Chapter 11: Some more toys,
The insistent buzzing stopped, replaced by a heavy thud against the apartment door. Harry, his heart a frantic bird in his chest, adjusted himself painfully in his shorts and shuffled forward. He peered through the peephole, the world distorting into a fish-eye view of the grimy hallway. A delivery driver in a generic uniform was already walking away, a large, unmarked cardboard box left at his doorstep.
He opened the door, the cool draft from the hallway a shock against his heated skin. He dragged the box inside. It was heavier than it looked.
Before he could even wonder, two forms detached from the shadows. Demona and Belphina were upon it, not with stealth, but with the gleeful avarice of children on Christmas morning. Their fingers, tipped with nails that now seemed merely painted rather than claw-like, tore into the tape.
“You… you ordered something?” Harry asked, his voice still unsteady.
“With your card, yes,” Belphina said, not looking up. “The little rectangle in your wallet. The numbers were easy to remember.”
Demona ripped the box flaps open. “We required tools. Proper tools.”
Harry felt a chill that had nothing to do with the draft. His bank account was a delicate, anemic thing. But the protest died in his throat as they began to unpack. Out came items in sleek, black plastic. A harness of thick straps and gleaming O-rings. A series of ominous, curved silicone shapes. Bottles of slick, viscous liquids. Then, finally, nestled in black velvet, two leashes.
They were not pet-store leashes. These were works of dark art. Fine, braided black leather with heavy, polished chrome clips. The handles were wrapped in soft, supple hide.
A profound, electric silence filled the room. Both succubi stared at the leashes, their breath catching. The earlier playfulness vanished, replaced by a deep, instinctual hunger. Their eyes glazed over, pupils swelling to drown the violet and blue in pools of black.
“Oh,” Demona breathed, the word a soft exhalation of pure want.
Belphina reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the leather. “Yes. This. This is right.”
Harry watched, confused. “It’s just… leashes.”
They both turned to look at him, and the intensity in their gazes pinned him to the spot. “No, Master,” Demona said, her voice low and throbbing. “They are not ‘just’ anything. They are a covenant. A tether. Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That we are yours,” Belphina whispered. She picked one up, the chrome clip catching the dim light. “And you are ours. That this,” she gestured between the three of them, a circuit of desperate need, “is not an accident. It is ownership.”
Demona already had the other leash in her hand. She brought the leather to her nose and inhaled deeply, a shiver wracking her frame. “Clip it on, Harry. Please.”
It wasn’t a demand. It was a plea. The most powerful sound he had ever heard from her. He took the leash from her, his fingers clumsy. He fumbled with the clip, bringing it to the ring on the collar she always wore. The click of the clasp engaging was deafening in the quiet room.
Demona’s eyes rolled back. A low, continuous moan leaked from her lips. Her back arched, her gigantic breasts swaying with the motion. A fresh rush of her scent, spicy and sweet, flooded the space around them.
Belphina was practically vibrating, thrusting her leash toward him. “Me. Now. Do me.”
He clipped the second leash on. The effect was instantaneous and identical. Belphina dropped to her knees, panting, her tongue lolling out slightly. The transformation was startling. The ancient, cunning arrogance was gone, melted away by the simple click of a lock. What remained was raw, eager need.
“Walk us,” Demona panted, crawling forward on her hands and knees. Her ass, a monumental, jiggling masterpiece, swayed with each movement. “Take us to your den. To your nest.”
Harry, guided by a instinct he didn’t know he possessed, gave the leashes a gentle tug. They followed, their movements syncopated, animalistic. He led them the few feet to his bed. They clambered onto it without being asked, their bodies arranged side-by-side, faces down, asses presented high in the air. They looked back at him over their shoulders, their expressions slack with worship.
“The… the other things?” Harry stammered, looking at the box.
“Later,” Belphina whined, pushing her hips back. “Just you. Just this. Give it to us. Mark your bitches.”
The crude word, in her desperate, breathy voice, shattered his last remnants of hesitation. He freed himself from his shorts, his cock springing out, already iron-hard and dripping. He didn’t choose. He simply took the nearest offering, which was Belphina’s glistening, pink slit. He drove into her in one long, unbroken stroke.
She screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated victory. Her walls clamped around him, a frantic, milking pressure. Demona, beside her, whimpered, rubbing her face against the cheap bedsheets. “My turn. Please, my turn next. I need it. I need your seed in my worthless cunt.”
He fucked Belphina with hard, deep strokes. The leash dangled from her collar, jerking with each thrust. She was babbling, nonsense words, praises, promises. Drool soaked the sheet beneath her mouth. Her eyes were completely unfocused, seeing nothing but the blinding pleasure of being used.
He pulled out, slick and shining. Demona was begging, a continuous stream of “pleasepleaseplease.” He shoved into her, and her body bucked, a gush of her fluids soaking his thighs. She was even tighter, her channel gripping him like a desperate fist. He leaned forward, wrapping the leashes around his hands, using them for leverage as he hammered into her.
They were both panting now, loud, ragged breaths that filled the room. The air grew thick and humid with the smell of sex and sweat. Spit and tears stained the sheets. He switched again, and again, taking them with a rough, possessive rhythm that had them both sobbing with gratitude.
They were dumb. Gloriously, beautifully dumb. Their cunning, their schemes, their ancient rivalry—all of it was fucked into oblivion. There was only the slap of flesh, the jiggle of insane curves, the wet, messy sounds of penetration, and their broken, worshipful litany.
“Yours!”
“So good!”
“Breed us!”
“Dumb bitches! Your dumb bitches!”
“Don’t stop! Never stop!”
Harry felt the familiar, coiling pressure. He pulled out of Demona, whose cry of loss turned into a shriek of joy as he gripped both leashes tight and sprayed his release over their upturned faces, over their heaving breasts, painting them in thick, white stripes.
They collapsed, a tangle of exhausted, marked flesh. They licked at each other’s faces, cleaning his spend with tender, grateful swipes of their tongues. They nuzzled into his hips as he fell between them, their bodies forming a warm, sticky cocoon around him.
The leashes, still clipped to their collars, lay across his chest like claims.
In the silence, broken only by their slowing pants, Harry’s phone, buried somewhere in the discarded clothing on the floor, began to vibrate. It was his boss’s ringtone. The library. He was hours late for his shift.
He didn’t move. The leashes on his chest felt heavier than any responsibility. The two succubi, already nuzzling back to life, licking lazily at his skin, seemed to sense the shift. Demona lifted her head, her eyes still soft but holding a new, dark understanding.
“Let it ring,” she murmured, her absurdly full lips brushing his ear. “The world out there… it doesn’t have a leash for you. We do.”
The phone went to voicemail. The room held its breath.