Salt Stinging DreamMature

            Mal was tired and weak. He did not have the energy to fight, only the energy to endure. Now, he truly knew how he had made Joe feel. No, this was worse, Joseph Tayna had been numb. Malcolm Larsson was feeling every hostile attack on his body. It ravaged his guts, jolting incessantly.

            We're in a salt circle, her voice was confused and weak in the back of his mind. It's too late for me, but you will die with me, boy.

            His stomach churned out a growl.

            The strong arms on his back pushed him closer, into the water. Bath salts had been knocked over. His head was bruised, in three places. Every plunge shook his body. Hoban is being unwillingly relentless.

            The cat was stretched out around the sink, clawing the air idly. And every so often, it laughed again and again. The mind-pervading maniacal cackles. Just one more thing that kept Hoban away from climax.

            "Where the fuck is that rabbit?" Hoban roared, as he continued to thrash against Mal's bent-over body. His face was red with rage, disgust and impatience.

            How is it, Mal queried with weariness, That we're in another salt circle?

            "Uuuuarrrgh!" A dry-heaving spasm of Hoban's tattooed loins. It tore at Malcolm's flesh, deep and open.

            Damn, the demon cursed, as she was still not set free. I can sense it, two floors down. I told you to spread your wings when you had the chance! Damn that cat. Damn that ring. Damn that witch, and damn her minion beau!

            Malcolm grinned. Coincidence or not, his room was two floors down. Joseph!

            That bastard, the traitor! After the powers I granted him. And he did not even complete his task.

            Priscilla, you gave him a task?

            I am here for vengeance. I have a debt to settle with the local exorcist. Joseph didn't catch me like a common STD, master Larsson. I recuperated in that boy. I fed off young Joe, until he was ready. Until he was here.

            You're right, Malcolm realized. He wouldn't do that.

            You did it. You did it to Joseph, just like Hoban is doing to you now! You're scum, Malcolm. Even your name, Mal, is Latin for it. Bad. Bad to the core.

            You're wrong, Priscilla! It's different with me and Joe. Thoughts stirred in an inner torrent, I love him.

            Brittany loved him too. Some fine place that brought her.

            Shutup!

            And then, Malcolm Larsson was suddenly alone in his mind. He could no longer even hear the laughing of the black cat, that had become so ambient. He opened his eyes, and saw the bubbling water. The jacuzzi jets kept going, humming away, and stirring the bath water with warmth.

            A thrust came, pushing Mal's head into the water. He was bent over, legs hanging off Hoban's stalwart frame and chest dangling down towards the water - which woke him up, from his reverie, and he gasped for air. Again, his forehead bumped against the edge of the tub. He could hear the heavy breathing of the young man behind him, pumping blood-hardened flesh into his body with reluctance.

            "I gotta take a piss, Mal."

            Sadistic bastard, Malcolm gulped, and tasted the tangy water. The foam stung his throat. He wanted out. He wanted the demon out. But not like this. The pace slowed, and his lungs filled with dread. He wouldn't dare...

            "Ever had anybody piss in your ass, pipsqueak?"

            The wet tiles on the wall reflected Hoban's grinning face. Malcolm wanted to say something, and couldn't. As a knot in his stinging throat, he was at a loss for words. No pleading. No retort. No begging. Silence.

            In his mind's eye, he saw a white circle. It was dream-like, and stung his eyes as the water stung his tongue.

            Then he felt the inner trickle, rising to a stream. Pleasure. The disturbing warmth, like someone was bathing his innards in a corona, soothing the bruised tissue. And when he realized what it was, his face contorted in disgust and he wretched, vomiting against the side of where the tub was built into the wall. Where bottles had toppled.

            The cat laughed again. It tore at his thoughts, and he screamed for release.

            The thrusting resumed, rising in intensity. Malcolm Larsson was thoroughly disturbed. Before this night, he had had innocence. Now, he was a demon's puppet, hated and loathed by lawful captors and an intervening witch. Homophobia was bad enough. The proverbial closet, making his life difficult. And now the supernatural and the self-righteous came to knock upon the closet door with naughty grinds and narrow minds.

            He heard the door turn, hastily. And Hoban sighed, then pushed Mal against the wall. With all his might and remaining energy, he thrust harder and harder against the wall. His muscular body pushed against Malcolm, and he thought he was going to break.

            Again, the white circle closing in around his awareness. A boy and a girl, below, watching him.

            I want out!

            The crimson wings spread, jutting out from his back and pushing Hoban off in a splash of water and ejaculate. The bathroom door sprang open, and Mildred ran in.

            The rabbit landed on Hoban's chest with a splash, and groped against his pectorals. His head had hit the tub's edge hard, and was bleeding. Hoban had lost consciousness. And, still erect, the black-marked tumescent organ oozed spooge into the bubbly water.

            She was chanting, frantically, in an arcane tongue. Hands seemed to command him to be still, dark fingernails pointing with menace.

            "Maleficos non patieris vivere," Mal interrupted her incantation, with something buried deep in his collective unconscious. Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.

            Muted, she clutched her neck in confusion. And each time Mildred tried to speak, to finish her spell, she seemed to choke upon her words.

            The white rabbit, nearly drowning in the suds, groped against the fallen man's black and white, naked chest. The claws scratched, and drew blood. The rabbits eyes, just as red, blinked with worry and apprehension.

            The black cat was laughing no longer, and let out an inconspicuous meow. It seemed indifferent, as if the whole thing was too predictable to be of any interest.

            Mal's skin grayed to a slated indigo. His body pulsed, and muscles tightened up with new mass, from untapped energies. He felt the twisting, jagged horns protrude from his head, and his limp loins rise in lust. The metamorphosis flaunted demonic power, and red wings spread to shade the bright, white room in red.

            Shards fell from the mirror, and he grinned to see his new face reflected in the biggest fallen piece. Priscilla did not return to him, for now... he had become Priscilla.

            Mildred backed away, clutching her silenced throat and making nervous eye contact with the black cat.

            The jets of the jacuzzi gently pushed Hobbes sloping body further into the water, and the rabbit frolicked about upon him with desperation. Reaching a shoulder, he fell further into the water. It seemed as if both empty vessel and fallen man were doomed to drown.

The End

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