Erotica Harem

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Title: "Invalid Item"  (Demon in the Basement)

Chapter: "Invalid Entry"  (Chapter 3)

Author: Lady Rook

Plot: Oh, damn. You did it again. You ended it just like that. I’m so caught up in the story, Traci, it’s sick (or I am).

Scene: Waves again…

Character Development: You keeping dropping subtle hints about Nazan, and I see you’re doing so with Emma too. There seems to be much hidden in both their pasts, and I’m so looking forward to finding out more. You know, I’ve never had a thing for demons (never) but you’ve certainly changed that. Wow. Talk about sexual tension. He is just such a tease! I think I love him!

Grammar: Damn commas (grumbles as she slaps at them).

Just My Personal Opinion: Another wonderful chapter, Traci. This is truly unique to my type of reading, and boy, am I enjoying myself.

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Please remember that these are only my opinions.
Please use whatever you feel is right for you.
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Chapter Three – Oil
Nazan growled.

“Why’d did you break that vase?” Emma watched his tail tap against the wall, the tip swerving in testy waves. His claws grated against the wooden floor, gouging it. He turned away from her, the stubs where his wings once were, tensing. The demon hugged his knees, baring his back and the rippled scars across his skin.

She left to find the broom. Carefully, she swept the mess along the floor into a small pile. The shards of blue glass reminded her of her mother. There were few things Few things (?) she had left that were hers. One less now. (Perhaps make this her own thought?) She dumped the remains in the bathroom trash, set the broom and dustpan by the toilet and opened the medicine cabinet to find the baby oil.

“You’re mad that I spoke to him?” She entered the bedroom and strode to Nazan’s side. He snuffed out a bitter snort. She flipped the top of the bottle and emptied a circle of oil into her palm. His horns felt rough, hard and thirsty. She massaged oil into them, waiting for him to say something, anything.

An owl hooted outside the house, probably from the elm near the window. Emma rubbed and slicked the oil into the ridges of his horns until they shined. She set the bottle on the windowsill and tested the skin on his wing stubs. He winced and groaned, flashing a strained look over one shoulder before he turned away.

“Do you remember your father?” she asked.

His breathing came and went in torrid gasps. That basso grumble of his voice caught; then he cleared his throat. “I remember a man with your eyes.” He shivered. His tail slapped the floor. The tip quivered and reached for her ankle, circling it like a snake as it climbed to her knee.

“No. Before him. The man with my eyes was my father. Remember your father. Can you?”

He grunted.

She placed her palm on his shoulder. “It was long ago, when man was young. Maybe you’ve forgotten.”

Nazan hunkered lower, avoiding her touch. He grasped his head and sighed. “I don’t want to remember, not yet.” His tail tightened with a python-like embrace.

She lost her balance. Emma reached for the windowsill. Losing her grip on its edge, she fell backward. The bottle of baby oil tumbled from its resting place and bounced on the floor just as she crashed on her side. The wooden floor bit into her side. She cried out, startled more than hurt.

In moments, the demon hovered over her, his eyes reflecting concern. He reached out to touch her face, hesitating. “Are you hurt?” His fingertips met her cheek as she turned.

“You have to realize how strong you are.” She tried to sit up, but he leaned into her, placing his other hand on her shoulder. Pinned there, Emma could only sigh at him. “Nazan.” She closed her eyes trying to think of how to explain.

The owl hooted.

After a time, he leaned closer; she felt his breath against her face. His wide nose touched the tip of her small one, (comma) running in slow sideways passes, a soothing tickle. His voice sounded deep and low in his chest, a pleasant grumble of desire. When he spoke, she felt his large, wet lips brushing against hers. “I’m not strong. Your father broke me.”

He smelled like spices, old forgotten scents from an ancient time. His nose felt warm against hers. His fingers contracted over her shoulder, hot, fiery through the thin layer of her nightgown. Emma tilted her chin up until her mouth met those firm lips. She waited, wishing he would kiss her.

Instead, the demon drew her against his chest and lay on his side, curling his limbs about her body.

“What do you remember?” she whispered.

He frowned, the movement of his mouth causing her to reach for him. She kissed his lower lip. He flinched. Emma kissed the side of his mouth, his chin and then his lips. “Tell me.”

Clawed fingers stroked her back in long sweeps. “No.” His voice was a breath against her open mouth. He released her, backing away, his eyes wide black pools in the gold light. “Lie on your stomach.”

“Wh-what?”

“On your stomach.” He nodded toward the floor, indicating his wish. Uncertain, she rolled onto her tummy. Hooves ticked, claws clicked and slid. A pop resounded in the silence of his harried breathing. He began with her feet, massaging oil into her skin. It felt grander than a spa massage.

Emma moaned in delight. Thumbs pushed her calf muscles into submission, kneading relieving her of tension and awareness. When her lower legs went numb, the nerves tingling, she heard the light sound of more oil dripping into his palm. He rubbed her upper legs, his wide hand covering her outer thighs as he worked the oil across them. Fingers breached her nightgown, sliding it upward with each thrust of his slick palms. He found her buttocks, stopped and knelt over her, his teeth catching on the hem of her clothing. In a teasing lean, he drew her gown over her back, his cheek grazing her shoulder when he stopped.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she looked over her shoulder, amused by the concentration so plain in his dark face.

The cap snapped open. More oil dribbled out.

The demon quirked a brow. “If you care for me, I will care for you.”

He slathered oil over her lower back, his breathing calmer now. As his hands wore their way into her muscles, cleaving her senses and leaving her body aching for him in new ways, he hummed. Emma closed her eyes and gave in. It felt like magic, not the violent kind her father practiced with pain, (comma) and blood and power-plays, but something sweeter, from a time when people had faith in simplicity. It felt like her mother. And oh, (comma) how she ached to have that force back in her life.

“It’s your turn to remember,” she heard him say. He sounded far away, across a churning sea of froth-tipped waves. Even further was the sound of her favorite nightgown ripping as he grew impatient to touch more. Emma found she didn’t care, that she wouldn’t miss it. It might be nice to sleep naked again.

He worked her shoulders, then her neck, each press of the heel of his hands soothing her beyond bodily reasoning. His touch eased its way into her mind, untying her pent up thoughts, releasing memories she’d hidden away. She saw her mother standing in the hall of this old house, her cream-colored summer dress dotted with blood, not her blood, or even her father’s, (comma) but the life of some poor creature her father had captured. “He wanted to prove his strength,” she murmured. “Please don’t make me see these things again. Her mother looked delicate in that memory, her skin pale, her face reflecting pain. Emma wanted to reach out to her, gather her up and hug away the cruelty that swallowed them in that time.

His hands moved away. She felt him lie down beside her, his chest touching her upper arm, that mysterious tail seeking a hold on her legs, twining itself in and out, all around so she knew she couldn’t walk if she wanted to.

She scooted on her side, wanting to face him, to forget and lose that ugly memory in his kiss. “Take me,” Emma pleaded with a soft moan. “I don’t want to know my past.” She touched his abdomen, seeking a bellybutton, a circle that might prove he had a mother at one time. His muscled belly held no such secret. “I want to know yours. You’re the prisoner, not me. I want to see you free.”

He blinked at her. His throat moved as he swallowed.

Emma delved lower, anxious to grasp his cock, to hold it and feel its rigid length. She found the organ sleeping, limp and sheathed. When her fingers met its heated skin, the demon held his breath.

He moved in slow motion, his eyes half closed as his hungry mouth approached. With tender grace, his lips met hers. She expected more, a hard kiss that left her breathless and strained. Instead, he took her mouth with gentle nibbles. Her mind emptied of her past and for a very long time they kissed like first time lovers, awkward, slow and frightened at what such advances might lead to.

He stopped to speak, “Maybe tomorrow I will remember.” Nazan ran his fingers through her hair, petting the silken strands. He pursed his lips and touched his nose to hers.

She eased her body closer to his. His penis had not come to life for her this night and regret bit at her over it. “I want you too much.” She released it and clung to his waist.

“There is little left of me to want.” He nipped at her mouth, smiled a monster’s grin and closed his eyes.

“Should we go to the bed?”

“I’m still used to the floor.”

“Mm.” Emma leaned into his chest. She pressed her ear against his heated skin and listened for some semblance of a heartbeat. The thrum of it sounded like a forgotten whisper, a lulling drum with little rhythm and a strange cadence. Emma had to remind herself that he wasn’t human and never would be.

The night moved on and she slept in his arms. Dawn brought a bright shade of golden light through the window. Emma didn’t want to move, but her stomach grumbled for food. She lifted his arm from her body and stood, the remnants of her lime colored nightgown falling in a ruined pile at her feet. She stared at the demon. He looked bigger in every way. His horns, shiny from her attentions the night before, curved and seemed thicker. He breathed like a slumbering animal, the great girth of his chest rising up and releasing in slow, relaxed sighs.

She ran a hand through her hair to straighten it and went to the closet to pull on a cotton dress. Tying the strings at the middle of her back, she looked down and admired the shape of her body, her slender waist and gently curved hips. There was little need to wear a bra; her breasts were small in comparison to most women. Emma left the bedroom and padded down the hall to the kitchen. There she started breakfast, cracking and frying eggs and ham in a pan. She toasted wheat bread, buttered it and slathered jelly over it. The house filled with the pleasing aroma of crisping ham. When she opened the fridge and bent to find the orange juice, two large hands gripped her hips. A hard cock crushed into her ass, missing the center and wedging against her left butt cheek. She jumped.

The gallon of orange juice bumped the side of the fridge as she stood and leaned backward. Hot lips teased her ear. “I’m hungry.” He ground his hardness into her. A low growl sounded in his throat, sending chills along her spine.

She turned to face him, smiling up, so very far up above. Nazan stood at least six feet tall now, she guessed. “Will you stop growing?”

He shrugged.

“I made breakfast. Sit at the table with me this time.”

Nazan grunted, gripped her ass and thrust his free cock between her legs. A rush of heat spread through her body. The walls of her pussy clenched, reaching for him. Wetness slicked her entrance and she held her breath, eyes widening. Just as she felt ready to give herself to him, to surrender, he stepped away, hoofs clacking on the tile.

He drew a chair out, it’s legs grating. Nazan poked the seat cushion with his forefinger, testing it. Then he sat down, crossed his arms over his massive chest and watched her. His penis stood at attention against the nest of curled hairs above his groin. His legs were spread wide, one jittering nervously.

Emma set their plates on the table, then poured the juice. “Do you remember your father?” she pressed.

He scowled as he thought, his black eyes narrowing. “I remember…” Nazan closed his eyes, leaned back and sighed. “I had a wife once.”

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