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Lainey had been telling the truth about one thing, anyway: the wood-shop exit door really did pop straight open when Morgan hit it hard enough on the scratched paint just above the handle, and none of the inside doors were locked. It was downright bizarre, roaming around Wake Forest High in the middle of the night in her uniform no less; turned out that school felt a lot bigger and more echoey and also stupidly dry-hot even for August, for some reason, in the middle of the night with no one there and just the emergency lights on.
If she'd been an absolute loser, she would've probably thought that wandering all alone through the dark halls made her feel just like a lab rat that'd been left in the maze overnight -- but Morgan Callahan was one of life's winners, she was a freaking lock for cheer captain once junior year started, she'd been training her ass off so hard she didn't even really need to go through with whatever weird good-luck ritual Lainey had probably just made up anyway, so she mostly thought about how even over the summer the place still smelled grotacious. That weird, eggy, sulfur-y smell like decades of bad lunch cooking only kind of not. It must be baked into the linoleum tiles or something.
Go in the girls' locker room, Lainey had said, and just wait.
It had definitely occurred to Morgan -- thank you, Vice Principal Doyle, for that life-changing mandatory Peer Pressure and YOU! assembly every September! -- that this was probably some kind of hazing thing. Lainey and C.C. and Brittany T. and Sam would probably be there waiting for her, to pass on the torch of Wake Forest Lady Bobcats Varsity Cheer before they left for college. Maybe they'd even have invited a couple of the other girls who thought they had what it took to make captain, just so it would look like a fair contest, even though obviously Morgan was it and there was nothing unfair about that. Probably not, though, or she would've seen or heard someone else sneaking in.
They'd probably spray whipped cream on her and take Polaroids and then give her a drink that made her hurl, that was pretty much Lainey's idea of a great initiation. If they were feeling bad they'd maybe make her get her boobs out first, but probably not. Morgan looked up to Lainey as a cheerleader and a mentor, but Lainey was not the most creative about these things. Morgan already had a freaking list -- two pages, college ruled -- of better ideas for this year's tryouts.
The lights were on, but the locker room was empty. Well, whatever. It wasn't even exactly midnight yet. They were probably waiting in the hallway by the exit door, and was Morgan Callahan enough of a wet retainer band to go hunting around in a panic so they could laugh at her? Absolutely not. She was going to sit on a change bench, wondering like always what some bitch had even done to deserve some other bitch scratching "ASHLEY S = SKANK RAT!!!" into the paint on the radiator where for whatever reason it hadn't been painted over in living memory, and she was going to wait.
The weird thing about midnight, Morgan would spend so much time thinking over the next year or so, was that in real life you didn't even hear it coming. If you were sitting there waiting for it, there should be bells tolling, or a cold wind blowing through the locker room, or something -- she wasn't exactly expecting Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve, but a clock chiming, even, would have been nice. Even the sound of a door opening and closing.
Instead, there was just a tall man in jeans and a black leather jacket stepping quietly from behind a bank of lockers, and the second hand on the wall clock ticking silently right around behind his head.
"What," she said, pretty reasonably all things considered, if this was that older boyfriend Lainey hinted about Morgan was going to kill her, "the hell."
The tall man laughed. "Funny you should say that."
There was something bizarre about his face. It wasn't, like, an empty space in the air with a hat floating over it or any Goosebumps crap like that, he had a face, it was a pretty hot one at that in a middle-aged kind of way, it was just that Morgan was looking straight at him and she knew he was hot, but she couldn't remember from one second to the next exactly what he looked like. Under basically any other circumstances she would have assumed that was sign number oh-crap that someone had messed with her drink, but considering the last thing she'd had to drink was a Diet Sprite from her own fridge at home before she'd even left --
"So like what," she said, with a lot more attitude than she was really feeling deep down, "you're the new janitor or something? You just lurk around the girls' showers all night, or did Lainey pay you to come freak me out?"
"Oh, Elaina," the man said, his voice getting all deep and rumbly and late-night Cinemax, and okay, older boyfriend was sounding like a possibility again. And Morgan didn't think she wanted to be here with that voice, at all, regardless of whether… the light was just hitting him funny, it had to be something like that. "She told me her successor was a real little firecracker, and I have to say she wasn't lying. It's good to finally meet you, Morgan."
Morgan was going to literally kill Lainey. She was going to wait in the backseat of her car and stab her in the freaking neck, real Voorhees-style. Regardless of whether or not Lainey actually did want her to take over as captain.
"Okay, stranger danger," and she could hear her voice wavering up and down a little. She hated it. "Before I pull the effing fire alarm, who are you and what the hell do you want?"
"You wouldn't like to guess?" the man said, leaning back against the lockers with a slouch to his shoulders that should really not have looked as cool as it did. Or Morgan shouldn't have had time to notice. One of those.
"No, asshole," she said, and he laughed again.
"What are they teaching in these schools nowadays? You modern girls are greeted by a dark man in the woods at midnight, offering you your heart's desire, and half of you pull out a rape whistle."
Morgan was absolutely going to get a rape whistle, assuming she got out of this. Assuming she hadn't been Silence of the Lambs-ed all the way to a concussion in the parking lot outside the municipal pool earlier that afternoon, and that Mr. Faceless wasn't about to freaking murder her whether she was hallucinating or not, and she wasn’t going full psycho. Every single one of those ideas was more reassuring than what she was pretty sure he was implying.
"This isn't even the woods," she snapped, and he shook his head almost sadly, like a teacher who'd been really expecting her to care about the Spanish-American War.
"It was once. It will be again. You mustn't let an incompetent city planner in the early nineteen-fifties have too much say over these things in the long term."
"So you think you're, what," Morgan said, and the concussion theory was showing merit, if how stupidly light-headed she felt had anything to do with it. "The Devil?"
"I don't think," the dark man said. "I know, and therefore I am. And I know you're Morgan Geraldine Callahan, maid of this parish, rising junior, varsity cheer captain hereafter. If you want that power badly enough."
"You think I'd make a deal with the devil for cheer captain?" Never mind that no one, literally no one outside her family, was supposed to know about her stupid middle name -- one of her brothers had probably thought it was funny to tell everyone how she and Nana Geri had the same birthday, or Brittany T. could have broken into the vice-principal's office again and read her file, she was probably hallucinating and brain damaged but she wasn't challenged --
"You left your home secretly and broke into a deserted building in the dead of night for it," the dark man pointed out, "what's one more little risk?" And he. Morgan could see his eyes, now. They were black, all across the iris, with a thread-thin little circle of orange-gold twisting and flickering around the pupil, and she was standing in the woods at midnight with a hot summer wind blowing through the trees on all sides, talking to the Devil.
He was right. It really didn't matter that much, her knowing the whole time that they were still in a striplit locker room that smelled like bleach and matches. The way he thought about it, everything that had ever been built on the clear-cut woods was about as permanent in the long run as a zit. She could feel that, somehow, when he looked into her that way.
"Besides," he added, all casually, "if we come to terms, you and I will be working together for decades to come. Or did you really think you'd be content to graduate two years from now and diminish back to a small fish in a very large, indifferent ocean? You with that nasty, self-centered, ambitious mind of yours? You want me, Morgan, just the same way I want you."
He said it all like it was a compliment. Coming from him, she guessed, it would be. She couldn't really stop thinking about Jase calling her you selfish cunt at the top of his lungs the last time she broke up with him; that had been the last time she'd felt like she might literally cry, over what was actually going on right then, instead of having to force it up on cue by thinking really hard about sad music and space and Where the Red Fern Grows. It had sounded a lot less complimentary.
"So," she said, "say I wanted to be cheer captain and for Jase Murphy to get wasted and run his frigging Camaro into a tree --"
The Devil laughed out loud. Really laughed, loud enough to echo off the lockers like a whole class stampeding through the door. "I'd ask how many pieces you'd like him in."
"Well, don't kill him," Morgan said automatically, before she caught up with herself. "And I didn't agree to anything yet. What's the catch?"
"No catch," and yeah, sure, she was going to fall for that, but he kept right on talking. "I advance your desires in the world. You advance mine. As Elaina did by sending you along tonight, for example."
It couldn't always be that simple, but Morgan thought she could see what he meant anyway. "Would I go to Hell when I die?"
The Devil looked her up, and down, and up again, and for someone whose face she was still having trouble concentrating on, he could be pretty expressive. "There's Hell," he said at last, "and then there's Hell. If I were in your shoes, I'd be asking myself instead what kind of neighborhood I preferred to reside in once I arrived. My associates have claim to a rather nicer one than they might be bound for otherwise."
"Rude much," Morgan said, but she realized she was giggling a little. It still sounded pretty much like a compliment, coming from him. Kind of flirty, even. "And you're still telling me Lainey made a deal with you? Lainey who doesn't even check the answers at the end of the book before she does her homework, that Lainey?"
"Every varsity captain since the school was built," the Devil said, and: okay, wow. "Other schools, as well. Your people have engineered a remarkably efficient recruitment system all on their own."
It actually stung a little, knowing he made the same offer to every new cheer captain every other year or so; but if she looked at it a little differently, it was almost kind of cool. Like a really choosy sorority, or something -- there was a whole tradition, and most of the team still wouldn't even be allowed to know she'd gotten in.
"So if I went for it," she said, "what would I have to do to sign up? Do I have to kill a goat or something? Because you should know I'm not, like, amazing with blood."
"No," the Devil said. "No goats. No blood, as such."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little black-leather memo book with a pen clipped to it; it was worn and kind of small, but it was small in the same way his face was handsome. Morgan had a feeling she wasn't quite seeing the whole thing at once, and that it should bother her a lot more than it was starting to.
"You'd merely sign here," he said, "and then we'd consummate our agreement, and then -- the sky's the limit."
"Consummate," Morgan said, and stopped. The Devil didn't say anything. "You mean like -- consummate-consummate? Like, you want to hook up? Here?"
"Is that a dealbreaker?" the Devil said, sounding like he knew it wasn't.
I don't turn sixteen for another three months, Morgan didn't say. I basically haven't, I mean, just the tip, and it bled a little, but I made him pull out and come on my stomach, does that even count? she didn't say. Lainey hooked up with the Devil? she also didn't say.
"What if it is?" she said.
The Devil shrugged. He shrugged -- so she could kind of tell he was playing her, that didn't actually matter so much. "Then go in peace, and I'll tell Elaina to notify her first alternate. No hard feelings. You won't even remember me at all, and soon I won't much remember you."
"Define consummate," Morgan said.
He grinned. She could tell he did, and that there were a lot of teeth, and that it made her feel incredibly weird and hot-cold and squirmy inside. "This from yet another of you? No, you can't merely suck me and call it good. I'll need complete satisfaction from your cunt before the deal is made -- fear not, I'll do everything in my power to make it pleasant for you as well."
Jesus' tits, Morgan's heart was going into overtime about that all of a sudden, and to be totally honest so was her crotch -- she still really wasn't sure she actually wanted to do this, not for its own sake, she was just crazy aware that he was saying all of that and he was actually going to insist on doing it, or else sending her home to be boring and ordinary and second best for the rest of her life and probably doomed to a cruddy part of Hell afterwards unless she became a literal nun or something --
"Do you at least have a condom?" she said.
The Devil clicked his tongue. He was still smiling, and there were still all those teeth, but it was kind of affectionate at the same time -- it was kind of like the way Dad looked at Stephanie and the baby, and definitely not at Mom or her or either of her douchebag brothers. Not that she blamed him about Mom or the douchebags. "That won't be necessary. I can't make you ill, or impregnate you without a good deal of preparation on your part."
"Isn't that what guys always say?" Morgan said, and he shrugged again. There obviously wasn't anything else he felt like contributing.
Think about this logically, Morgan thought: Lainey had done it, apparently. Morgan had been a freshman when Lainey made captain, and she hadn't started barfing off-schedule or eating raw hamburger or crying about how she was going to die from having unsafe sex with the Devil, had she? There was the whole Prince of Lies thing to keep in mind, obviously, but he'd been doing this for a really long time; given some of the cheer captains the Lady Bobcats had had, most of the school would have gotten sick at some point if that was something that could happen. It had to at least be more interesting than taking the same risk with normal guys. If she had to ever find out who Lainey's first alternate was, then whether or not she remembered the Devil she would literally let the skank rat fall head-first onto a gym floor as soon as she could pass it off as an accident, and she still probably wouldn't get another chance.
"If you give me the Satan herp, I swear, I'll figure out how to kick your ass," she said, and -- teeth, again, with a somehow weird-looking flicker of tongue behind them. "Do I sign first, or what?"
He handed her the memo book, already folded open. Elaina M. Girardi, 08/26/1995, the last line on that page read, sure enough, and Chelsea Halberstein, 08/07/1994 before that, right back to Natalie-Anne Brucker, 12/26/1981 -- huh, she'd have to find out sometime what happened over Christmas break that year. Maybe she could ask him.
Morgan G. Callahan, 08/03/1997, she signed, taking the extra time to make the G as swirly and ornate as possible, and then that was it, she guessed; she'd made a deal with the Devil, or at least half of one. Something way deeper than her brain was telling her that trying to skip out on the other half would be the dumbest thing anyone had ever done in their life since the beginning of time, so instead she just clipped the pen into place and gave the Devil back his book.
"Okay, Coach," she said. "Now what?"
He kissed her. She hadn't been expecting that, somehow; or not that he'd tilt her chin up in one very hot dry hand like she should have had a veil for him to lift, and kiss her pretty much the same way. Slow and serious and her eyes were staring to close for a second, until he licked at her mouth with a tongue that was longer, seriously longer and squirmier and forked what the hell oh my God, than it should have been, and she flinched straight backwards into the lockers.
It made a lot of noise. He was watching her and smiling like she was a kitten who'd just run into the porch doors for the ten thousandth time and would probably go to ten thousand more before she learned what glass was.
"What the fuck," she said, and he raised one eyebrow and ran his tongue -- what the fuck -- across his lips and somehow she still couldn't entirely get the hang of what his face looked like. She wondered if he'd be okay with turning the lights out when they actually did it; she'd get through that somehow, but unless his face settled down it was going to be freaky as hell to have to look at him, during. "Okay, you did not say anything about that."
"You didn't ask," she knew he was going to say even before he did. "I'm the Devil, little one. Did you expect me to be exactly as mortal men?"
Morgan seriously wasn't ready for her eyes to drag down to his crotch, and there was no way she could have stopped herself if her life depended on it. There was definitely a bulge there, and it wasn't a small one, but she couldn't really tell through his jeans whether or not it was the exact right shape --
"No differences that would harm you," he said, which answered exactly almost none of her questions and raised a lot more even more urgent and scary ones. "Some even find mortals rather unexciting afterwards."
He flicked his tongue at her, like a snake. All of his tongue. And that -- she was a lot less ready to go through with this than she thought she'd been, but also suddenly a hell of a lot hotter and shakier about it. She could barely ever even get boys to root around in her pussy for three minutes like they were trying to lick an envelope in the dark, and it was never worth it --
His nostrils flared. She wasn't even sure how she could tell.
"Are you smelling me?" was all she could quite manage to say, and she couldn't even believe she was hearing herself say it, out loud, to the Devil, who she was apparently about to lose her past-the-tip virginity with in a locker room whether his dick worked like human ones or not.
"Of course," he said, like it was just something people could do. "Did you feel yourself, just then? You were wet, but now you're on course to drench to your thighs. You want me to lick that up more than you've wanted a man in your life, don't you? I'll oblige."
"If that's your tongue, why doesn't your voice sound weird?" Morgan asked instead of exactly answering, because she was pretty sure she did. Or at least she'd die from not knowing what it felt like if he didn't, and that was like the same thing even if she had no idea, honestly, how she was going to survive this anyway.
"What makes you think I'm speaking aloud?" he said, and before she could even begin to think about trying to work up to dealing with that, he crooked his finger at her and she stood up away from the lockers and went back to him before she even had a second to think wait, no.
"No," she said too late, gazing up into his eyes -- she could see the ring in them, again -- and he smiled.
"Don't run, and I won't bring you back," he said. When he put it like that it kind of made sense, after a minute, even if the type of sense it made pretty much sucked. She'd said yes to the Devil; he wasn't exactly famous for allowing take-backs. You could maybe say yes to Jase Murphy and then change your mind, if you were lucky, but Jase was a high school football player who could barely count to twenty-one with his jockstrap on. Once you signed up with the Devil you were pretty much committed either way, so you might as well go easy on yourself and commit.
This time when he kissed her Morgan was ready for it, and it was pretty nice once her reflexes gave up on screaming at her about how that was not a human tongue -- he could be really delicate with it, and he didn't put it much further in her mouth than a normal tongue could have gone, and he literally growled quietly when she had the idea to suck on it a little. Really growled, out loud, so she could feel it in her bones. It was even weirder and more shivery than getting used to Frenching at all had been, back in seventh grade, but at least he knew how to use the tongue he had -- of course he did, he was the Devil, he'd probably consummated more women than she'd ever meet in her lifetime. She wondered if she was going to be memorable at all, for him.
"How much different?" she blurted, when he let her up for air. It wasn't really what she'd meant to say right away, or how she'd meant to say it, but she got the feeling he thought she was cute at least. "Um. Your dick. How much different than normal guys?"
"Would you like to see?" the Devil said, sounding very reasonable. Morgan wasn't positive that like was the right word for it, but then again she had asked, and if she saw it at least she'd have seen it, in person, without having to rely on him to describe it.
"Sure," she said, "why not," and reached out half on instinct. The Devil huffed a little laugh, but he let her go ahead and unbutton the perfectly normal fly of his jeans to expose a perfectly normal pair of black cotton boxer-briefs, until something about it -- how much he could almost be anyone at all, standing there in the harsh light with his hard-on bulging in his shorts, and how much all her senses knew he really wasn't -- just froze her right in place.
She was kind of expecting him to force her hand, or to just whip it out regardless; not to do what he did, which was smile and stroke her hair back from her cheek very gently. Like she was just the sweetest thing, God, like she was some quivery little church girl that was maybe too young in the first place to see anyone's dick at all. If any normal guy, even one a lot older than her, had made her feel like that, she would have freaking punched him in the crotch; as it was, it pissed her off just fine, but at the same time it made her all hot and achy and so wound up she was starting to feel swollen, like even standing with her legs together was going to be an adventure pretty soon.
She was pretty sure that the way she pulled his underwear down was about as hot as the way she'd pick up a stranger's gym clothes from the locker room floor at the end of the semester, all tensed up and mostly using her fingertips, but she did it and he didn't seem to mind.
His dick, under there, was -- it was big, she'd already gathered that much, standing up straight as a freaking tower, but she was pretty sure it wasn't actually longer than it was possible for a regular human one to be. The exact shape of it was enough to honestly make her a little dizzy -- thick and veiny and getting thicker all the way down, with a precome-wet head that looked about twice as big as the normal kind -- but, Morgan told herself firmly, at least he only had one of those, and it wasn't forked or anything. Ever since the tongue came out she'd been trying really hard not to remember that book about snakes that Kyle J. had found in the reference section one time. She could get enough of that inside her, somehow, for it to count when he got off.
"Jesus," she couldn't help saying anyway, and then almost immediately, "sorry."
The Devil ruffled her hair again. "Never mind. You're not precisely devout enough to give it any meaning but the flattering one."
"Should I, um," and Morgan really didn't know how to finish that sentence. She didn’t even want to have started it. She was starting to think it was going to be easier to get that inside her pussy than it would be for her to blow him; at least all she'd have to do, herself, would be lie down and not crawl away or die while he was putting it in.
"Some other time for that," the Devil said, which was enough of a relief to be stupid bewildering -- maybe there was some kind of technicality, where they wouldn't really be consummated if he put it in her mouth first, or something like that. Morgan was going to have to do a ton of research about all of this, as soon as she figured out how. "Did you not still want me to lick out your cunt?"
All of the straight-up disbelief Morgan was feeling about everything must have been showing. He smirked -- she could tell, even though his face looked even less definite when his dick was out and more positively there and itself and impossible to lose track of than anything else in the world -- and flicked his tongue at her again, and she guessed that made sense in its own way. She had to admit she did want that, as much as she wanted anything specific out of him touching her, but also she was going to freak the entire way out if he even thought any harder about licking anywhere but her mouth. That was probably what he was trying to do, by saying it. He was practically daring her to puss out.
"I mean," she said, "sure, if you'd rather not just go for it."
He tsked again, and pulled her back in -- close enough that his dick was pressing against her and giving her some urgent thoughts about how wide any of her actually was down there, but she was going to worry about that later -- and licked her neck, all the way from her shirt-collar to the back of her ear, without needing to bend his head any lower than he had to kiss her on the mouth.
"Oh Jesus fuck," Morgan said. For a hot second she was either going to pass out or decide that she'd have absolutely no problem with him shoving his dick inside her right now, or probably both -- she didn't quite feel it all the way for more than a second, but it was enough to make her wobble on her feet. The Devil grabbed her by the elbows, steadying her, those hands were really hot, and he was laughing out loud at her again but that was probably okay. She could see where it would be kind of funny, if she'd been watching it happen to some other bitch. "Yeah. Yes. Um. Okay. Please?"
The Devil pulled his jacket off with a movement that made it look kind of like a bullfighter cape, and draped it over the end of the change bench; the bench was pretty wide and high enough to sit on without crouching, and after a second she figured out that what he had in mind was probably for her to lie down along it with her hips right up at the edge and her feet planted on the floor. Morgan was on the small side even for a flyer, and that worked out okay once she got herself settled in, but it was -- it was the most bizarre thing she could imagine, lying there staring up at the familiar greenish cinderblock walls and the shower-pipes and the weird stain on the acoustic tiles while the literal Devil was about to put his tongue way too far up her.
"Is there like a reason we have to do this here?" she said, her voice coming out in a little baby-whine from her knotted-up insides, and he smiled.
"It's a home of power for you, isn't it?" the Devil said, and got right down on his knees in front of her like it was him about to pray. Morgan was pretty sure she said oh, and then said it again when he unlaced her sneakers and set them aside. "And there's a certain perverse charm. Comfortable?"
She was, pretty much as possible -- his jacket was a lot softer than it looked like it should be, it did an okay job of cushioning the edge of the bench from digging into her ass and it smelled kind of like matches and pipe tobacco -- and then he reached out with those big hot hands and pushed her knees apart, just like opening a book, until she was spread wide enough that he could just lean straight up her cheer skirt and grind his nose and mouth right into the center seam of her shorts, so hard she was convinced she felt him grinning, and make kind of a rough noise like an animal smelling something way too good. Morgan's entire body arced, shaking, toes to head, like she'd grabbed an electric fence.
She was pushing right back up against his face, pretty much dry-humping his face except there was absolutely nothing dry going on, before she could even figure out how to feel something that overwhelming. He let her do it for a little while, until she could feel herself getting into a mechanical kind of rhythm that reminded her of the way guys would start to pump at her mouth or her fist when they were about to come, and then he sat back and yanked her shorts and her panties off together, almost in one movement. Morgan, feverish, expected him to go right in again, but he sat there on his heels for a second and just watched her while her hips thrust and she could feel something fluttering open and shut right where he was looking -- was she shaved enough for this? was she maybe shaved too much? -- and then she didn't know why she'd expected something else.
"Is it okay?" she said, still in that baby-voice, Jesus, as overwhelmed as she was she wanted to literally kill herself for asking that, just find a freaking mop bucket to drown herself in right away, and he smoothed his hands hard up her thighs like he could massage the embarrassment right out of her.
"This?" He flicked his tongue out and caught her right at the very top, right at the exact point where her split started, and she heard herself make a noise that was more like a sick kitten even than a baby. "Morgan. It's perfect."
He went back in while she was still wondering why she liked how much that sounded like he was going to eat-eat her. To begin with he was just as delicate about it as he'd been with her mouth: little smeary kisses up along the sides of her, which made her need to grind on him again, and the narrow flexible points of his tongue licking at the outside edges of her slit. He was being so obvious about not putting it in her, after all that, and she was still jerking her hips and moaning and starting to squeal like a bad porno, like no one in the real world could possibly sound and mean it, with how good it was and how much she wanted more.
The Devil hummed right against her and went up and got her clit in the fork of his tongue, wrapped it in the fork of his tongue so he could lick it hard and twisty and invasive from both sides at once, over and over and over, and Morgan thrashed on the bench and made a sound even a porno slut would've had to tone down and came her brains out for the first fucking time in her life.
She hadn't realized how involuntary that would be once it got started, or how having an orgasm would feel like something under pressure was trapped inside her and getting out any way it could, or how he wouldn't stop licking her the entire time. If he'd let her rest she was pretty sure her legs would already be jello city, like the harshest workout ever, and he didn't; he eased up on her clit when it started feeling raw enough to make her flinch, but that only meant he slid back down and started with the border of her again. It felt like his tongue was highlighting the way she kept squeezing on nothing, like there was about to be a test about how any minute now all this wasted space inside her would be as full of him as it could possibly get, and whether she liked that or not wasn't exactly going to be relevant.
"Oh God," she was chanting, she hoped he'd been telling the truth about not minding that, "oh God, oh my God, put it up me, put your tongue up me, please, please, please," and she could almost feel all her self-consciousness switch off the moment she heard herself say it; there was nothing more embarrassing she really could say.
And then it wasn't embarrassing at all anyway, because he did. Just like that -- slow but steady, like every inch of the inside of her might taste a little different and he wanted to find out for sure, or more probably because he liked how she gasped when he licked into her, and then started to moan when he kept on going and going. She could feel the points of his tongue moving, almost tickling at her, did he taste things differently with that part? Or was he just trying to make her laugh and whine and screech with the end of her breath all at once, fuck, it was so good and he got so deep. She'd had no idea how deep her own pussy was, really, how far up inside her anyone could get if they had some part of them that would reach.
The Devil and his fucking tongue could keep going until he licked something that made her squawk and flinch; he laughed, right up into her, but he eased off a little and went back down to -- was that her g-spot he was lapping at? Cosmo couldn't make up its damn mind whether there was such a thing, but when it thought yes it thought high up and in the front, and more importantly he'd definitely found something that buzzed her with wet-nasty-good every time he went after it. Morgan was squeezing up on his tongue, it was just -- awful, too slick and too twisty and soft to feel right at all, but she was going to die for real if he stopped any time soon.
He'd been not stopping for a while when she realized he hadn't even backed off any to breathe, and that was -- that should've scared her some more, she could tell, it should've at least made her want to take her panties and go home, it was really just par for the course of tonight that what she did instead was moan all the way from her toes and wrap her legs around his head. He liked that, she was pretty sure, from the way he mmed into her and licked slower and snakier, like he just lived for little baby human girls holding him down in their snatch, like he wasn't just letting her run up the bill while he got hornier and hornier so he could really tear her apart once it was her turn to pay up. Already she could tell he was going to wreck her for human guys, human guys couldn't do this, anyway she was probably going to be so loose and used-up forever, once she'd had his dick in her, that someone like Jase wouldn't even touch the sides --
She made a noise like a porno slut getting murdered and humped up into his face, found an angle where she could kind of rub her clit off against his upper lip while his tongue was still all the way in her, and came again just like that, like dropping a match and watching it run along a trail of gasoline faster and faster until the whole fucking house blew up in hot light and surround-sound.
She wasn't positive when he'd backed off, exactly. By the time she could open her eyes and look down along the twitching, splay-legged wreck of her own body, he was sitting back on his heels, licking her juices off his face -- he was wet all the way to his eyebrows, even if his tongue wasn't reaching much farther than a normal one could've, even if she was still having much too much trouble concentrating on more than one feature at a time. It was hard enough thinking about how it was her pussy that'd snail-trailed all over him like that, Jesus, she felt filthy even before he got on his feet and loomed over her with his goddamn dick still out and looking fatter and wetter around the tip than ever.
"Stand up," the Devil said, pretty mildly all things considered, and Morgan was just about ready to tell him there was no way she could do that for another year or so, except apparently she could. Her knees were shaking like crazy and there was no way she could be far enough out of it to like standing barefoot on the locker room floor without at least her shower flip-flops, but she did it and he smiled at her like she'd just taken off without training wheels for the very first time. "Good. Are you eager to take my cock?"
"Fuck no," Morgan said absolutely honestly, even though she could feel herself clench a little on the memory of his tongue in her.
"That's all right," the Devil said, all soothing. "As long as you can comply, there's no need for you to be entirely prepared yet. It'll come in time. Do you understand that you've agreed to spread your legs for me and let me satisfy myself completely in your cunt?"
"I literally cannot understand anything else while you have it out like that," Morgan snapped, and he smiled.
"That's all we need, then," he said. "Turn around and bend over the bench."
Morgan turned, pretty much with the sole intention in mind of demonstrating that she was pretty flexible but maybe not in the kind of shape to get pounded with her hands on a bench that was barely knee-height to him, and somehow it wasn't even surprising that while her back was turned to him the bench had silently risen up a lot higher, like some freaky dentist-chair hydraulics, until it was right on a level with her hips. She bent over along the length of it, her cheek pressed against the warm tobacco-and-her-smelling leather of his jacket, without even asking if he was going to put it back when he was finished.
It wasn't too uncomfortable like that but doggy-style really wouldn't have been even Morgan's third choice for losing the remnants of her cherry. She felt like the ultimate in sluthood even before he tsked and swatted at the backs of her legs to make her spread, even though that would probably have been a given anyway, and it at least solved the issue of looking at his face while he did it. It started the issue of her feeling like what she had down there was an honest to God gash, all red and puffed up and so wet she could feel some trickling down her thighs, but maybe he was into that. Probably he was into that, considering he'd been diving in it just a minute ago.
She squeaked and jumped in place a little when his big hot hands closed over her hipbones to adjust her form, but she went with it, and managed not to do much other than burrow her face into the jacket when he slid them up over her ass and then down again to spread her pussy open with his fingers, probably so he could stare right back up it again. It felt like he was staring right up it.
"You're more or less a virgin at heart, aren't you?" he murmured, so quiet and deep that Morgan could feel it rumbling in her bones. "Delicious. Be easy, child, this won't hurt nearly as much as you imagine it."
That was all right for him to say, but right as he said it he took one hand off her ass and used it to line his dick up with her, nestling the head right in against her slit, and Morgan was pretty sure it wasn't his job to decide how much it would hurt. Just the head of Jase's had been less fun than getting her teeth cleaned, and he'd literally die of low self-esteem if he could see what the Devil was packing --
He pushed, and Morgan was way more than braced to know how a door hit with a battering ram felt, but it didn't quite get that bad at all. He was lined up pretty well with her pussy, or something, and she was crazy wet, and the first thrust didn't exactly get his dick into her but it got her stretched right open around the widest part of him. Not quite painful, but so sudden and white-hot-shocking that she yelled and bit down on the jacket underneath her -- maybe doggy-style was the right idea, she thought hysterically, if she was going to whine like a little bitch the whole time.
"Good," he literally growled, and pushed again. That got him about as far in as Jase ever had, and about a fucking galaxy's worth of wider, and she wasn't sure whether or not she wanted him to just force it the rest of the way in and get his load shot as soon as possible. The Devil surprised her again, though; he didn't really give her any time to get used to it, but he kept on opening her up in slow forceful rocking thrusts, not even an inch at a time probably, which kept it right on the edge of exactly painful but left her with way too much space to really think about what he was doing and how it would look if anyone walked in to see her there, still in her uniform and getting nailed to an inch of her life over the bench.
"Jesus," she gasped, and clenched down on him so hard that even she couldn't tell whether her pussy was trying to wall him out or milk him dry right there. It didn't really succeed either way -- he just kept nudging at her insides until she eased up and let him start rocking again. "Jesus, fuck, fuck, that's too big. You have to take it out."
"Morgan." This time he thrust harder, sliding right up towards what might have been the spot he'd been licking, and she whooped like he'd punched the air right out of her. That got him deep enough that she could really feel it starting to get thicker again, and fuck, the rest of the empty space inside her felt so swollen and tight and sore that she was almost looking forward to him pushing through it, just for a different kind of ache. "You know what you and I agreed. Does it really hurt you?"
"Yes," she snapped, and then shut her mouth -- it did, it burned, the way he was forcing her open, but there was hurting and hurting and this could still be a good kind, a skill she didn't quite have but could get in this workout if she kept reaching for it, if she hadn't been that panicky about how much of his dick there was left to go. Too much further and she'd be impaled on him, spitted like a pig, definitely ruined.
"I see. Lift up your hips -- no, like so, present your cunt to me," and she still had no idea how he could say things like that or how she could listen, but she obeyed and it did seem to open her a little bit, even before he slid one hand palm-up into the narrow space between her hips and, the bench. He had to grope around a little before he could get two fingertips in against her clit, but that almost didn't matter -- just the hot firm pressure on her mound was enough to make her yelp and try to thrust into his palm. "Hm. Better?"
"Yea-uh," not even really surprised when he started fucking again, but this time every thrust shoved her right into his hand, and he pressed his fingers against her clit in a rhythm that reminded her too much of what he'd been doing with his tongue, "oh, God, oh my God."
"I thought so." He grabbed hold of her hip with his other hand while she was still indignant and breathless and trying to rub into his fingers, and he just -- went for it, and didn't stop, and kept playing with her clit like that would make her stop caring about how her pussy couldn't tell if it was winding up to come all over him or if it was getting broken, God, she was bitch-whining again, slamming her fist against the bench. Pull it together, she thought, and didn't.
She made a hurt, hiccupy sound when his balls slapped against her, and then -- there he was, and even through the staticky panicky shock of understanding that, Morgan was pretty good at knowing what went on with anyone she stunted with, at least when it came to bodies. She could feel him so tensed up through the hips he was practically crackling, and it didn't really shock her at all this time when he grunted and went back to rubbing her clit and just -- pumped her, in-out, in-out, every thrust and every twist of his fingers knocking the whole world ass over elbows all over again. God she was wet. She could hear it every time he moved, sick sticky loud little smacking noises just so it'd be perfectly clear how bad she'd wanted this.
She was gripping the bench, she realized, stretched out along it like her top half was trying to trench-crawl away, and fuck, he could get so deep. It felt like he had to be in there deeper than her twat went, like his dick must be running parallel to her spine, and right as she thought that the Devil pinched her clit, hard, and she came on him again.
It was different again, this time, stuffed full of him the way she was -- deeper, shakier, rough like cheap car speakers with the bass cranked up so high that you couldn't hear the music for the buzzing. She was pretty sure she was crying -- real big wet choking ugly tears -- even before it really got started, and about halfway convinced she was about to either snap like a wishbone or pee on him or possibly die, and it just kept going. She was coming like her pussy had had years of it saved up, one for every time a guy had come in her mouth or her hand or on her boobs without even seeming to know that she had a clit, and it'd barely even peaked, really, when the Devil grunted and grabbed her hips in both hands and yanked her all the way back on his dick right in time for the base of it to throb in a weird way she could feel even through the way her pussy was clutching on him, and then to so goddamn suddenly swell twice its width and so hard that it felt like an iron ball inside her right at the base of the shaft that was still coring her out.
If she'd ever been kicked in the ribcage from the inside out, Morgan was pretty sure, it would've felt about like that. It fucking hurt, and the way her pussy kind of spazzed and came a little more in a hot painful needly way could only have been shock. It started screaming hard enough once that was over, anyway, about how the tongue had been one thing but this was just wrong.
"What the fuck," she said -- quietly, almost calmly, if it weren't for how raw and hurt and fucking deranged her voice sounded. "What the fuck, what the fuck, take it out, I changed my mind --"
"You know I can't, child," the Devil said, sounding almost gentle -- he wasn't holding her in place with his hands anymore, his dick was doing more than enough of the work there, and he was palming big hot circles right over her back, up to her shoulderblades and down to the dip above her ass. "You wouldn't like it at all, would you, if I tried to do that before the knot goes down entirely?"
"I don't fucking like it at all now," Morgan said, pretty reasonably she thought under the circumstances, and he laughed.
"Don't you?" The ball -- the knot? God, wasn't that what dogs had? -- didn't quite completely stop him from moving in her, that was the part that made her really feel like she was going insane. It just kept him to microscopic little thrusts, probably not even half an inch back and forth, that felt like the entire fucking universe was shifting around in her pussy. Jesus, forget ruined, there wasn't going to be a word for how sloppy and stretched she'd be forever. "Then you'd best relieve it for me quickly, hadn't you? Clench. Good girl. Again --"
He fucking roared, she was pretty sure, when he started to come in her. The sound hurt her ears all the way down to her feet, but it wasn't anything really in comparison to what his come felt like -- it was cold inside her, even though his dick still felt like hot iron, and it was much too thick, and just the first shot of it was already way more than it should have been. The cold made it too easy to feel that, just how much thick slithery come he was pumping into her, how he was still fucking right through it in those careful little thrusts and how even before he stopped coming she could feel it starting to leak out around the knot that was pretty much holding her upright, and there was nothing left for her to do then but bite down on his jacket and let another one of those sharp, shaky, painful little orgasms wipe through her and force out even more of his come along with her own juices.
The knot didn't go down at all when he stopped coming that first time. Morgan wasn't really surprised about that.
She'd lost track, by the time she limped out of the school, of how many rounds he'd gone by the time it softened up, or how long she'd spent afterwards locked in a stall with her arms wrapped around herself and room-temperature Devil jizz running out of her. She almost expected it to be getting light out, if it wasn't actually full morning; she really didn't expect it to be just as dark as when she'd broken in, or for Lainey goddamn Girardi's shiny little red Saab to be parked right up at the curb with the lights on and the doors open and fucking Lainey leaning against the hood.
Fucking Lainey shrieked, when she saw Morgan, and clapped her hands, and bounced up onto her toes, and raced up onto the sidewalk to drag Morgan into one of her famous long warm Green Tea-scented hugs. "Oh my God! Look at you, poor honey, I. Knew. He was going to love you -- did you love it? Was it amazing? It was amazing, right? Even though it was kind of harsh?"
Morgan was too shaky to break the hug as hard as she'd need to if she wanted to drop Lainey on her skank rat Devil-pimping ass. Save it for another time, she guessed. Right now she mostly wanted a shower. There was still way more stuff dripping down her leg than she could really think about.
"I don't know what the fuck that was," she said, still sounding all scratched-out and raw, and Lainey cooed.
"Oh, I know, I felt so bad that I couldn't tell you -- are you just, like, super sore?"
"Of course not," Morgan snapped, pulling away. It was eerie, how offended Lainey didn't look. "I shove a fucking baseball bat up my snatch every night. Things were starting to get too loose down there for that to be any fun."
Lainey just -- kept standing there, looking sympathetic and thrilled and trying hard not to laugh all at once. It was really starting to screw with Morgan's head.
"Okay, so back when it was my turn, I slapped Chelsea H. in the face afterwards," she said, and somehow that managed to be nearly the most messed-up thing Morgan had heard all night. Lainey, ordinarily, was such a sugary little fucking Pollyanna that Morgan should probably have guessed there was Satanism involved in her becoming cheer captain. There was just no way someone like her could survive the Lady Bobcats otherwise. "Like, right in the face? Like, she had a mark afterwards from my ring? So I fully get it. The first time is so much to deal with, but it’s so good too, and that's why I knew you were it, right? You're so tough, and you're so competitive, like, can you imagine any of the other girls being able to make the most of having him in their life? When you think about it?"
When she thought about it, Morgan was too tired not to admit that Lainey might have had a point. It didn't exactly make her less angry, but it made her think about the possibilities a little more than she'd been able to do before the Devil got his dick out.
"I think I asked him to make it so Jase got in a car accident," she said grudgingly. "Or, like, I'm going to ask him, if that time didn't count. So I guess there's that."
Lainey did laugh at that, and clapped her hands again. "I love it! I so love it. And, um, I can give you a ride home if you maybe wanna lie down in the back?"
She'd put down a whole stack of thick cotton towels over the backseat, and there was a Bobcats water bottle on it and a little orange pill bottle that contained, apparently, twelve out of sixty codeine Tylenol prescribed for Althea Girardi by Barry Michaelis DDS. Morgan still kind of hated Lainey's guts, but not enough to keep her from wanting to cry again out of sheet gratitude.
"Take two and keep the rest, okay?" Lainey said while Morgan was still fumbling with the stupid childproof cap. Her hands didn't exactly feel like her own. "Mom won’t notice. And, um, I have some frozen peas if you want an ice pack? Or Epsom salts are good too, once you get home? And if you bag up your uniform when you change, I’ll take it later to get cleaned. I promise it’ll all feel totally normal down there in a day or two, and from now on he'll just let you do the other stuff if you want unless it’s like a special occasion."
The clock on the dashboard said 12:17. Morgan decided she was too tired for that, either.
"Hey," she said, staring up at the roof of the car instead, thinking about the Devil's eyes, thinking about how reasonable Lainey sounded. "Can he -- like -- can he do mind control a little?"
"I think so," Lainey said seriously, thoughtfully. "Or -- not like bwoooo, mind control? Just… you know how when you make a decision, you can imagine how there's all these things you might do? I think he sometimes just makes the one that works for him seem like a really good idea, is all."
Bwoooo, mind control, Morgan thought, might not have been worse. "And you're fine with that?"
"It's still me." Lainey eased the car away from the curb, slowly, not too slowly for Morgan to wince when they hit a crack in the pavement. She'd believe it when she saw it about her pussy being okay within a day or two, but she guessed Lainey would know. "You know? It's still something I might have done anyway. Like what would you not just offer to do if someone could make it so Jase gets in a car accident, right?"
“That?” Morgan said, but even she could tell she didn’t sound positive. She still hated the idea of someone else making captain, when she considered it, maybe even more than she’d hated what just happened -- that had had good parts, hadn’t it? Even having his dick inside her had been… it had hurt, it had made her feel gross, but regular guys could do that too without her coming on it so many times that she lost count of herself as well, right? And if he’d be mostly okay from now on just doing the other stuff -- there was no fucking way she was going to try and swallow, but if he did the tongue thing some more, would she actually mind jerking him off?
Well, maybe yeah, if he was going to come that much every time, but at least now she knew about it she could be careful to put her clothes away beforehand. She just couldn’t do it in her bedroom, that was all, but he was the Devil. If he couldn’t figure something out about that, probably no one could.
They’d be working together for the rest of her life, he’d said. What could she actually get, if she had the Devil as basically her personal coach for the rest of her life? Was there anything, really, that she couldn’t?
“From now on you have to tell me things,” she said, and Lainey made a happy little noise.
“Um, duh. We’re basically sisters now, right? You are going to die once you find out how awesome the Halloween dance is going to be for you this year.”