camera with total commitment. “Think of evil as a company. In recent years, what with increased populations and technological developments, we have a wider customer market and new ways to deliver the product. We’re the managers of all the new departments. I am Lempo, demon of love, or specifically, capricious desire. I am Porn.”
Ren stayed quiet, barely listening. Her two handlers patrolled the bed like dogs on tight leashes, just waiting for him to make a break for it so they could pounce. He’d already taken a roughing from the one she called Hiisi. Unlike his burly colleague from the back office, Hiisi was shaven, lean and had the face of a weasel. Still, his punches were fast, hard, and knocked out the wind with ease. Ren’s side still throbbed from the kicking he’d received.
“All the hours you spend in front of your screen watching my brethren are hours spent worshipping me!” said Lempo. “And you wanted more. Very well. You weren’t happy with our current, simple arrangement? Then we shall have to review the terms…won’t we?”
THEN
The beast laid the sleeping child in the vacant office chair behind the desk and tapped a few keys of the computer.
Ren stared through the narrow gap between the slats of the shutter, the snakes of unease starting to uncoil in his guts.
Why the hell would they have a little girl here?
The small figure, perhaps Japanese with her jet-black hair and pale, delicate features, dozed in a school uniform, looking almost dead but for the slight rise and fall of her flat chest.
Ren closed his eyes, wary of what he’d stumbled upon. The building was obviously the home of the porn site he logged into nightly, and he had no doubt Lydia would be obediently awaiting him on her bed at this very moment. If they had the set up here – the business, the staff, the equipment – the building could be home to other sites, other avenues of digital pleasure.
Other, darker places.
Ren forced his reluctant voyeurism.
The big man had left the office, leaving the child asleep before the computer. The monitor lit her face in a waxen glow.
Would perverts pay a fee to watch a child sleep? Ren wondered. Would that be wrong?
While the girl remained fully dressed, the thought of men hunched over their screens getting off made Ren grimace.
Where was the line? Some of the things he’d seen while lying naked on his sheets paled to this. Groups of men pounding a lone female who begged to be treated like a slut. Girls going at each other with every kind of kinky toy imaginable. Dwarves. Dogs. Nothing touched the sheer…wrongness of men paying to watch a little girl sleep.
The screen flickered.
Even through the glass, Ren smelled it approaching.
Lust, desire and filth spilled into the room.
Ren retched on the sudden reek of fresh sweat, the sweetness of dry semen and the saltiness of it spilled fresh. The fragrant, intimate smell of woman, and the meatier odour of vagina, wet and begging to be filled.
He gripped the shutter tight, almost staggering back from his perch and falling to the dirty cobbles.
Something slid out of the screen with lubricated ease, its head curling in the air like a worm seeking the rain. Ren stared at the creature: some deformed, skinless snake.
It opened its mouth to reveal a forked tongue that tasted the air.
As it emerged further, the body thickened enough to squeeze up against the sides of the monitor. It eased through like sausage meat.
Just to set eyes on it washed Ren with guilt, like he’d witnessed the most private and intimate of moments, something that should not be shared, should not be viewed. But just like the most disgusting of his porn, it turned him on to the point of bursting.
The thing that writhed in the air was a mosaic of sexuality, a rich tapestry of perversion. Breasts dotted its side like pimples, each one bouncing and squeezing, seeping out milk. Dicks squirted, gushing out thick wads of creamy semen over the red raw skin. Juices secreted from fleshy folds, adding to the glistening concoction.
Despite the grotesque vision, Ren found himself pushing his throbbing manhood against the wall, loving the cold feel of the brick rubbing the underside of his shaft.
Figures played within the beast, frolicking and teasing in some places, pounding hard and fast in others. Their outlines pushed against the flayed flesh, hinting at the orgies trapped inside.
The tip of demon opened its slit of a mouth and ran the forked tongue across the cheek of the girl, who whimpered, caught in a nightmare. The thing squirmed across the desk, leaving a slug-like trail across the polished wood.
And still Ren ground against the wall, watching the horror explore the front of the girl’s blouse, taking a tantalising moment to caress the tiny, stiff nipples that poked against the material.
He moaned, feeling the pressure build. Like all good porn, he knew what was coming. The challenge was to last that long.
The creature ventured further, across the stomach and onto the waistband of the girl’s dark green skirt. The copious girth of the thing still hung from the monitor and lay across the desk. Ren could only imagine the size of this aberration. Perhaps a whole world existed of this mass of fucking bodies and hungry orifices.
The snout of the demon nudged aside the hem of the skirt, revealing milky white thighs, smooth and flawless.
The Demonologia Biblica Page 16
