Exhibitions of Flesh

by Jillian Rose

  He felt himself on the verge of another breakdown. His world closing in around him, invisible iron bands tightening around his lungs. He began to hyperventilate, and knew a panic attack was coming on but had no power to stop it. He forced himself to get up, and get in the shower. The warm womb like environment had always helped him calm down. He stepped in, and set the water as hot as it would go. His pale flesh soon turned bright pink as he forced himself to endure the scalding stream, relishing the distraction that the pain brought him. Soon it became so steamy and sauna like in the bathroom he had to get out.

  He thought he was going to be okay until he walked back outside and saw Katya’s corpse again. He needed to get out of the room, he felt the walls closing in on him. But the only way out was to step through the blood, over her body. Ian screamed and sprinted, trying to vault over the corpse and into the hallway without stepping foot in the blood. He didn’t bother to get dressed as he did this, and he ended up slipping in the blood smeared on the hardwood floor of the hallway. He fell back against Katya’s body, getting gummy blood all over his backside as he flailed wildly to get away from the corpse. In the process of the fall he’d heard her release some kind of flatulence, either a burp or a fart, he couldn’t tell, the air around him immediately filling with such an intense fetid miasma that his eyes watered.

  He rolled off her, gagging uncontrollably as he did so. He crawled away on his butt, smearing more blood against the floor as he did so until finally he managed to scrabble to his feet. The hallway sprawled forty feet on either side of him, and he began to walk aimlessly, butt naked, through the huge mansion, which felt like a maze he was trapped in more than his childhood home. His mind reeled as he struggled to process the reality of the situation. He simply couldn’t accept it. The absurdity of everything he’d done in the last two weeks finally sunk in.

  Chapter 7.

  Simon Jennings let out a frustrated breath as he knocked for the 5th time on the huge brass knocker. He refused to be put off any longer. Ian could ignore his calls all he wanted. He needed the spoiled little brats signature on the new trustee agreement so that his severance could be complete. Otherwise he was still technically employed to the Goldman’s, and per there agreement could not be bound to any other trustee lease until the papers were signed.

  “Fuck it.” He said, and tried to open the big wooden double doors. He expected they’d be locked, but to his surprise they swung open. The vast empty foyer was dark, none of the lights were turned on. “I swear to god, you little shit, if you flew the fucking coop… I’m going to find you and kill you myself.” He muttered as he brought out his phone, using it as an impromptu flashlight. If Ian was here he knew where to find him. He immediately headed up the spiraling stairs, going to his left, where he knew the master bedroom was. He paused ten feet from the doorway, the almost physical wave of rotten flesh stopping him in his tracks.

  “What the hell…” He said as he slowly approached the legs that sprawled out from the doorway of the master bedroom. The feet were swollen and black, flies buzzing around the blackened crust of blood. He put a hand to his mouth and forced himself to illuminate the rest of the corpse. He barely recognized Katya, her bloated blackened face staring up at the ceiling. He then turned and saw the foot prints leading from the corpse down the hall. “Ian? What the fuck is going on around here?” He said, wishing he’d brought a gun. He knew that little bastard would turn out crazy just like his mother did. He walked past Katya and followed the foot prints.

  Eventually he came to Roger’s old office, where he’d had so many good times before the old man succumbed to his vices, smoking Cubans and drinking single malt with Roger while hookers sucked them off. Talks of making lots of money and acting as if they owned the world. He pushed open the large oak door and recoiled.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” He yelled, startled at the sight before him. Then he forced himself to enter, pulling out a handkerchief and covering his nose with it. The smell was even worse in here.

  Before him was Ian Goldman, heir to the Roger Goldman estate. He sat completely naked in his father’s large leather chair, his head cocked to one side from the force of the blast. In one hand was his father’s golden monogrammed .357 magnum. In the other was his shriveled cock. One side of his head mushroomed outwards, and a casserole of brains, skull and hair painted the floor in a crusty geyser ten feet from the chair. His milky eyes were staring up at the portrait of his mother. Jennings let out a laugh of disbelief.

  “Jesus Christ. Well son, you just made my job much easier. Thank you.” He said, and picked up the half empty bottle of Glen Livet that the young man no doubt drank from before blowing his brains out. He took a very long swig, not perturbed at all that he was drinking a dead man’s drink. He was alive and the crooked, possibly incestuous family he was forced to work with for over twenty years was now done. He whipped out his cock, and made good on a promise he’d made the last time he spoke to Ian. He found one of their family portraits, took it down, and proceeded to urinate all over it, humming a merry tune while he did so.

  Part 4. Lilith’s Return

  Chapter 1.

  “O Lilith, O guardian of the night, may her light be diminished, may she come fed. May she be satisfied before entering my stead.” Came the high pitched, almost feminine voice of Preston Jennings as he repeated the dimming spell of Lilith’s Invocation, which was to be repeated three more times, at the corner of each bed. It was a nightly ritual he’d had to perform for the last year. It was the ritual that saved his life. Except that wasn’t exactly correct. It didn’t save his life, only prolonging the inevitable death. It weakened his symbiote to the point where her ravenous appetite for his seed would be diminished to sustainable levels.

  He went to bed naked, with a towel under the spot where he laid. Despite his obscene wealth, the sheets that adorned his bed were the cheap variety, because there was no point in getting silk or thousand threat count. He soiled himself every night now. He had to explain to his house keeper that he’d developed some kind of strange disease that weakened the muscles of his urethra, causing these reoccurring nocturnal emissions. It was the most embarrassing lie he’d ever told, but he was sure if he spoke the truth, then his parents would have him locked up in an insane asylum.

  He winced as his dry, chaffed skin touched the course linens, easing himself into the bed and lying prone. He repeated the dimming spell one more time before reaching over to his night stand to turn out the light. On it sat The Luciferian Pedagogy, a book he’d come into owning by attending the estate sale of the Goldman family. All of their possessions had been auctioned off when the last surviving heir, Ian Goldman, committed suicide and left no will for his belongings. Preston’s father, Xavier Jennings, was good friends with Roger Goldman, Ian’s father and patriarchy to the wealth of that family. The man figured it was only suitable that wealth acquires the ashes of previous wealth.

  He glared at the book hatefully as he turned out the light, always feeling a slight tinge of shame for the utter recklessness in which he’d used the material and knowledge contained within those passages. He had no idea Ian was also a connoisseur of the occult, but they’d only met once, at Ian’s 18th birthday party. They’d been encouraged to hang out and spend time together, but the Goldman boy was incredibly weird and awkward. After seeing what Ian had gotten into however, he understood why the young man had ended his life. He was aware he would soon be Lilith’s next victim if he didn’t find a way to break her attachment to him. Until then he would simply enjoy what he originally summoned her for, the sex.

  The mixture of bourbon and sleep medication ensured he was out quick despite his anxiety. At some point the ceiling began to shimmer as the portal began to open and ripple like a mirage. His heartbeat quickened as he saw her form materialize. It always happened the same way. It was like someone would pour black liquid into a clear glass container shaped like a human woman. Once the container was full, she materialized fully with a brilliant flash. Her
form had evolved since they’d first met that fateful night last year. At first, she looked almost identical to Scarlett Goldman, and the implications of that sickened Preston, even if the woman’s avatar was incredibly beautiful.

  Eventually however she began to morph into her own being. Red curly hair soon turned to a luscious black that flowed past her shoulders like ink. Her breasts swelled pleasantly yet remained impossibly high and tight. A frame that was once an hour glass figure had filled out considerably during their time together. He understood she was fattening up on his essence, which he certainly had a lot of…used to have a lot of, that is. She floated down to him, hair flowing past her shoulders and tickling his chest as she lowered herself.

  “Hello Preston.” She said, her voice, though spoken at a whisper, had a lancing effect to his ears. But he was used to it by now, and let himself relax as cool thighs pressed against his pelvis. His cock throbbed to life, pressing up against her moist folds. She giggled, a sound both sweet and horrifying. She pressed against him, the tip of his cock now penetrating the silken folds. She did not slide him in the rest of the way, however, not yet. Although the spell had tampered down her feral virility, it did not inhibit her wicked sense of humor, and the fact that he too could deliver pleasure to her meant she liked to toy with him. It turned her on, teasing him like a cat pawing at a mouse before delivering the death strike.

  Her long serpentine tongue uncoiled from her mouth, dripping a saliva that simultaneously burned and numbed his skin. She traced his cracked, blistered lips with the tip, before enfolding him in her arms like a lover, kissing his stubbled neck as she did so. Long claws like nails gently raked his back, causing his body to break out in goosebumps. She then proceeded to slide her cool body up his, until her crotch was next to his chin.

  “You know the deal, Preston. Do your tongue work, and I shall give you control of your body.” She said. He understood very well, nodding his head slightly, for that was all he could manage. “Good boy.” She hissed, and scooted her self up to where her pussy rested on his lips, her cool thighs pressing in on the sides of his head like a fleshy helmet. He stuck his tongue out, the tip parting the folds which at first tasted bitter and stung his mouth like acid, before quickly turning to a sweet, numbing nectar. She let out a low rumbling moan like a tiger purring as his tip found the stiff little bud of her. It engorged at his touch, and he began to rub the tip of his tongue in tight circles around the rapidly swelling organ of her clitoris.

  The thighs increased their pressure as she squeezed his head. She began to thrust in a rhythm that accentuated his tongue movements, moving faster and faster, his tongue growing raw and blistering until she shuttered, and the bitter fluid that erupted from her filled his mouth.

  “Swallow.” She said. He grimaced, and did so, knowing the acidic ejaculate from Lilith would wreak havoc on his body later on. By the time she had finished her orgasm, she moved back down to her original position. As he gasped for breath, she proceeded to put her arms back around him, and brought him up, cradling him like a baby. “Arise.” She said into his ear, and suddenly he had control of his limbs. He raised his arms, wrapping them around the lean, muscular body, putting one nipple to his mouth and sucking hard. He didn’t move with the grace of speed like he used to, before Lilith’s constant ministrations wore him down, but he could still throw a move around occasionally.

  Holding onto her, he spun them around in a quick movement, and Preston found himself on top of the demoness, she on her back in the missionary position. She quickly wrapped her strong legs around him, and with one flex of her thighs had shoved him in. He gasped as he entered the nearly scalding hot cavern, which was so unlike the rest of her icy cool body. After a moment where he had to regain his composure, he began to thrust. His cock was gripped by the velvet glove of her channel, tightening and convulsing as he used his thumb to stroke the tip of her clitoris as he thrusted.

  She began to grip him hard with her legs, shoving him deeper and causing him to thrust harder as she made him slam into her over and over. He began to feel her grow increasingly wet down there as she yet again approached orgasm, or whatever passed for orgasm with her species, and he too felt himself building to an epic climax. His cock stiffened until it was rock hard, and she grinned, exposing needle teeth. He faltered just for a moment, as those teeth were a sign she was transforming into her fully demonic self. The spell was supposed to prevent that from happening.

  He ignored this, focused on the task at hand. He stroked and thrusted even faster, felt her thigh muscles quiver and her clawed hands tear holes into his sheets. Finally, he let out a cry as the first eruption took him. Lilith grabbed hold of him and squeezed with her whole body, and he hung onto her for dear life as she milked him, flexing her walls in time with his contractions, a mild sensation of suction going on down below as she took in his seed, collecting it for whatever nefarious purposes she used it for.

  After his 5th pump, in which nothing more than a dribble came from him, he collapsed against her, still inside of her, shrinking but not exiting. She held him, gently stroking his hair, whispering his name until his ears bled. He tried to get up, but she whispered “stay” and he was once again in the throes of sleep paralysis. She rolled him over like a child taking care of an invalid parent, letting him exit from her. As he lay prone on his back, he saw where her skin began to take on the obsidian black sheen of her demon vessel.

  “You thought you could control me with those silly spells.” She said, and he felt his blood freeze in his veins. How had she known he had used the spells on her? They were supposed to be unaware of your goings on outside of the bedroom, for she was supposed to be in another dimension until he had entered sleep, whereupon she was granted access into his dimension via the Delta waves he emitted in deep sleep. But Lilith was no mere lower demon. She was never meant to be summoned by the lowly men seeking interdimensional concubines. He should of known. “Don’t worry Preston, I will take good care of you. There is no need to try these scripts of mortal tongue on me. That will only infuriate me.” She said, and lowered her head very close to his. She nicked his earlobe with her teeth, taking out a chunk of flesh. “You don’t want to make me mad, Preston. You very much do not want that.” She said, lapping at his wound with her tongue, the acidic saliva burning intensely.

  He’d been associating pain with orgasm for so long with her that the burning flesh of his ear caused his aching cock to give a small throb. She knelt down next to his crotch, and began to tickle the semi flaccid penis with her tongue. She used the fork tip to penetrate the meatus, and he whimpered through gritted teeth as the thin tongue went down his urethra, deeper, deeper, until she was past his base, going deep into his inner workings. She carefully stroked his cock with her other hand, making sure not to injure the organ she so much sought after.

  He felt a bone deep pulsing sensation somewhere in his loins, and knew she must of gotten to his prostate somehow. She did this when he wasn’t producing enough for her to be satisfied with. His cock gave one intense contraction before rapidly swelling to it’s full rigidity again. Lilith gave one more twist of her tongue, causing another deep contraction that he could feel make his balls swell. He twitched and trembled involuntarily as her tongue receded back into her mouth, causing a small jet of pink tinged ejaculate to erupt from his tip. She grabbed his cock, hard grip cutting off the impending eruption, and with a cobra like quickness had straddled him again, shoving him back inside of her.

  He let out two painful spurts as soon as he was inside, his sensitive tip screaming with pleasure and agony as she began to ride him. There was no slow preamble this time. She began to buck and thrust like a bull in heat, her clawed hands digging into his arms as she gripped them for support. His climax was fast approaching, his balls aching as the muscles responsible for contraction and release strained to keep up.

  “Yes, give it to me, give it all to me mortal pig.” She hissed. “Think you can control me.” She said, and threw her head bac
k in laughter as he came. Every spurt brought with it a deep agony from his bruised urethra, but an intense mind blowing pleasure from the way her walls hugged and rubbed over his inflamed tip. It was a dichotomy that he was slowly becoming addicted too.

  By the time he’d emptied himself of his second load, she withdrew from him, sensing his uselessness now. She regarded him with eyes that had gone a milky white, in which he could see his own distorted, horrible reflection. A face that was once masculine and contained a strong jaw line and thick luxurious hair that women fawned over had now been transformed into a pale, sunken eyed golem, a husk of the athletic virile man he once was.

  “Remember, no more spells.” She warned, before floating away through the ether.

  He awoke at seven AM that morning, his lower half feeling like he’d tried to fuck a wrecking ball. His phone chirped a notification that he’d gotten an email. His head throbbing, stomach in queasy knots and balls aching severely, he opened the phone and suddenly all the peripheral pain he’d been experiencing faded away. It was an email from RMantell71. The man he’d been trying to get in contact with for the past six months. He’d finally responded. Brimming with a restored hope, Preston forced himself out of bed and began the tedious task of cleaning himself. The days after Lilith’s visitations were filled with obsessive cleaning.

  He already had a compulsive disorder about his hygiene, and the succubus’s grand defilements and all her fluids on him and in him drove him into a nearly psychotic cleaning frensy. He vomited twice while he was in the shower, one of his teeth clanking against the tile floor and washing down the drain hole. It was only after his groin and surrounding regions been scrubbed raw, and his teeth brushed four different times did he feel ready to face the day. As he stood looking out of his high rise Manhattan apartment, he made a call to the private charter service his family were members of. He arranged for a driver to meet him at Tulsa international airport. It looked like his potential salvation may lie in Oklahoma, of all places.