ABIGAIL’S DEMON 2

Abigail set her tablet pen down with a sigh. She was on her third double shot latte, and having a hell of a time getting down the creature concepts she was supposed to be working on. Everything she drew somehow ended up with cute freckles and an impish smile.

And then Odal was there, standing in the doorway of Abigail’s cubicle, her luscious creamy tits out and staring Abigail in the face.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said.

Abigail jerked back, nearly spilling her coffee on her tablet. After a fumbling save, she glanced back over at her cubicle entrance. It was not Odal standing there but Pam, her boss, the last person on earth whose tits she wanted to see.

Thankfully she had them covered.

“…waiting?” she was saying.

“Yeah, sure, sure, I’ll have them done. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I’m worrying. You look a little rough.”

“Gee, thanks, boss.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Not really. Weird dreams,” Abigail mumbled.

“It’s just that we have the production company execs coming by tomorrow morning.”

“I know. I’ll have the designs done, Pam. I promise. I’ll stay late if I have to.”

“Okay. Thanks, kiddo. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Abigail, with a titanic effort of will, managed to avoid saying ‘the only reason we’re all stuck in crunch is because you have terrible time management skills and literally no one likes it when you call them kiddo, you think it’s endearing but it makes us feel like we’re in kindergarten, also that perm makes you like like a poodle’ and just gave her an awkward grimace that she hoped looked sort of like a smile, and a thumbs-up.

Pam stared at her for a moment.

“Okay. Thanks, Abby. You’re the best, kiddo.”

Abigail ground her teeth and turned back to her tablet as Pam walked off. The double-whammy of ‘Abby’ and ‘kiddo’ had dark, murderous scenes playing behind her eyelids, where she was leading a chanting and cheering crowd of her co-workers through the burning halls of Crownsville Softworks, Inc. carrying Pam’s poodle-permed head on a stake.

She shook herself.

“Hey,” said a voice at her cubicle entrance. It was Odal, leaning casually on the wall, her tits grown to such an enormous size they obscured her entire body down to her knees.

“I’m here to satisfy your every desire.”

“Meep!” Abigail yelped. Blinking and shuddering, she realized it was only Kate, the team lead, with her perfectly normal sized breasts that Abigail was now totally starting at like a creep. She gulped, squeezed her eyes shut, and rubbed her face with her hands.

“You okay?” Kate asked. Kate was cool as shit, had an amazingly hot side cut, a septum piercing, and an ass that haunted Abigail’s dreams. She was also, and this proved to Abigail that if there was a god, that god was a heartless and cruel monster, straight.

“Yeah. Sorry. Rough night last night.”

“If you need to go home, I can…I can handle Pam. The execs are probably just going to scan the designs anyway, they won’t notice if the creature concepts aren’t in there.”

Abigail sighed. Her life would be so much simpler if Kate wasn’t so damn nice and making Abigail really want to make her happy in case she suddenly decided to turn gay and realize that the one she wanted had been under her the whole time.

Under her on the team, she hastily corrected herself, but it was too late. Her brain was already gleefully imagining her under Kate in a literal and very NSFW manner.

“I’ll be fuck– fine. I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just need to…”

eat your ass like birthday cake

“…get some more coffee.”

Kate frowned at her. Shit. Had she said that out loud??

“Okay. Just…maybe you should call in sick tomorrow.”

Abigail breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah. Yeah. I will. Thanks, Kate.”

The next several hours passed by in a numbing, plodding haze. Her hand cramped from clenching her tablet pen in frustration, the lattes she was downing were playing hell with her insides, and she was so bitterly, achingly, tired. Six o’clock ambled past in a desultory slouch. Then seven. Then eight. Her eyes were crossing. Her brain was throbbing. She was never going to drink another sweet delicious caramel macchiato ever again in her life, until maybe Monday.

At nine thirty she bundled the finally completed designs into an email, forwarded them to both Kate and Pam, and to her home computer, and saved backups on a portable drive. No way in hell was she going through all that again.

She thanked the security guard for letting her out and wandered to her car in the parking lot, lonely under the orange sodium vapor lamp.

Climbing in, she sat there for a minute, wrestling with the probably terrible idea of just sleeping in her car. Sighing, she turned the key.

Wrrp wrrp, her car said, and that was all.

Abigail thumped her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Fuck this entire day right in its sweaty asshole,” she grumbled as she climbed back out of the car, locked it for some stupid reason (how was anyone going to steal a car that wouldn’t start?) and began the trek to the nearest bus stop, ‘near’ in this case being an entirely relative measurement that fell just shy of ‘far enough to drive’.

The bus (late of course) was thankfully mostly empty and only smelled moderately of pee and French fries. Her metro card had a zero balance, so she had to fish through her purse for change. She ended up just stuffing a couple of crumpled bills in the fare box, too tired to even bother the driver for her change.

She fell asleep almost immediately, missed her stop (of course), and had to walk the four blocks back to her building.

It was now ten thirty. She tried to unlock the front door but instead managed to stab her keys into the doorframe like it had just insulted her ancestors and she had challenged it to a duel. Unfortunately the door was a skilled duelist and disarmed her.

As she bent to pick up her keys, the door opened and cracked her in the skull.

“Ow, fuck ME!” Abigail swore, clutching her throbbing head.

“Oh no, Abby! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you! Are you okay?”

Gentle hands were on her. Sarah. Absolutely the most perfect person to have just screeched ‘fuck me’ at. And she realized just then that she was always so flustered around yoga pants– no, Sarah– that she’d never got around to asking her not to call her ‘Abby’.

“Kill me,” she whispered hoarsely.

“What?”

“I said it’s fine. I’m all right. Dropped my keys.”

“Oh,” Sarah said, reaching down to pick them up, which gave Abigail the opportunity to realize that a) she was wearing a slinky black dress and not workout clothes, and b) Abigail could see right down the front of it.

Sarah stood back up and Abigail plastered a huge smile on her face that she hoped didn’t make her look too much like a serial killer.

“Uh, are you going out?” she asked stupidly.

“Just some drinks with my girlfriends. You should come!”

I’m going to, later, thinking about the view I just got of your glorious tanned boobs, she thought. Also straight girls shouldn’t be allowed to use the word ‘girlfriend’, it’s bad for my poor lesbian heart.

“Ah, thanks for the offer, but I just got off work and I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, well, we’ll be at Mahone’s if you change your mind!” she chirped. Abigail had a sudden vision of herself surrounded by perky tanned blondes in party dresses getting drunk and loose with their inhibitions. She shook her head, blinking.

“Thanks, Sarah. Maybe another time?”

“Sure!” Sarah said, and bounced happily down the steps, waving at a car that was just pulling up.

Abigail thrust her keys into the lock, vindictively.

“From hell’s heart I stab at thee, stupid door,” she grumbled, and let herself in.

Her apartment door was unlocked. She tried to give a fuck, but nothing happened. She opened the door and dropped her purse on the floor, holding her arms out.

“If anyone is hiding in here waiting to kill me, please just end my suffering quickly. Nobody? Figures. Why does it smell like food?”

Had her mom stopped by? And somehow suddenly learned to cook? Did she even have food in her house?

“In the kitchen,” called a silver-bell voice.

Odal.

It was too much. Too fucking much. She sat down on the floor, put her head in her hands, and started to cry.

“Abigail?”

“Huhh,” she sobbed. She heard the ‘clock’ sound of heels approaching, and then a warm hand was on her shoulder and she was enveloped in the smell of metal and hot sand and a dusky, flowery scent she couldn’t identify.

She felt more than saw Odal settling next to her, and the comforting hand became a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

“I had the worst day at work, and my car wouldn’t start, and I had to take the bus, and I missed my stop, and I dropped my keys, and then Sarah, and I yelled ‘fuck me’ at her, but she was busy I guess, and you’re here and that means you’re real, and I can’t handle it. It’s too much.”

Odal gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Come on. I made you dinner. Sit down and relax for a bit. We can talk after you’ve eaten.”

“I…I don’t even have any food that you can ‘cook’, unless by cook you mean microwave on high for three to five minutes.”

“I know. I went shopping.”

Abigail, despite her tears, snorted a laugh.

“Why is the idea of a Sumerian demon popping down to the grocery store to buy cilantro so fucking funny?”

Odal squeezed her again.

“Come on. Eat. It’s going to get cold.”

She stood, and Abigail looked up at her. She held out her hand, and Abigail took it. It was soft, and warm, and gentle, though there was some terrifying iron strength behind it as she lifted Abigail to her feet without even bracing herself.

She led Abigail by the hand to the kitchen and guided her to a seat at the rickety formica table. There was a bowl of something pillowy in front of her, and a spoon. Instinct took over, and she dunked the spoon into the bowl and shoveled it into her mouth.

“Oh my fuck,” she said around her mouthful. “What is this magic. I think my mouth just came.”

“Mac and cheese,” Odal said.

“No. I call bullshit. I’ve had mac and cheese. It’s orange, and tastes like melted drinking straws.”

“I made it from scratch.”

Abigail froze with the spoon in her mouth. She took it out, chewed and swallowed.

“Is that even legal?”

Odal smiled at her from across the table.

Abigail shrugged and tucked in. It was divine. There was some sort of crispy layer of buttery breadcrumbs on top, which was a perfect contrast to the gooey, rich cheese that cradled the perfectly cooked and just a tiny bit al dente penne noodles. She couldn’t keep from making little noises of pleasure as she bathed her tongue in the delicious sauce.

“Mmmmngh…okay,” Abigail said after she finished the bowl and pushed herself away from the table a bit, “so. You’re a demon. Galallu, sorry.”

“Technically YOUR demon, until you dismiss me.”

“And you can cook.”

“That’s your first thought, huh?”

“It was really good,” Abigail protested, “Like, sinfully good.”

Odal smirked, and Abigail swallowed.

“I mean I’m not expecting you to just cook for me or whatever.”

“I don’t mind. I enjoy it. And wasn’t it nice to come home to a hot meal after a long day at work?”

“Yeah. Yeah it was.” She rubbed at her forehead. “It’s just…I don’t know. I feel like I might be wasting your time?”

That curious head tilt.

“What do you mean?” Odal asked.

“Well, you could be with someone rich, or powerful, or like a supermodel, going to ritzy parties and expensive restaurants and like, fulfilling all kinds of fanciful and ludicrous desires. Instead you’re holding me while I cry on the floor and making mac and cheese in my shitty apartment.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Odal said, resting her chin on her hands and turning on her full smolder, “about the rich and powerful. They’re used to having their whims gratified, immediately and without question. Most of the time their desires are like…eating pop rocks. Fun while it lasts, but ultimately unfulfilling.”

“You know what pop rocks are?”

“I’ve been around a while. I know a thing or two.”

“Right, of course.”

“Now the desires of someone like you, someone who has struggled and worked hard all their life, someone who gives freely even when they don’t have much, someone who is kind and caring, ah– you’ve had wants you’ve been nurturing for years, Abigail…your desires are like ambrosia.”

The way she said ‘ambrosia’, like it was curling up from deep within her nether regions, made Abigail shiver.

“Hhhh,” Abigail said, blowing out a breath.

“You’re taking this all very well,” Odal said.

“I mean honestly I’m fairly certain that I’m losing my mind and you’re just an incredibly attractive figment of my overactive imagination and, if I’m being honest, touch-starved body…but I figure I might as well try to enjoy it before the men with the straitjackets show up.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. It’ll do for now. So, there are some limits I need to share with you before we go any farther.”

“Well, I know you can’t grant wishes,” Abigail said, trying not to sound like she was complaining.

“Right. I can…influence things, but I can’t change the world state.”

“World state?”

“I can cook for you, but I can’t solve the problem of world hunger.”

“Okay, yeah. I get that.”

“I also can’t make people fall in love with you.”

Abigail thought about that for a minute.

“I…I don’t think I’d want that anyway,” she said slowly. “I mean it’d be nice not to be lonely? But at the same time…if I told you to make Sarah fall in love with me, it wouldn’t…it wouldn’t be real. It’d be without her consent. I wouldn’t want that.”

“Mm. On the other hand, I can BE Sarah for you for a while,” Odal said.

“Oh. That’s…oh. Yeah. That would be something. But, and maybe this is weird…I kind of like you the way you are? How did you choose this form, anyway?”

“Out of your desires, of course.”

“Huh. Really? I mean you’re gorgeous, but like…you don’t look like anyone I’ve ever met or anything.”

“Where’s your red sketchbook?”

Abigail froze. NO ONE knew about her red sketchbook. That was her secret sketchbook where she drew smutty pictures for her own enjoyment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hazarded.

Odal gave her a wry smirk. She held up her hand, in which was Abigail’s red sketchbook. She recognized the worn moleskine cover, the rounded corners, the scratch by the spine.

“Don’t open that. It’s not mine. Please don’t look inside. I mean I’ve never seen that book in my life.”

Odal smiled, set the book down, and pushed it across the table.

“Turn to the ninth page.”

Abigail picked it up, her face burning. No one was ever supposed to see her red sketchbook. She’d even thought of burning it once or twice. Now that she knew someone had seen it, she thought of throwing herself into the nearest fire instead. Of course there weren’t any locally convenient pyres, so she just had to sit there and suffer.

“You’re embarrassed,” Odal said. “I can assure you I’ve seen much stranger. I’ve done much stranger. I’ve BEEN much stranger.”

“It’s still mortifying to know someone has seen my weird fetish porn. I mean it’s not like it’s even someone else’s weird fetish porn that I just happen to look at. It’s weird fetish porn that I made.”

Abigail flipped through the pages, trying not to look at her old drawings. Tried not to think about the gushing holes and phallic appendages and giant boobs and squirting liquids as she counted to nine.

And there it was. Her smutty elf, held aloft and being soundly rogered by a trio of tentacles. As far as such drawings went, hers was fairly tame, but it was still explicit and impossible to pretend there was anything else going on in the picture other than a busty elf enjoying being pleasured by wriggling pseudopods.

Abigail blinked. She looked up at Odal, then back down at the drawing. Staring up at her from the page, lovingly rendered in pencil and marker, was a pair of half-closed but undeniably brown eyes, framed by short, wavy dark hair and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She looked up at Odal again. The demon tucked a curl of short dark hair behind a now dramatically pointed and undeniably elfin ear.

“Holy shitfuck,” Abigail said, and fainted.

She woke later, in her room, lying in her own bed.

Something was wrong.

She looked around her room. It was dark, but a band of light came in through her partially open door from the hallway, enough for her to see. All her stuff was in the places it should be: her figurines and statues, her posters, books, games and her desktop, silently flickering its LEDs inside its transparent case. Nothing looked out of place.

But something still felt wrong.

She looked over at her alarm clock. Just after 2 am. Had she fallen asleep? She remembered that it was nearly eleven o’clock when she’d got home from work. And then–

And then one of her smutty sex pictures come to life had fed her mac and cheese. Really, really good mac and cheese.

“I have a literal demon in my house and I’m thinking about damn mac and cheese,” she said aloud.

“You’re having a bit of trouble coping, so your brain is fixating on something comfortable and safe and real to try to ground you so you can have an easier time sorting the confusing stuff out.”

Abigail went rigid. THAT was what was wrong. Her bed. There was someone in it. Someone who was not Abigail. Someone who was in fact pressed up against Abigail’s side, one arm draped across her chest, practically cradling her breasts.

“Did you put a spell on me?” she squeaked.

“You fainted.”

“That…okay. Yeah. That does sound like me. You’re in my bed.”

“I am aware. I wanted to go slow, give you time to adjust, but I think you’re overthinking it, and it might just be better if we dive right in.”

Abigail swallowed.

“Dive into what? Lake of fire?”

“Not that kind of demon,” Odal purred into her ear. Despite everything, the feel of her breath on Abigail’s neck made her shiver.

Odal sat up, and the light from the hall fell across her body, leaving her face in shadow.

Her very naked body.

“That’s totally unfair,” Abigail whined. “Dirty pool, demon.”

Odal’s breasts were exquisite. The ones Abigail had drawn on her smutty elf had been ridiculous balloons defying even fantasy-world laws of gravity, but Odal’s rested on her chest the way proper breasts did, with weight and fullness and a beautiful, natural teardrop shape. Her areolas were large and dark and her nipples were as fat around as Abigail’s thumb.

Odal caught her hands and drew them up her body, leaving them to rest on those lovely, terrible, beautiful breasts. Abigail could see her fingers indenting the flesh, feel nipples swelling and hardening against her hot, damp palms. Her own nipples, sensing their long lost and beloved sisters, tried to punch though her bra in an effort to be reunited.

She could hear Odal’s breath quickening. The demon rose up on her knees, keeping Abigail’s hands in place, and threw one leg over her hips, sliding to the side until she was straddling Abigail’s groin. She rolled her hips in a circle, and Abigail bit her lip at the promise in that movement.

She let go of Abigail’s hands and settled down until she was on hands and knees, hovering over Abigail’s body. She rocked forward, and Abigail was treated to the feel of soft, pendulous breasts brushing along the sides of her face. Then she lifted a hand, cupping the back of Abigail’s head, and pulled her up, mashing her face between them until Abigail’s lips were kissing her sternum.

“Do you like them?” Odal asked.

“Mmm-mmmph,” Abigail replied. Odal giggled, which had two immediate effects: one, her breasts jiggled delightfully against Abigail’s face; and two, the musical note in her voice worked it’s immediate magic on Abigail’s lower parts, filling them with moist heat.