Chapter One

The Horns of the Demon

 

I see the demon for the first time a week before Thanksgiving. I'm at my usual table in Obsessions chatting with one of the patrons when I see the horns reflected in the wall mirror directly in front of me. I rub my eyes and look closer to be sure I'm not imagining it. No, the horns are real, protruding out in two sharp points from the man's forehead, as if surgically implanted into his flesh. The horns have this repulsive reddish-black hue; the color of a centipede. My blood runs cold when I see them. I've been afraid of the devil ever since I was a little girl. Despite the fact I had convinced myself the devil is not real, Satan has come for me in the flesh to make his claim on my body and my soul.

The horned man catches me looking at him and he stares back at me in the mirror. Normally I don't mind being an object of lust for the gentlemen in the club, but the demon's lascivious gaze makes me uncomfortable down to my bones. Thankfully I see my Dom, Jim Jefferson, standing next to the beast. James notices me in the mirror and smiles in that shy affectionate way of his. I escape for a moment into the tranquil pools of his beautiful brown eyes.

I've never seen this odd creepy man in Obsessions before. James is evidently taking him on the standard tour he gives to all first time visitors. It has always been my Dom's policy to allow any person to visit his club who wishes to explore an alternative sexual lifestyle, regardless of their physical appearance or proclivities, as long as they follow the rules. I just wish on this occasion he had not been so welcoming.

Two Goth-looking women dressed in unflattering black lingerie stand next to the demon, apparently as part of his entourage. Though they don't wear pointy black hats, they look like witches just the same. They're rather plain-looking, apart from the thick mascara under their eyes, and have stringy black hair. Their faces are expressionless. They attend to his needs like servants, one woman holding his drink, the other his cane. The horned man pays no attention to them. As James speaks to the man, the two women stand obediently at the demon's side, awaiting his next command.

Everyone in the club stares at the pair of witches. Although the women don't seem to notice the strange looks, I feel sorry for them. However revolting the demon is to me, I think it's wrong to judge them for their devotion. I know what it feels like to worship a man. If the Christian friends I once knew ever found out about my submissive relationship with James, they would assume I too was a lost soul, destined for an eternity of suffering in the pits of Hell. To them, I would be considered as nothing more than an unchaste woman, a whore. I know I'll never be accepted by my parents, my friends or the church I once belonged to. But I also know my Dom loves me exactly as I am. I finally found a place in this world where I belong, where I no longer need to repress my desires. I made a choice to pursue the pleasures of the flesh rather than the spirit and it was the right decision for me. With James I feel so alive and free. I wondered if the two witches were as fulfilled in their lives as I was.

When the older of the two witches turns her body slightly away from me, I see something else very upsetting in the mirror. I observe what looks like red marks across her right shoulder, as if made by the lashes of a whip. The marks are not the result of a light consensual session of discipline between a Dominant and his sub. The ugly raised welts appear to be permanent. Has he been beating her? The grotesque man lifts his eyebrows suggestively after noticing me staring at his witch. I shudder and immediately look away.

I try to put the demon and his witches out of my mind by focusing on the gentlemen visiting my table. I try listen to what he's saying, but cannot. Even though I dare not look in the mirror again, I know the demon is watching me. I can feel his presence slithering closer to me, his coal-black eyes burning into the back of my neck. My forehead begins to perspire. I feel light-headed and slightly queasy. I want to escape from the club and get as far away as I can from the demon. But now that he's found me, there is nowhere to hide.

Up until this moment, I've enjoyed my time at Obsessions and felt totally safe here. My Dom designed the club precisely for the protection of vulnerable women and keeps a vigilant watch over us along with his security team. James takes the rules of the club seriously. Only a collared submissive under a signed contract with a Dominant is permitted in Area 2, where I'm currently sitting. A submissive in Area 2 must be chained either by her ankle to the table leg or by her wrist to the O-rings mounted on the wall. Both the wrist and the ankle may be restrained if the Dom prefers. Only non-sexual touching such as casual kiss on the cheek, a handshake or a brief friendly hug is allowed between a man and woman in this section. I feel quite comfortable in Area 2 and have met quite a lot of nice people and made many friends over the last months.

Area 1 is for single women who desire to meet an unattached Dominant male or is perhaps just curious about the BDSM lifestyle in general. It's the largest section of Obsessions and is very similar to any other night club, with table service for drinks and a dance floor. The women in this section are free to roam about the club unencumbered though they may not order drinks directly from the bar.

Area 3 is the smallest and most risqué section, corded off from the rest of the club. A submissive in Area 3 must be chained by all four limbs and displayed in an X-shape upon a raised platform. Her legs are spread apart and her ankles are attached to cuffs in the floor, while her wrists are fastened over her head to chains dangling from the ceiling. There are chairs positioned below the platform for viewing. Like in Area 2, only a woman in a committed submissive relationship is permitted there. But in Area 3 women must give their consent to be fondled and stroked intimately by anonymous men, with their Dominant's permission and only under his supervision. Clothing in this section is optional. It is customary for a woman to achieve an orgasm in Area 3, though a sexual release by a man anywhere in the club is strictly forbidden. My previous Dom, Charles Anderson, once displayed me there, but James has never shown a proclivity to share me with other men, though it is clearly written in our contract that he has the right to do so. As of now I think James feels more comfortable keeping me captive in Area 2 where men can look at me all they want, but not touch.

I very much enjoy spending my evenings here. Since I'm the submissive of the club's owner, I like to be the least dressed woman in the room. On most occasions I wear a sexy dress without a bra or on lingerie nights nothing but a see-through camisole, a pencil-thin G-String, thigh high stockings, garter belt and heels. Most of the regulars who patronize Obsessions have a not so secret crush on me. They stop by my table to talk, leer at me and buy me a Perrier.

I suppose I've come a long way since I was a devout Christian attending First Assembly of God and listening to Pastor Orman's fire and brimstone sermons every Sunday. Now it doesn't even bother me in the slightest when visitors who are unaware of the club rules inevitably try to kiss me or slip their hands under my lingerie to squeeze my exposed breasts and ass. It happens almost on a nightly basis. Being fondled by a stranger in the club isn't really a problem for me. When one of the gentlemen gets a little too frisky, the inappropriate touching abruptly comes to an end as soon as I point my Dom out to them.

Jim Jefferson is the largest and most intimidating man in the room. He sports a large scar running diagonally across his cheek, suffered in his childhood while defending a woman from being raped, which makes me proud to be his submissive every time I see it. Though I happen to find his scar quite attractive, it frightens most gentlemen in the club enough to keep their hands to themselves. James doesn't even get upset anymore when an inebriated gentleman in search of a submissive starts to paw at me. Before I became his submissive he would erupt into a jealous rage when he saw anyone touch me. Once he even picked a wealthy, long-term patron up off the floor by the lapels of his suit and kicked him out of the club for removing my dress and fondling my breasts. Now James is much more relaxed, knowing I belong only to him. If he sees a gentleman touch me inappropriately, he just asks one of his security guards to call the poor man a cab and calmly usher him out of the club. I think it's a testament to the trust we've built between us as Dom and sub. He seems very happy and at peace with our arrangement and often tells me how lucky he feels to be my Dom. Life with James has been a pleasure, up until the moment I saw the horns in the mirror. My serenity seems... broken now. I wish the demon had never walked into our club.

I blame my ridiculous fears of the devil on the sermons I heard as a child. My Dom and I have discussed these matters at great length. I even persuaded James to sign our first contract months ago in hopes it would put my past behind me. To some extent, it has helped. Since signing the contract, I no longer pray to God to take away my inappropriate sexual thoughts. I've chosen not to go back to our church, First Assembly of God, to the dismay of my parents. I now see First Assembly as the place I went for the first 25 years of my life to hide from the shame and guilt associated with my sexual feelings. But even though I've rejected my past beliefs, I can't seem to overcome my irrational fear of the devil. I wish my parents had never taken me to church as a child. I wish I never heard Pastor Orman preach the Gospel. I wish I had never learned about the fires of Hell, the wages of sin and the power Satan wields over us all. Like the horns mounted into the flesh of the demon, the fear of Satan is embedded in my mind and my soul.

After the last visitor leaves my table, the demon suddenly appears before me in the flesh, dressed in a black suit. Even though he leans his pudgy upper body on a fancy black cane, he appears to be a young man, not much older than me. The cane and expensive suit give him a patrician air. His head is completely shaved which makes the whites of his eyes, his blood red lips and the reddish black horns stand out in a disturbing way. I glance down, expecting cloven hooves, but only see the polished black leather shoes of a wealthy man. He speaks quite formally, in a deep resonant voice.

"Good evening, Miss. I believe we noticed each other in the mirror a moment ago. Please don't be alarmed by my appearance. May I have a word with you?"

I don't respond and keep my eyes focused upon the table.

"Would you be so kind to allow me a seat at your table, my dear?"

He sits down and crosses his legs, without waiting for my approval. A long moment passes. I glance up and he is staring down at me like a python stalking his prey. I feel the bile rise in my throat, take a sip of water and swallow it with difficulty. His two women stand silently behind his chair; their eyes cast downward, pupils dilated and empty of life.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I wish us to be great friends, you and I."

The contrast between his polite manner and harsh appearance is disorienting. He seems rather harmless when he speaks in his syrup-sweet tone. He could pass as a sweet eccentric uncle, except he looks like something that just crawled out of my worst nightmare.

"By the way... Please allow me to convey my sincerest condolences for the loss of your sister..."

What? I look up at him, startled. How did this stranger know about the death of my sister? Her passing away from AIDS is still quite painful to me. Though it's been over two years since she died, it still feels like an open wound which never healed. Bringing up Eloise's death crosses a line for me. I feel angry and violated. I notice the demon staring at my breasts and I cross my arms over them. I want to leave, to escape. Where is James?

"It is a crime against nature that Eloise was taken so young. I never understood why the most innocent in our world seem to suffer the most. There's no rhyme or reason for it. God can be so randomly cruel sometimes, do you agree? I suppose you'll have a few choice questions for the man upstairs when your time comes, no doubt. May I offer you a drink, Grace?"

My heart quickens its pace. How did he know my name?

"Champagne perhaps? Shall I call the waitress?"

Through clenched teeth, I mumble a response.

"I'm sorry Ms. Madsen. I didn't hear you."

"I don't drink alcohol," I say quietly.

"Ahhh, you must be an angel then. How delightful. We've so much in common, you and I."

"What could I possibly have in common with you Sir?" I say between gritted teeth.

"You see Grace, we are both particular kinds of angels. Fallen angels, as it were..."

My heart races, my voice begins to quiver.

"Fallen angels?"

"Indeed..."

The man gestures to the waitress. As he places the order I summon the courage to look up at the demon. To my dismay, I notice the tip of his tongue is split. I try to mask my look of horror as his forked tongue slips in and out between his lips, like an alien creature with two slimy pointed heads living inside the cave of his mouth. I immediately feel nauseous again. It is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen, more horrifying perhaps than the pointed horns. He turns back to me and introduces himself by holding a limp hand out in a polite, even effete manner.

"Grace, please forgive my rudeness. I know your name but you don't know mine. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Lucius Barrington, at your service. I am the founder of the Chicago branch of the Worldwide Church of Satan. You are always invited to visit my temple, The Church of the Anti-Christ. Please do a Google search on the name and you'll find our website. I conduct services there every Friday at midnight. Some in the press might call it a Black Mass, but really it's nothing of the sort. Please ignore all the negative publicity we seem to attract. We are just a social gathering of open-minded intellectually curious friends, no different than you and your friends, I'm sure. You can also find us on the social media, Facebook, Twitter, etcetera. I'd love you to meet my congregation, if you're not too busy this Friday. You'd be a most honored guest, Ms. Madsen, I assure you..."

The Church of the Anti-Christ... The Worldwide Church of Satan... I wish I was imagining all of this, but the scene playing out before me is all too real. The demon continues to hold out his pinkish, flabby hand for a long moment and I finally take it. I'm careful not to cut my skin on his fingernails, which have been filed down to five sharp points. I touch his sweaty claw and quickly let it go. The skin of his palm has a clammy texture to it, like the slimy wet surface of an eel. As he speaks I feel afraid again, back in the pews of First Assembly of God, listening to one of Pastor Orman's famous sermons. The False Prophets, the Mark of the Beast, the Lake of Fire, the numbers 666. I know it is only a matter of time before I lose my mind. I don't want to go the mental hospital. Please. I don't want to go...

"I am descended from a long line of archangels," he says, "leading all the way back to Lucifer Himself. After the curse of original sin, when Adam and Eve were separated from God, my ancestors lusted after the flesh of the first women. The Sons of Man came down from the Heavens to copulate with the wives of the first men. This displeased the Father so much that He threw His archangels into a deep abyss and separated them from God through eternity. God did not approve of His Host of Heaven having sex with the Daughters of Men. I've often wondered, why did God do that? What was His motivation? Was God jealous? Did He secretly want to have sex with the first women? Is that why he cast His offending angels out of Heaven? What do you think Grace?"

"I don't know. I don't think about such things. It's all nonsense."

"Yes, I agree. It's not worth thinking about really. I've just always wondered why God would create a woman's body in a fetching manner, yet impose such a harsh penalty on my ancestors for enjoying the fruits of that creation. The beauty of a woman is made to be enjoyed without shame, don't you agree?"