A demonic encounter

My name is Samyaza, or Sammy or Sam as the inhabitants of Earth have started to call me, and I am an Incubus of the highest order. I was once the leader of watcher angels, but after I convinced those under my command to come down to Earth and, let’s say, “interact” with multitudes of human woman and creating the nephalim, we were kicked out of Heaven and sent to Hell. Jokes on the big guy, because we all just became Incubi and still fraternized with human women, only now they bore cambion children. And it was fairly easy for me, given how powerful I was and how handsome I look. Even if my 6’4, athletic build, brown hair, and 10 inch cock was not enough to sway a woman to fuck, I had other means to convince them. Or, at least, I did. I guess I pissed off the wrong witch or wizard, because I have found myself stuck in a small, statue-like prison for decades. Or, at least, it feels like decades. How long ago was the Vietnam war and all the free love shit?

Either way, I’ve been stuck in this prison since then. I can’t see anything, but I can hear everything. Which is why I know I’m in the car of some witch/actress who’s taking me to another actress. All the while, she’s laying out her plan to me, “Now, I don’t know if you are aware of what’s going on around you, but I’m going to get you out of there. Well, not me personally. I would do it, but it turns out whoever put you in there also put a little surprise for whoever broke it. If they are a man, they die. If they are a woman, they become bound to you and become your ****. Isn’t that a nice double standard? But it’s because of that reason I have to trick someone else to break you out, and her name is Zendaya.”

For the remainder of the car ride, I sit and listen to this woman talk about Zendaya and Zendaya’s life. I don’t exactly know how much I’m hearing is true, and how much is a bit of an over exaggeration since I can hear just the slight tinge of jealousy in her voice , but I don’t care. I’m getting out and it sounds like, when I do get out, I’m going to have a, hopefully, pretty little **** to play with.

I hear the car turn off and she says, “OK, we’re here.” I can hear the car door slam and keys jingling close by, which probably means I’m in her purse or something. After a little bit, I hear knocking on a door and a very nice sounding voice say, “Oh hey, come on in.” I tune out for the majority of the conversation, until I hear, “Do you know what you need to do? Break something.” That’s when I perked up. I can hear her pull out my statue and say, “I made this myself, so don’t worry. I made just in case I ever needed to break something, but it sounds like you may have more need of it than I do.”

“OK, if you say so,” Zendaya says. “Oh, this is kind of heavy.” He can hear her groans. “Just toss it. With all the **** you can muster. Really make it shatter,” the one who brought me says. And before I knew it, I was free. I can finally breathe air and stretch my muscles. I see that the clothes I was wearing went I got put into that infernal thing are still in tact. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” Zendaya screams. I crack my neck and gaze upon my ****.

The one called Zendaya is definitely a beauty. Maybe not as curvy as I would have liked, but nothing a little bit of magic can’t fix. Either way, a **** is a ****. Especially in my weakened state. I haven’t fed on sexual energy in who knows how long, so I’ll take what I can get. “Seriously motherfucker, who the fuck are you?” Zendaya asks again. “Oh, how rude of me. My name is Samyaza. You can call me Sam, Sammy, or, in your case, Master.” I notice her confused look but continue. “I am incubus. If you’ve ever heard of succubus, I’m the male version of one of those. Thank you for breaking me free from my prison.”

“That’s it, asshole! Get the fuck out of my house!” Zendaya demands. Might as well test it out. “Shut up,” I order her. She tries to speak again, but can’t. She grabs onto her fellow actress and tries to plead with her. “Oh, she’s not going to help you.” Zendaya turns to me. “She’s the reason you’re in the situation you’re in anyway.” Zendaya looks back at her, betrayed. “She knew I was trapped in that little statue. She knew that, for me to be free, someone would have to break the statue. And she knew that whoever broke it would have to face some consequences. If you had been a man, you’d be dead. But instead you’re a woman, so you become my ****. Kind of a fucked up thing if you ask me, which is why I highly approve.”

Zendaya tries to punch the other human woman, but I tell her, “Don’t hit her,” and Zendaya can’t make her fist connect. “Get down on your knees,” I tell her and she follows suit. “Take off your top,” I command, and she must obey. To my pleasant surprise, she was not wearing a bra underneath. Not that she had much to support underneath, but it was still a pleasant surprise nevertheless. I can see she is still trying to say, or yell, something. “I’m assuming you have some questions, most likely for her,” I say as I point to the other actress in the room. “So, why not? I’ll allow it,” I tell her. Zendaya turns to the other woman and ask, “How could you do this to me, …?”

(I already have some choices in mind, but feel free to leave some suggestions. Maybe we have the same idea. Maybe you’ll give me someone I never thought of. Or, if inspiration strikes, you could try you hand at writing the suggestion yourself.)