The Taming of the Fallen with Issabella Demon Huntress
It was an ordinary night for Issabella. A shot of espresso, green face paint, lace bra, panties and the little black purse of exorcism to-go. The Thompson house on North Orchard, another demon, another job. Issabella was no ordinary woman, she was a demon huntress. She knew all their tricks, at least most of them. Catching a low-level Fallen was easy. Truth be told, most were dumb as rocks, and though some quite handsome, it was still a dirty, sexy occupation and someone had to do it.
You wanna catch a beast? Tame it, but don't get involved. That was the code. Once you've got him? Categorize him, inspect him, even fuck him, and then lock him up... but don't get involved. It was a standard, and Issabella knew it. Relations with a beast was one thing, a relation-ship with a clientele's problem does not look good on a resume. There were many tricks in a demon hunter's handbag. Playing the innocent, playing the dominant, assuming false identities and often, often enough appealing to their animalistic desires was all part of the game. But regardless of how you get there... Bam! When the pants come down and you've sucked all the power from him; out comes the purse of containment.
Issabella's tiny handbag was a relic passed down through generations. Originally owned by a famous alchemist from the 1600s, had now been refreshed and up-cycled. From once a threshold to ensnare the malevolent, now successfully masqueraded as a smart-looking party purse.
Therefore the more intelligent of the male species preferred to stay out of their dates belongings, perceiving that hell may be found between the lipstick and cellphone.
Tonight's job should be easy, and Issabella was counting on it. It had been a busy week, between the part-time at Mafioso Pizza, the steam room yoga, trying to earn a business degree, teaching demon defense at the Y, and the other unexpected things that fall into the lap of a twenty-seven-year-old female incubus trapper. A spa day... heavy on champagne-mimosa was long overdue, but alas, the Thompson's demon had taken precedence. Last week, a call about tapping windows and electronic devices gone fuzzy had been bumped up to code-red with furniture destruction and wall-word scratchings.
To understand the psyche of the male demon, you must remember this. Number one on their brain is a deadly thirst for blood, creating fear, destruction, and just making a general mess of things. However, bubbling right up under that thin veneer is Number two; their insatiable carnal desire; which fortunately makes them forget about number one, at least for a short time.
It was 9 pm and Issabella had been let inside an average American house known as the Thompson's residence, AKA: Case number 335. The owner agreed to stay away during the extermination process. Once alone, she detected its essence. Smokey, charcoal, and musk with a hint of myrrh. Probably a Satanyic. The living room, however, was typical poltergeist; furniture knocked over, books laying on the floor, burned footprints on the carpet. She followed his scent into the next room.
There he was, standing in the kitchen. A rugged beast with a short mane of wild hair. Confirmed, Satanyic. One of the lower levels. He stood semi crouched, poised for action. To learn the demons name gave you more power over them. However, Issabella didn't know it. She would have to trick him, for most demons were not forthright with their identity.
“Why are you causing trouble?” Her manner deceptively simple.
“Roaaaaaarrrrrgh!” He snarled in sudden anger.
This one was particularly dumb. She noted. “What is your name?”
“Ego Autem Non Doceo Vos! Roaaaaarrrrghhh!” He shouted to the kitchen skylight.
“Let me start again, my name is Issabella. What is yours?”
He stopped in his tracks and stared at her. She was a cool drink of water in a hot hot hut. Her hair dyed green the color of nature and her eyes painted as if to wear a mask. He drew silent for a moment to drill deeper. Triangular chin, short-cut sweater, and low-rise jeans. Under that, undeniably female. Sexual. Spunky. A scent of citrus and peppermint. She was young, therefore weak and foolish. Her eyes twinkled.
“Arrrooghhhth! Vos Provoco Veni Interrogo!”
“I request you speak in my tongue.”
A moment passed as he questioned her audacity.
“Very well Girl. But I'll cut your mouth-willy out and wear it round my waist before this night is over!” He scowled, deep, raspy and with words chosen from a limited vocabulary.
“You do speak English.” She smiled. “But, perhaps I will regret my request.”
“That is NOT all you will regret when I am done!” The demon approached her with nostrils blowing hot steam down his lips.
“What is your name?” Issabella asked as if requesting milk choices at an espresso stand.
He stopped to shake his head in confusion."I will NOT tell you my NAME!" He bellowed for good effect.
Some of these creatures were quite handsome and alluring. This big guy was a six. Oh well, you can't win them all. She would still get paid and retain her folk hero status of ridding the world, or at least Clark County of yet one more demon. What more ought a girl want? Free smoothies for life would be great, she thought. Why couldn't they pay in smoothies? As if minor fame and a varied pay scale for doing the work that even the clergy declined, wasn't reward enough... still, free creamy fruity beverages on demand would be nice. She scrutinized the beast. He was big. Unsure of his origin or family. He looked half-ogre, half-brute, a mini-tank covered in muscle armor and wearing black leather that clung tight across his hips. Truth was, it was the smaller monsters you really had to be careful with.
“I'm here to destroy!” It bellowed again, then raised a huge arm to the ceiling and suddenly brought it down hard. The dining room table buckled briefly before becoming an unintended two-piece.
“That's coming out of your pocket.” She said plainly.
“Arrrrgggggghhh!!!” He snarled and reached for the blender.
“You are reaching for the smoothie maker?”
“I will grab something heavy to smash over your pretty head!” This demon had the uncanny ability to make each word sound like a dead fish hitting the floor with a heavy smack.
“Drop the smoothie maker. I am terrified of you.”
“Good! As it should be!” His confidence returning. “Now scream for me! Pee your pants in scared-ness!”
“I would, however, I am not aware of whom I am terrified?”
The demon looked to the ceiling again and posed with arms back, laughing loudly.
“What I mean is, I would be horrified if I knew who was scaring me?... so badly. Ehhh!” She feigned a scream.
“You are TERRIFIED by none other than HUNSYNUCKLE! The Damned! Second generation Satanyic!” He announced proudly.
He was a dumb one. With a silly name. “Hunsey-knuckle? I see.” She smiled. “Now I have your name.”
“Yep. You gave it up. Now, I'll make you a deal...” She placed the petite handbag neatly on the counter-top by the door and opened it. “You can jump inside my little ole purse-trap where you can be delivered back to your sugar daddy, or, we can do this the hard way.”
“I will Kiillllllll YOOUUUU!”
And the dance had begun.
The devil bellowed and she knew it was time. The sweater-top had to go. Quick, up over the head, her woven armor sailed then neatly clung to a pot rack. The monster lunged and Issabella stood firm. Then, just as suddenly as it started... he froze. He tanked mid assault at the site of her sheer black-lace bra; part of the springtime collection.
“Just like men, so like monsters.” She smiled.
Suddenly an unexpected rapping from the back door echoed through the kitchen.
“Is the demon gone yet!? Can we have our home back?!” Came the nervous voice of the homeowner from outside.
“No! Mr. Thompson! Just no! Bad timing! He's still here!”
“And you will need a new dining-room table!”
“All right, well, shit. Was it the Ashley?!”
“Fraid so!” Issabella called back.
“OK, well... we'll be out here!”
“You best go down to the corner and grab a bite! Or better, take the fam to the movies.”
She turned back to the demon, who was slightly mesmerized.
"Now you, Hunseypecker, take your clothes off I need to have a look at you."
"But... I will cause... fear!" He sounded like a steam locomotive sucking on a low tank.
"No. You won't. Show me your cock." She ordered.
“But, I RESIST!” He howled.
Issabella unfastened her bra and let it spiral to the floor. Hunsynuckle froze in silence again, his gaze mired to her nipples in the waning light.
“Now, one more time, Drop... Your... Trousers.”
The demon obeyed and pushed his strong hands inside the leather, sliding his waistband down his muscular thighs.
She studied him quizzically. He was well endowed, his cock was raised, thick, and head turned upward. His balls tight and clung between his thighs. “You are a beast. One of the Ansuz kindred. You have the mark below your navel. A member of the elder Futhark of Germanic paganism origin.” She looked perplexed. “I've noticed an upsurge in your kind recently. Did someone open a Ragnarok shop?”
Hunsynuckle the demon did not care. He stared blankly as if having a physical exam performed. She grabbed his manhood for a better view and it grew hard in her palm. Instinctively she stroked it. She shouldn't have. A moment of forgetfulness; a quick flash up and down his cock, which drew him harder to her tits. Damn, old desires were hard to break. She needed to inspect him, and thankfully he was a pretty tame beast. She traced the soft seam that ran around his sculpted tip, then down the velvety hard underside to his peachy satchel. Her nipples tingled and she had to remind herself again, this was a job, and not for pleasure.
The demon moaned.
“Stop that Honseyspeckle. I'm still checking you out.” She gazed up his hard stomach, to his barrel chest.
“Whhaat are you doing mortal?” He grumbled in a haze.
“You should have another mark.” She reached up to his shoulders, turning him toward the light shooting in from the window. “As I thought, you're a new skin on a recycled soul. Hell is re-purposing these days? Like you don't have enough?”
She noticed the rune-brand on his breast and continued the inspection. A scar on his arm, just below his left shoulder. She traced the mark and her nipples skid across his upper abs. Damn, pleasure was interrupting again.
“Tell you what...” She finished. “Be a good demon and go upstairs and take a shower. Inside you will find a small block of wax called soap. I want you to rub it all over your body, intensely, every inch. Wash it off, then come back down to the living room.”
The monster paused. “Hunsynuckle bathe for no one. Hunsynuckle made to smash things and cause trouble.”
“Look Hunseypucker, cleanliness is next to godli— never mind. Do as I say or you can just jump in my little purse right now.”
He eyed the purse. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but he figured it was bad.
“That's right, the purse of no return.” She reached over to widen the mouth of her handbag and it unfolded into a pentagram shape.
The demon's eyes grew wide, a moment later he tromped out of the kitchen and toward the staircase leading to the family bathroom.
“I will destroy something in the shower!” He bellowed like a rebellious child.
“No, when you're done you will fold your towel neatly and hang it up! And should you find a razor you best shave that shit from your face!”
“Fuuccckkkk...” His voice trailed from the upstairs.
A few moments later she went out to the living room and looked around. She saw pictures of the homeowner's family. They peered from the walls as if in anticipation of a sporting event. The thought made her giggle at all the good family homes she'd secretly deflowered demons in. She was sure that dozens of up-standing church folk would have rolled in their graves, had they been present during her exorcisms; and wasn't so sure they hadn't, on occasion. Over on the fireplace mantle she spotted the word LOVE, spelled out in wood-block letters. A cosmetic homage to fill a decorative void. Silly. But words were words, and while one can choose to write anything in their house, it was a pleasant contrast to what the demon had scrawled on the opposing wall. But, again, it placed the inevitable question mark on Issabella's career choice. Till twenty-seven, life had been pretty straightforward, at least since the age of eighteen. Banish demons; through any means necessary, including sex. Sex was fun, and, if anyone was qualified to make love with a demon, she was. This guy was a puppy, a big strong muscular pull-toy that she would lead around by the nose.
It's not like she hadn't laid with demons in the past? All unique. But should she enjoy it? It was a job and the best way to trap the Fallen. However, no one was to learn that. People presumed demon-hunters just opened a magic door and kicked the devil inside. It didn't work like that. It took sweat and repetition. It took touching, forcing oneself, and charm. Persuasion is the true art of the salesmen, and dead demons don't squeal, so her secret would always be safe. She glanced at the letters over the fireplace again. Perhaps one day she would find that perfect man and settle for a life away from the business. The picket fence, a mini-van... a life like the Thompson's. Then she laughed again. Life was definitely more fun this way. And though it was tolling at times, it may be tempered by a visit to the 24-hour smoothie bar.
The demon emerged into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist, he wore it like a king working a new plush cotton loincloth. His face was clean shaven and now served to expose more fleshly landscape around his grimace.
“Good, a new sparkly demon.” She looked up at him.
“I will destroy this staircase finial!” His hand tightened around a decorative pineapple that sat atop the newel.
“Why you guys always so huffy? What did that wooden fruit do to you?”
Demons, angry bastards. Couldn't they just stop and enjoy the flowers? Or something fruity? Well if demons were good, there'd be no need for her, so the necessity was mutual. But at the moment his ire was on high, and he hissed like a kettle gone bad. Issabella rose from the couch and bravely stepped into full view of him.
It was showtime.
“Look at me Honseyshuckle. I command thee.” Bringing her delicate hands to her waist, she unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down till they coiled on the floor. She watched as his towel started to bulge. “You have been a good demon, well minus some broken furniture, so I shall reward you. Go sit on that chair and lean back.”
Submissive again, he sat down with the dignity of a monarch, on a floral patterned armchair. She followed, standing over him with feet firmly planted on the carpet, toe to toe and navel to eyes. Her black lace panties became his fixation, the delicate fabric that wove around her hips like an intricate web. He wanted them gone, and she knew it.
“Would you like to see my pussy?” She asked coyly.
“Yes, show me.” He smiled.
Pinching the elastic band, she drew it down to reveal short pubic hairs shaved to resemble bat wings.
“Well now, Mr. Grumpy pants is pleased?”
“I am.” He grunted as his towel evolved into a firmer shape. “You are not like the other mortals.”
She smelled the fresh body wash of the homeowners wafting from his body. “I'm different, you might say. I have a thing for the Fallen.”
“The fallen? Why do you call me that?” He demanded in gentler tones.
“It's a generalization of your kind, those who have fallen from grace. And I am your savior, little miss sunshine in your black heart, call me Issabella, Demon Huntress.”
Her fingers continued around her hips, easing the lace panties down her thighs. Again the demon grinned.
“Do you like what you see?”
“You look so good. Hunsynuckle will savor your pussy till you spurt on my tongue.” His deep voice ran down between them.
A tingle ran through her sex, and she continued. “Now, I will tie your arms behind the chair, and I think you will enjoy this.”
She extracted a long sage binding cord from her purse and knelt behind him, quickly tying the rope around his heavy obedient wrists.
“There we go.” She smiled and stepped back to admire her work. A husky king tied to his throne, without a stitch of clothing, save for the cotton towel that covered his rugged thighs. The work was all cut-out and ready to go, Issabella knew that putting it together would be very enjoyable.
The monster sat, mesmerized. This beautiful creature was strange and left his malicious nature weakened. She stopped and walked over to the chair. “Afford my pleasure demon.” She climbed up to straddle him, then placed a knee on each armrest till her hips were level with his chest. He moaned as she grazed his strong torso. Issabella grabbed the top of the chair and soothed herself against him. Slowly, up and down, then pressing tighter, writhing, petting his chest with her wet pussy. She heard him growling, a deep guttural churn that rocked beneath her. He wanted to hold her, to grab her thighs and pull her down. But he was unable.
“Free my arms and Hunsynuckle will hold you. And rock your clit to orgasm on me.”
Fucking demons, they knew all the right words. Issabella dismounted, she wouldn't untie him, instead quickly pulled the towel from around his waist. She dragged the soft material down his thighs and muscular legs. He had the perfect hard cock, shaven, and pointing due north to shadow a small trail of hair that lead back up to his wet chest.
She smirked. “You did find a razor, you devil. I must say you do clean up well.”
“I want to take your little thighs in hand and seat you on my hard shaft.” He rasped.
She reached down and rubbed her clit. “I can't let you do that.”
“That wouldn't be any fun, would it? Now stop you cry baby.” She grabbed his erection and caressed in slow torture. “I realize you want inside me demon, and truth be told I am pretty worked up right now. I need a good fucking.” Her dainty voice seemed to address his manhood as she continued stroking. “But that brings us to a crossroads.”
“What?” He questioned, confused.
“Well I believe the homeowner never left, and he is standing outside the door, listening.”
“So? Fuck me girl!”
“Oh believe me, I want to. I'm so horny I'll cum if the wind dawdles between my legs. But I'm afraid that when you blow, you will be so loud that everyone in the neighborhood will wake up.”
“So, I can't have that reputation. I'll be appearing at the local mall soon. Shaking hands with the rotary club, etc. My point is, I don't need anyone knowing my business.”
“Because fucking a demon would be bad—?”
“—For publicity... exactly, and I'm sure when Mr. Thompson finds out, he will tell everyone in town.”
“I'll be quiet, now sit on me.” The demon persisted.
“I'll make you a deal. When the time comes, I'll place this little purse of mine over your mouth to muffle your sexual gratification.” She continued stroking his cock harder and faster. “This way, no one will hear you.”
“Wait, but, but... your purse is evil.”
“Evil like a woman's lust? Are you scared of my sexual independence?”
“Hunsynuckle not scared of anything.”
“Good, just pretend the purse is my mouth and you can release all those sexy moans inside me.”
“All right. I do it. Ride me now!”
Damn demons, so stupid... their weak spot is obvious. So easy to trick. If it wasn't for their bad behavior, they might be forgivable. It wasn't totally their fault they're evil, or mischievous, they are born that way. Issabella knew it was a dirty job and there was no quarter for pardon. A demon was a demon. Well, sometimes a play toy, but still... and though she hadn't exactly signed up for this job, she had accepted it. A profession that had been passed down through centuries. It carried a weight that few might hold, or so, her great grandfather had told her when she was young. Sometimes she was Robin Hood to the town, sometimes she was slinging pizza, but right now she was a red blooded American woman who wanted a good hard cock inside her.
She grabbed his shaft and held it between her thighs. “Do you want to feel my cunt Hunsy?” Daubing his head against her clit. “You like that don't you?”
He smirked, and she arched forward, guiding him between her lips. “Oh god...” she felt him grow harder in her hand. His tip tingled inside and she glazed him with her juice. She couldn't stand it any longer and sank down hard. “Mmmmmm...” her warm breathy sigh amassed from a week's worth of pent up frustration traveled down his strong chest and dissipated onto his tight stomach.
She felt him thrust under her. He moved in sensual rhythm, then slowly developed into a soft jackhammer. She felt his shaven skin bustling against her clit and she came immediately.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! God... Fuck me more dem—”
Her hurried words nestled into his ears and he bucked and he bounced and she held on. The most torturous orgasm welled up inside her, it curled her toes and held her at the breaking point. She mewled and tried to catch her breath, but he did not stop. She could take it no longer and her body shuddered. In sweat, in cum, she climaxed again, harder.
“Fuck!” She panted. This was taking its toll. But if Issabella would send him off, she would do so with a bang. Quickly, she grabbed the chair tight and bounced furiously. She forced him deeper and harder between her thighs.
His stomach tense, his eyes glued shut. He convulsed. “Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!” The final grunt of sexual hunger, at last. His cock throbbed and undulated like a serpent, and he began to explode.
Now was the time and Issabella knew it. She was spry and the world stopped. It was almost sad, as a lot of captures are. She watched his unsuspecting face as she brought the opening of the purse down over his gritted teeth. He accepted it. His jaw relaxed and opened, and he leveled a plethora of husky erotic satisfaction into her bag. The muffled wailing was exquisite as his cock surged, and pumped creamy sex deep inside her. It was almost tragic that it would have to end.
Slowly, it happened. He withdrew. The purse of confinement was activated and the frame glowed. She felt him shrink and twitch. An invisible vortex guided him like a leaf into the bag. A moment later, a small implosion and the demon was captive. Issabella collapsed.
She was tired, happy and worn out. Her body hurt... but what a bang. A full body O had shaken her to a new level of excitement. Some people ride the wild bull at the country bar and call it night, while the very few become demon hunters and ride the demon back to hell, jumping off before it's too late. Issabella caught her breath and looked at the empty chair fondly. She closed her purse and put it on the coffee table. It was almost a shame she would be disposing of Hunsynuckle.
“Where did my panties go?” She spied them by the fireplace and bent down to pick them up. Just then, the sudden noise of the front door opening startled her. She whipped around to see the homeowner standing in the moonlight.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Thompson? It wasn't time yet.” Trying to hide her nerves and cover her body with her hands.
“I know what you did.” He spoke calmly.
Issabella had sensed this might happen.
“Demon huntress? Or harlot of hell?” He continued. “I have it all on tape and I will expose you.”
“This was a setup. I should have guessed, it was too easy.” Her piercing stare could have froze a goat.
Mr. Thompson pulled a gun from his pocket and Issabella became the goat.
“Now we can play this one of two ways.” Thompson talked with little emotion. “I have your whole performance, captured on tape. With the push of a button I can upload it to the world.”
“You fucker.” She pointed at him. “You summoned a demon to catch me.”
“Maybe I did. Because the world needs to see what you do.”
“So, apparently you would summon the devil to persecute sex?”
“and... to blackmail you.” He smiled and his eyes narrowed.
“Surprise, a second demon... this one in hypocrite's clothes.”
Suddenly Thompson aimed his gun and blew off a shot. A small dart hit the pineapple finial, knocking it back and triggering a secret door to slide open.
Issabella was terrified into silence. Dealing with demons was easy, dealing with humans was sticky.
“Oh don't worry, I won't kill you. You're just going to sleep for a little while.” He motioned her toward the secret door, as the seedy underside of middle America lay inside. “Once you're downstairs, I will chain you to my bed. You will tend to every carnal desire I have, or... I will expose you. How does it feel to be captured? Demon-Hunteress?”
“Amateur.” She spoke, then waved her finger in the air, invisibly tracing the rune sign for abeyance.
His eyes turned to glass.
“You will give me the tape and empty your wallet on the table. You will disrobe. You will find your wife's lipstick and draw a circle around your cock. Then you will parade to the local church and put on a show during Pancake Sunday.”
He lurched forward silently and pulled his wallet and a small videotape from his pocket and placed them on the table. He unbuckled his pants and shuffled off towards the stairs.
Issabella put her clothes back on and shook his wallet into her purse, much like a smaller fish emptying its belly into a larger one. Next the tape, soon to be destroyed, however not before viewing. Maybe if the lighting was good, she would keep it. Free porn with herself as the star, was always the best porn. Now. Protocol, hide your trail and flee the house. The job was done, with the exception of breaking the finial from the stairs to leave the secret chamber permanently open. It would be a keepsake for the display case. But for now, Issabella was exhausted. Case number 335 was now coming to a close, and soon she would seek out that neon beacon that glowed in the night, the 24-hour smoothie bar.