Its The Rust Haired Homeless Girl

Lydia didn’t get the chance to figure out which to do.

The slender teen eventually browsing her way towards Lydia, selecting a variety of items on the way, before stopping to glance around for anyone else.

An awkward silence lingered between them, as Brandie contemplated just how to approach the issue.

She locked eyes, her green eyes seemed to almost have a glow to them. The gaze abnormally long for two strangers in passing, but casually brief for a knowing look between the oldest of acquaintances.

Not to say these two could pass for either.

Brandie casually walked towards the old change rooms, simple semi circle curtain rods mounted in alcoves that had been tied back and were no longer permitted for use to avoid theft.

Lydia was shell shocked, not with surprise at what was unfurling, but her lack of surprise, shock, resistance, or even denial at how it excited her.

Gone was the slightly baggy, stretched, worn faded t-shirt.

No bra adorned Brandie’s slender figure, her puffy pink nipples rigid on her small pert breasts as they pointed downwards with the shedding of her ripped jeans.

Kneeling down, Brandie grabbed her elbows behind her back pressing out her chest, swallowing deeply before gazing upwards, her lips moving wordlessly as if muttering in prayer, or hopelessly for some divine blessing.

We can’t just leave her like that.

The thought while feeling as if her own jarred Lydia from her stupor and made her question if she was having a conversation in her head.

Scrambling over to the change room Lydia looked about with panic and concern.

It was as if the cloud of corruption upon her had lifted letting an unobstructed ray of normality shine down upon her day. Lydia felt urgency, anxiety, concern, and words, and clarity of action evading her.

“Ww… ww… wha… WHAT are you doing!” Lydia finally muttered in a panic whispering shout, scooping the discarded clothes into her arms and hugging them close with another look about of alarm as she struggled to hold them out to the still, unresponsive woman roughly the same age as her daughter.

“I’m yours.” The words were uttered with such certainty that they stirred a discomfort within Lydia.

Lydia wanted to ask for clarification, to gasp in shock, or respond with bewilderment. But somehow she knew.

Like recalling a memory Lydia just knew, as if she’d spectated the whole thing.

Falling back on her haunches as Lydia pushed her away and fled off after Mary in the orgy, Brandie had barely paused.

Crawling atop Daniela she pawed and mouthed at the latin woman’s breasts kissing and mouthing as they swayed with each thrust of the Superintendent’s cock. Daniela moaned words crying for him to fuck her harder than his son.

Tasting the corruption Brandie delighted in its embrace.

It felt warm, intoxicating, and even more desperately needed by Brandie, it quieted all her thoughts and concerns. It nourished her desperation, quenching her neglect, and allowed her primal desires to flower as it washed away all the negativity that had been weighing upon her.

As the dream shattered Brandie scrambled to peel the tight-fitting cargos down off her ass, she plunged a hand between her warm moist fold and voiced her pleasure in some parody of a hymn being sung in a church hall.

As the moans, breaths, and muttered sexual frustrations echoed with a resonance of Brandie’s frustrations she clenched eyes shut, **** to keep hold of that place she had just been. It had been more than a dream, she could feel it.

It had offered her so much more than just respite. She sensed it could give her purpose, and fulfill or banish her needs.

Then there was Brandie, left in the vacant space from the orgy alone. Her mind was clinging to the space, on her knees she stayed, toying with her pussy, and flat chest,

Pleading for more.

Brandie gazed up, eyes wide and glossy with **** need and bliss.

Fingering herself she thought of every idea she could recall being excited by, or touching herself to.

Each sexual act for attention, affection, desire, acceptance…

Each sexual experience that nudged her deeper, into further, more inexperienced acts

Mentally Brandie clung desperately to each, exciting herself further, as the shadows shifted, pooled, and took shape, firmer, more defined, as all the past thoughts were left behind, and Brandie clung to one simple idea.

Brandie plunged herself, grabbing the hips as they took shape.

Clinging to the form, her hands gripping, feeling, helping mold the idea into being.

Her lips kissed, licked, and explored.

She thought she felt her tongue part a set of labia, her lips suckling what at first felt like a hardened erect clit, tugging, swelling, contouring it larger, fuller.

As Brandie lavishly began sucking and lapping at the dark ridged demon cock taking form, one hand eagerly fondled and tugged on the nub at the top of the shadowy forms ass. Her mind lingered , and yearned with perverse thoughts as it took shape, length, and eventually snaked back and forth through her fist as she guided its developing length eventually into sight.

There was no doubt in Brandie’s sexual delight of just what was taking form before her, she had read enough Manga, Lovecraft, and more to understand ancient evils, devils, and more. Had she had a more religious childhood, she might’ve felt intimidated, or afraid.

Instead she reveled in embracing the unexpected occult experience, eager to find what the result of such an experience could be, would it gifts her powers?

The idea of what she was doing offending many of the more religious rural kids where she came from excited her further as she slowed fucking her head upon the cock that was growing ever more difficult for her to just swallow.

“Oh… Gods aren’t you beauti… ful…” Brandie gasped, eyes wide with wonder at the beautifully contoured lean figure, smooth glossy black skin trimmed with red lines, a four foot long tail tipped with a spade like head, more flared and mushroom like in its phallic end than simply spear tipped.

As her eyes explored up what Brandie would consider and ideal man’s body a grimacing face took shape from the shadows. A toothy wide grin, smirking knowingly in confident knowledge, with a hint of malice at how thoroughly in control of the girl kneeling before it was, as onyx horns took shape and curve back across its head. Bat like wings spread wide from the figures back to encompass all of Brandie’s sight upon the Idol’s form.

“Are you ready for damnation?”

The words marched into Brandie’s head possessively, their commanding impact upon her mind provoking little more than a passive head no in response.