by Noah Harris
Sex with the Devil
Noah Harris
Contents
Sex with the Devil
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
So What’s Next?
About the Author
Published by Books Unite People, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 by Noah Harris
Proofreading by Author’s Pride.
All registered trademarks in this book are the property of their respective owners.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. All resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please don't read if you are under eighteen.
All rights reserved.
Blurb
From the chaos of New York City’s Great Blackout of 1977, an unlikely hero emerges.
Caught in the madness and mayhem of the streets of New York, Richard Miller knows there’s no escape. Under the cover of darkness, a greater, more sinister darkness has begun to emerge. Now, with the barrier between the demon realm and his own world weakened to the breaking point, he must risk everything to save the city he loves along with everyone in it.
Richard must summon every ounce of courage to confront the malevolent forces hounding him. Faced with bloodthirsty cultists hell-bent on destruction, human intolerance, and lustful demons with their own agenda, Richard discovers that it is up to him to put an end to the turmoil before it’s too late. But first he must overcome his own dark desires.
A dark, sexually charged tale of devilry that seduces the reader into believing the unbelievable, Sex With The Devil will take you on a mind-bending trip of gay erotic encounters and non-stop carnal exploits. This is a story guaranteed to arouse, make your imagination run wild, and get your blood pumping.
To the gay community of New York City,
an inspiration to all of us growing up back in the day.
&
My friend,
Jo Bird, I know you’re a big fan of this series, this final installment is for you.
New York City, 14 July 1977
Chaos.
New York City had been plunged into chaos.
Richard Miller and his boyfriend Tyrone Jackson stared in shock as a noisy crowd of men and women, of all ethnic and racial origins, ran every which way, shouting and yelling. Some carried bundles of clothing, hi-fi sets, or televisions. Others gripped bottles of liquor in each hand. Shopkeepers slammed down the metal shutters of their establishments, but some reacted too slowly and the crowds poured in, helping themselves to everything they could grab.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pistol shots went off in the distance.
The police were nowhere to be seen.
The lights had gone out all over the city just a few minutes before and civilization had switched off with them. The sun had set and the last of the twilight was fading in the west.
Tyrone turned to Richard, his eyes wide. “I gotta get back to my momma! The hood must be going crazy.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Tyrone put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. “No, Country. The South Bronx would be dangerous enough for you on a good night, and this ain’t gonna be a good night.”
“But—”
“You’d only make it more dangerous for me.”
Richard was about to object further, then stopped himself. Tyrone was right. Instead he asked, “But how are you going to get there? The subway must be out too.”
Tyrone thought for a moment. “I’ll take a taxi as far as they’ll take me. No way they’ll go all the way. They don’t even do that when the lights are on. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Or run.”
Richard embraced him. “Take care of yourself.”
Tyrone pulled back and looked around nervously. “Don’t get too affectionate. Gay bashers are gonna have a fucking field day today. You take care of yourself, too. This is Anton Black’s work. I’d bet my life on it. Try to find out what’s going on.”
“I better check on the apartment,” Richard said, a cold knot of fear clenching in his gut. It had been Anton’s spare place. Before the cult leader had disappeared, he had given it to Richard as a way of drawing him into his web. The apartment included a summoning room which had only the thinnest of barriers between this world and that of the demon plane. He was totally aware of the fact that demons thrived on chaos and he could only guess at what was going on back there right now.
“Gotta go. Love you,” Tyrone said, hurrying off.
“Love you too,” Richard called after him.
Tyrone gave a wave and smiled back at Richard from over his shoulder. Richard drank in every detail. Tyrone was thin but fit, and Richard realized that he was wearing the very same outfit he’d been wearing when he first met him in Times Square on his first day in the city—a baby blue vest, ruffled white shirt, and blue bell bottoms with wide flares. Though the sun had gone down, he wore sunglasses with rhinestones on the frames. Stuck in his Afro was a hair pick with a black plastic fist for a handle.
Richard smiled. Even in a crisis, Tyrone had style.
Then his boyfriend rounded a corner and was gone, and Richard felt very much alone.
Richard trotted down the street, making sure to keep clear of any shops that were being looted. He had a good ten blocks to go and with all the lights out he had to stop at each corner and peer up at the street signs to make sure he was going the right way.
The chaos was everywhere. He saw a clothing store with women scooping up armfuls of dresses and guys fighting over suits. He saw a stereo shop stripped bare where one man sat on the floor, bruised and weeping, with his head in his hands. He saw someone pour gasoline inside a shattered storefront, then toss a match in. He even saw a looter getting mugged for his loot.
Where had all these thieves come from? The crowds had appeared out of nowhere, just minutes after the lights went out.
Then, realization hit him. The crowds hadn’t just appeared, they were the same people that had been walking peacefully down the street and going about their own business a minute before the electricity failed. The power outage had transformed respectable citizens into a rampaging mob.
“All this chaos,” Richard whispered, still jogging home. “This is what they want.”
The cult that Anton Black led was trying to break down the barrier between this world and the demon plane. They wanted to bring the Hooded One through into this world. In exchange for power here on earth, they would allow the demon free reign.
Richard felt a chill despite the hot summer air. The Hooded One was powerful. He had a ravenous hunger for flesh, far worse than this crowd’s hunger for loot. The world would be a hellscape if he was ever brought forth.
For a moment, the old feelings of lust swept over him. That delicious feeling of the Hooded One’s giant cock taking his innocence in the Everard Baths sprang forth from his memories. He felt the front of his pants
getting tight as his cock began to harden.
He shook off that feeling and focused his thoughts. Yes, he still desired the Hooded One, but if he allowed the demon to complete the act of planting his seed and thus claim him forever, his beloved city would be in even greater turmoil than this, for eternity.
A pain lanced through his side as he ran and the bruises on his face throbbed. He had been gay bashed just a couple of days before and all this running aggravated the injuries; they ached so badly now. This world had enough human demons, it didn’t need any real ones.
The pain forced him to slow to a fast walk and he made sure he kept to the center of the road to put some distance between him and the looters on either side. A siren wailed on a nearby street and a red glow shimmered from behind a row of buildings.
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away quickly. Growing up in Chillicothe, Missouri, he had dreamed of living the gay life in a big city. He’d only arrived two months before, and he now had a boyfriend and a great circle of friends. He’d even started a successful modeling career.
However, all of that had been fouled by some stupid mistakes he had made early on. Having been mugged in his first week, he’d ended up calling the first modeling agency he’d heard of, Randy Goat Publishing, and that was where he had met Anton Black.
The photographer had been a weird one, saying strange things about the hidden world, but he paid well and didn’t hit on him, so Richard kept going back. Ultimately, that had led to his coupling with a demon.
That union had led to this.
This was all his fault.
I got to set it right, he thought. But how?
He finally made it home. This neighborhood in central Manhattan was quieter and he even saw a few police on the streets. His apartment was on the fourth floor of a well-kept brownstone. A small park lay across the street where normally a streetlight shone all night to keep the drug dealers out, but now it was a square of utter darkness. Richard glanced at it, shuddered, and hurried to the front door of his building.
To his immense relief, he found the door securely locked. He opened it and stepped through.
The stairwell was pitch dark so he had to take care on the steps, feeling his way, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and the cramp in his side still jabbing at him. By memory and counting the turns, he went up four flights of stairs to his landing. The hallway had windows at either end, open to the summer night. He paused and listened.
He heard a police siren cut through the low roar of the crowd. From somewhere he couldn’t pinpoint, a transistor radio played, an anxious announcer saying something Richard couldn’t quite catch.
Within the building, he heard nothing but stifling silence. If his neighbors were home they were keeping quiet, hoping the chaos would pass. Unbeknownst to them a gate to another world lay so close by.
A light filtered in from one of the hall windows, red and flickering. Something was burning a couple of blocks away.
It barely gave enough light to see by, and Richard kept one hand trailing along the wall while the other was thrust out ahead of him.
He reached his door and paused.
No sound came from within.
He fumbled for his keys and tried to find the lock.
The door pushed open at his touch.
Richard froze. He felt along the door jamb and found it splintered, the door around the lock had met with the same fate. Someone had broken in with a crowbar or something.
Looters? No, the front door downstairs had been intact.
Richard went cold. When he had taken over this apartment he’d hunted down a locksmith who would change the locks without needing proof that Richard lived here. It had cost three times the going rate, but he couldn’t leave Anton with a key.
Though of course Anton still had a key to the building.
Richard peeked through the crack left by the partially opened door. He could dimly see the main hallway leading to his living room, the big window behind the couch faintly illuminated in red. He heard no sound, and smelled no stench of sulfur.
He pulled a clasp knife out of his back pocket and opened it. He’d been carrying it ever since he got mugged that first week in the city. In his other hand, he arranged his keys between the fingers of his fist to make a crude weapon. He hadn’t done it in the street because he didn’t want anyone to take it as a challenge. Plus, more danger lay within his own home than in any riot-ridden street.
He slipped as silently as he could into the apartment and paused just inside the front door. To his right stood the kitchen, its window glowing red from the flaming city. Ahead of him, the hallway led to the living room and beyond, to the bedroom and studio. On the left hand wall of the hallway stood the door to the summoning room. He’d put a bolt and a padlock on the outside of it as soon as he had moved in.
Richard crept down the hallway. Away from the glow of the windows it grew too dark to see if the locks remained in place. He felt for them, and to his surprise discovered they were still intact.
Trembling, he pressed his ear against the door. Ever since the ritual he and his friends had broken up, strange sounds and smells had come from that room, the faint stench of sulfur and the distant cries and cackles of the demon realm. However, on this night, of all nights, nothing stirred within.
Richard steadied himself to explore the rest of the apartment. There could still be a very human danger in here. His twelve-gauge pump action shotgun was in the closet of his bedroom at the far end of the hallway but it would do him no good if someone hid between it and him.
Getting to the end of the hall, he peered around the living room. Nothing seemed out of place, but the dark forms of the furniture and stereo looked ominous, dark bulks depicted in the dim light.
The stereo. Yes, his turntable and 8-track player remained in place, more proof that it wasn’t simply looters who had busted down his front door.
He moved into the darker recesses of the apartment, heart beating wildly, and found no one in the bedroom, bathroom, or studio.
Richard stood there for a moment, confused. Had they already left?
He went to the closet to get his shotgun. It was gone.
Hurrying back to the kitchen, he grabbed the biggest knife in the drawer and put it on the counter beside him. He lit a candle and, knife in hand, conducted a thorough search of the apartment.
His shotgun and case of shells had indeed disappeared. A box in the closet was missing too. It had contained a bunch of books on occultism that Anton had claimed were owned by the “student” who had lived there before him. Richard had cleared the closet shelf and put them in there. He’d recently pulled out a couple and left them on the bedside table. He’d been studying them, trying to figure out what Anton was up to.
Those were gone, too.
Richard closed the front door as best as he could, slid the bolt, and put on the chain. Then he pulled a few more candles and a box of matches out of a drawer and lit them. He placed a couple in the living room and one in each of the other rooms.
So, Anton had come and taken his books. He’d taken the shotgun too. Hardly surprising considering that he’d lost a hand from a blast of that very same shotgun during that last fateful ritual. Where was he now though? He had obviously not stuck around with his goon squad to attack or kidnap him. He hadn’t even tried to weaken the barrier to the demon plane with any new ritual.
At least, he hadn’t tried here, to the best of Richard’s knowledge. Had he found another power nexus like the ones in Central Park and Untermyer Park? Perhaps Anton needed something in one of those books, some incantation or alchemical formula. Not that Richard would understand any of it, either way. Although he had intimate knowledge of several different demons, Richard was still pretty green on the subject of occultism.
Sweating and exhausted from his run across town, Richard went to the refrigerator and pulled out a half-full carton of orange juice, draining it in three big gulps. Despite the luxurious feeling of the cool ai
r coming from the refrigerator, he closed the door. He didn’t know when the power would come back on, and he had to keep his food from spoiling.
In the living room Richard slumped on the couch, feeling at a loss. “Now what?” he thought. He had no idea what Anton’s plans were. He couldn’t even call Tyrone to see what was happening in his neighborhood. He was alone, with the cult out there up to no good, and he couldn’t do a thing about it. It made him feel frustrated and powerless.
He sat on the couch, hoping the lights would come back on. The sirens blared in the city outside, the sound of the crowd grew louder and more intense, and the baleful red glare from the fires grew brighter.
After about an hour, he got up and looked out the window. The city remained shrouded in darkness. None of the boroughs had their power back. A police car shot past on the street below, its windshield cracked. The flashing lights hurt his eyes.
Richard sighed, went back to the couch, and resigned himself to a long wait.
It was then that the walls started changing color.
It was subtle at first, just a shimmering and a brightening of the reflected flames, but when the walls started sparkling and bowing outward, Richard knew he had fallen into Anton’s trap.
The orange juice, and probably every other drink in the house, had been laced with acid. On a sweltering night like this Anton knew he would surely take a drink when he got home.
Acid was Richard’s weakness. On his first trip he had given up his virginity to the Hooded One, not knowing that his willing, virgin sacrifice was a way for Anton Black to bring the demon through into this plane of existence. During their painful, yet pleasurable coupling in a bathhouse cubicle, he had been transported, for the first time, to the demon realm. He had been surrounded by the Dark Legion, a host of demons of every order, waiting to take their turn satisfying themselves with his young flesh.
