Chapter 31: Double Delight Deception
The city’s pulse was a dull, distant throb through the soundproofed walls. In the VIP lounge’s backroom, the only rhythms were carnal. Taichi’s head was wedged between Samantha’s thighs, her taste—sharp, clean, expensive—flooding his senses. His pierced tongue worked in slow, deliberate circles around her clit before plunging deep into her cunt, fucking her with it in a way that made her heels dig into the small of his back.
“Oh, god, right there,” she moaned, her fingers tangled in his hair, her hips grinding against his face. Her champagne glass lay shattered on the floor, forgotten. She was all heat and muscle, trembling on the edge. “Don’t stop. Just like that.”
He didn’t. He was a conduit, a vessel being filled by Van’s dark energy even now, and it made him relentless. He drank her down, the silver mark on his belly burning a muted, steady heat against the cool leather of the couch. When her thighs began to shake in earnest, she reached for him, her hand groping down his torso, past the waistband of his unbuttoned trousers.
She found his cock, hard and straining. But her seeking fingers slid lower, tracing the hot, swollen slit beneath it.
Her whole body went still.
Taichi lifted his head, his mouth glistening with her. He watched her face, seeing the confusion morph into dawning, hungry comprehension. There was no fear in her eyes, just a spark of neon-lit avarice.
“Fuck,” she breathed, a husky, thrilled exhalation. “You’re a two-hole slut?”
He gave her a lazy, wicked smile, the one that didn’t feel entirely like his own anymore. “Something like that.”
She pushed him onto his back with surprising strength, her earlier languor gone, replaced by a researcher’s intense focus. She yanked his trousers and briefs down to his ankles, straddling his legs, her gaze fixed on the revelation of his anatomy. His cock jutted up, dripping pre-come onto his stomach. Below it, his cunt was flushed and slick, visibly pulsing.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, and then she bent her head.
Her tongue, pointed and probing, tasted him there first. A long, slow lick from his taint up through his soaked folds. Taichi gasped, his head hitting the couch arm. It was different from Van’s touch—curious, mortal, avid. She ate him out with loud, messy enthusiasm, moaning into his flesh as if she’d discovered a new vintage.
“You taste incredible,” she mumbled, her nose buried against him. “Like… ozone and sugar. What the fuck are you?”
“Yours,” Taichi growled, the word a trigger. He moved, a coil of sudden, demon-fed strength. In one fluid motion, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the leather. He loomed over her, his cock nudging at her entrance. Her cunt was soaked, ready.
“Mine to fuck,” he corrected, and sank into her.
She cried out, her nails scratching at his shoulders. He set a brutal, driving pace immediately, no warm-up, no tenderness. Each thrust was a claim of territory. The mirrors on the ceiling reflected the scene back in fractured, sweaty glimpses: his slim back flexing, her legs wrapping around his waist, her head thrashing side to side.
Van was there. Not in form, but in the fabric of the room. The shadows in the corners of the low ceiling deepened, bled outward. Tendrils of pure darkness slithered down the walls, across the floor, moving with a silent, sentient purpose.
Samantha was too lost in the feeling of being split open on Taichi’s cock to see them coming. The first touch of cool, slick shadow on her inner thigh made her jolt.
“Wha—?”
Another tendril, thicker, pressed against her asshole, rimming her with an inhuman, persistent pressure. Her eyes flew open, wide with a shock that quickly melted into overwhelmed arousal as the shadow pushed inside, stretching her in a slow, inexorable invasion.
“Oh my god… oh fuck…” she chanted, her body arching. She was being filled from both ends, Taichi’s cock pounding her cunt, the tendril fucking deep into her ass. The dual penetration was relentless, perfectly synchronized. The shadow tendril began to pulse, mimicking a heartbeat, then a thrust.
Taichi watched her unravel, a feverish ecstasy taking hold. He felt Van’s pleasure as a secondary current in his own veins, a shared feast. He leaned down, biting her shoulder, marking her.
“Scream for it,” he demanded against her skin, his pace turning punishing.
She did. A raw, ragged scream that tore through the lounge’s muffled acoustics, soaked into the velvet and the leather. Her body clamped down on him, a vice of convulsing muscle, her climax triggered by the impossible fullness. Taichi followed, slamming home as he came, his own release a hot flood joined by a cooler, stranger essence from the shadow buried in her ass—a siphon, pulling the vital shimmer of her peak into the waiting darkness.
He collapsed atop her, spent. The tendril withdrew with a soft, wet sound, dissipating into motes of black dust. Samantha lay beneath him, utterly ruined, eyes glassy, a thread of drool connecting her lip to the couch.
Slowly, Taichi pulled out and stood on unsteady legs. He tucked himself carelessly back into his trousers, not bothering to fasten them. He looked down at her. She was breathing, a faint, shallow thing. Alive, but emptied. A used cartridge.
The neon sign outside the window buzzed, casting a pink glow over her limp form. From the deepest shadow in the room, Van materialized, leaning against the bar. He held the obsidian phallus, which now seemed larger, its veins throbbing with a faint, captured light.
“A connoisseur,” Van said, his voice smooth as oil. “She appreciated the vintage.”
Taichi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “She was curious.”
“Curiosity is the first ingredient.” Van approached, his fingers tracing the line of Taichi’s jaw. “The toy is pleased. It’s learning to crave variety.” He pressed the obsidian shape into Taichi’s hand. It was warm, almost alive. “It wants to go somewhere new. Somewhere… public.”
Taichi hefted the weight of it. He looked from the toy, to the ruined woman on the couch, to the demon who owned him. The hum of the city was a call now. A menu.
“Where?” Taichi asked, his voice quiet, final.
Van’s smile was a promise of beautiful desecration. “The subway. The last train. A carriage full of tired, lonely people.” He leaned close, his breath cold on Taichi’s ear. “Let’s see how many you can touch before the doors close.”