The devil leered at her. His mouth hung open, and a long tongue hung from his jaw like a dangling penis. The rest of his body was detailed in red and black ink — infernal red skin, glorious bat wings and a dark shadow between his thighs. The devil was barely the size of a playing card, but he gave the woman a shiver.
“Where did you get that tattoo?” she asked.
Her paramour for the night lifted his head from her breast. He didn’t really have an answer. He didn’t want to confess that the tattoo had appeared one morning after a forgotten Friday night in Atlanta. Chicks frowned on stories like those.
Instead of answering, he reached down below her belt and touched her in a wicked way in a very naughty place.
“Oh!” she said. The devil was quickly forgotten.
Later that night, the Devil awoke to the smells of sex and liquor. He stretched his wings and yawned in the darkness. He could feel his prison breathing. The snores vibrated through the skin, making the Devil’s teeth rattle.
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The Devil pushed against the skin, knowing in his heart that it wouldn’t let him go, but having to try nonetheless.
The skin held him tight.
The Devil spread his wings and took flight. He couldn’t leave his prison of skin, but he had free reign inside. His ink body flew up the arm and took a hard turn onto his prison’s chest. A thrill went through him as he saw his prison’s latest conquest. She was a full-figured woman with plenty of skin to play on.
The Devil smiled and thought back on those lovely summer days when he would have feasted on such a woman. He thought of spearing her with his cock, crushing her breasts with clawed hands and engulfing her with black wings as he stole her away from whatever weak being she belonged to. Those had been the days of true glory. Now he was just a trapped demon imprisoned in flesh.
The prison’s arm was draped across the woman’s chest. The Devil flew down the arm and slid off onto the woman’s breast. Such transference was allowed only when souls were asleep. The strange inks that bound the Devil would force him back to his prison as soon as one of them woke up. It was a lesson he’d learned on 1,000 frustrating mornings.
But for now, the Devil could at least slither over new flesh. Instead of hairy male limbs, the Devil could enjoy the smooth ride of lotion-soaked feminine skin. Instead of hard muscles, he could linger over pillow-soft breasts and squeezable hips. Instead of a sleeping cock, the Devil could lay his head on lovely folds of a well-fucked cunt.
It was a pleasure but also a torture. All these delights he could see and feel through his ink shadow body, but he could truly partake in none of them. No matter how hard he tried, he could never bite down on the soft pink nubs of her nipples. He could float over the lips of her mouth, but he could never feel their kiss. Worst of all, he could rub his cock over her cunt as much as he wanted, but he would never feel the sweet juices inside.
The Devil had had his fill of frustration for one night. He flew back to the arm that linked this world to his prison. Coming back along the same arm, was another shape! The Demon watched in wonder as another ghost of ink and desire flew along the skin passage.
It was a she. The Devil half-noticed that the tattoo was another demon complete with wings, red skin and curved horns. That was far less important than the fact that she had breasts topped with night-black nipples. The fact that they might be kindred souls in captivity didn’t cross his mind as he looked at her cunt, which was dripping black ink. Questions about how she’d come to be imprisoned seemed pointless when he saw how lovely her waist-length black hair was. She was a she and he was a he.
She made the first move. The Devil laughed as the female tackled him. She wrestled with him, sending both their bodies spinning into her prison’s breasts. The Devil kept laughing as the greedy demoness assaulted his body. He laughed because she attacked him as if he’d had any thought of escaping.
There was no foreplay except for the grabbing of wrists and pulling of hair. The Devils were creatures of desire and ink. His cock entered her cunt, or maybe her cunt engulfed his cock; it was all the same to them. Teeth bit down as claws scraped backs. Their wings coiled around one another endlessly as each tried to assert dominance.
Silently, they tumbled over the contours of their prisons. Ink doesn’t speak, and no air could pass through their laughing mouths. Tonight, they were more than happy to just fuck and touch.
Against a cock erect with dreaming desires and a need to piss, the Devil fucked his partner.
In a valley between breasts, the Devil was mounted by his curvier counterpart.
On a smooth masculine back, the Devil licked his companion while her wings fluttered in orgasm.
On a pale white thigh, the Devil was sucked until he shot a stream of black ink down her throat.
The sun came up. The demons fucked faster. At any moment, one of their prisons might awaken, and they would be pulled back to slumber in frozen display once more. They were cruel to one another, biting and scratching in frustrated anticipation of their coming separation. Anyone else might have been tender and tried to coax affection to remember each other by on long lonely nights. Devils prefer to remember each other with bite marks and angry bruises.
It was the woman who awoke. The Devil was in the middle of a delicious thrust when he felt the ink harden. He snarled in silent rage that his time was over. His fury was mirrored on his companion’s face. Her beautiful angry face was the last thing he saw before sleep took him.
“Damn, that was a rough night,” the woman said. She snuck out of a stranger’s bed and located her clothes. She didn’t remember coming home with him, but that’s tequila for you. At least he looked cute, and by the soreness between her thighs, the woman could tell it had been a good fuck. No sense pushing her luck and waking the guy up. Better to remember him as the sleeping fuck than the awake jerk he might turn out to be.
She passed the mirror on her way out the door. A dozen obscenities sprang to mind, but she managed to stay quiet. She looked more closely and then really wondered what happened last night.
Right there on her hip, caught in the act of fucking her tattoo from behind, a male devil stared blankly up at her. His claws were firmly dug into the inked breasts and her red-inked mouth was caught in an “O” that was almost audible.
“Oh, well,” the woman said. “At least they look like they belong together.” Then she made herself a vow to stop drinking tequila.