Twelve Days of Monstermas: Day Six (female demon x male reader - NSFW) (Patreon)

Half way there! How did that happen! Thanks so much to those of you who have commented and shared your enthusiasm for the project with me! It truly makes it all worthwhile to know you're enjoying it. Hope you like this one! It's just under 5.5k words long, and features a male witch, a big female demon, and some burglars who may have bitten off a little more than they can chew... 

The Rochester witches only ever produce girls.

That was an immutable fact. Except… you were very much male. 

Your grandmother had been so shocked at your birth that she had actually passed out, and as time had gone by and you’d grown into a young man, and had confirmed that yes, you were in fact, absolutely a man, they’d just had to accept that you were the first male born to the Rochesters in… well… forever. When you developed your powers as a young teenager, they also had to accept that not only were you their first male but that you were also their first male witch. 

It wasn’t easy, but you made do. You got good grades in school, went to university, studied botany, and then decided to come home and help your aunt run the family shop. Your mother had passed away while you were studying at university, so it fell to the two of you to keep things going. To say that the Rochester witches were a powerful dynasty of witches would have been an understatement, and the shop was partly a museum to the memories of all the witches - related or not - who had come before, with locked display cabinets towards the back of the shop. 

You had an additional income from making charms and jewellery to sell online to folks who didn’t really believe, but the shop itself was your main focus. On your first day, your aunt had warned you that some things might behave differently with you because you’re male. That included some of the cursed objects. Largely, things behaved for you though, ignoring the fact that the crystal scrying ball refused to work for you, and the candles always burned a little too vigorously in their sconces when you and your aunt worked your magic together to protect the shop or enchant items. Mostly, it was successful.

One evening, working the shop alone, you heard a hissing coming from a corner of the room. Thinking wildly that a snake must have got in or something, you leapt to your feet and searched the whole property, but there was nothing. Freezing in place, you strained your ears, hardly daring to breathe. A faint rattling, as if of china and crockery in the first tremors of an earthquake, reached your ears and you stared wildly around. “Who’s there?” you eventually found yourself asking, much to your own annoyance; that was what victims in horror films always said right before they got chomped or blown to bits or something. 

“I am a Rochester witch,” you growled, trying to keep your voice from trembling or cracking. “I will not be taken advantage of or mocked like this. Show yourself!”

One of the glass-fronted storage cabinets in the back room was just visible to you through the open door, and you saw a light flare suddenly bright. Stepping close, holding your magic tight to you in readiness, you entered the store room and stared at the cabinet. The largest and most dangerous object in there was an urn made of one piece of wrought iron, with the lid was fire-welded to the body. There was an engraved inscription, written in some ancient runic system you couldn’t read, and the whole thing was vibrating and smoking slightly as you approached it. 

“Stop it,” you snapped. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Free me, and I will reward you, human,” came the quiet, susurrating voice of the entity sealed inside. 

“No fucking way,” you scoffed, and stepped back, closing the door behind you, making a note to alert your aunt that perhaps whatever enchantment held the creature in place in that vase was beginning to lose its strength. 

Once she’d renewed the enchantments the next morning, you soon forgot about it. 

She told you that the urn housed a demon who had once been bound to the family line, but who had apparently betrayed them, leading to the Rochester witch being hunted and finally drowned for practising the craft in a far less tolerant age. A relative had been unable to banish the demon, and in revenge had cursed it to eternity within the urn. You shuddered at the thought of the suffering and persecution your ancestors must have faced, and resolved never to go near the urn again. A demon that had been trapped for centuries in the confines of a cold metal vase was hardly going to be cooperative. 

But the best laid plans and all that…

The protection charm around your neck seared a sudden, red hot warning in the early hours of the morning about a month after your first encounter with the urn, and you jolted awake with a shout. Intruders. Something crashed and shattered downstairs, followed by a dull, muffled roar. 

“What the hell?” you whispered, stuffing your head into a thick hoodie and charging out of the room, magic gathered and readied. You shot through the door just as the burglar alarm downstairs was triggered, and you raced into the main shop to find three figures trussed up in the otherwise invisible weaves of your trap. It was a tricky spell to weave, but since you’d been alone in the property, it had been worth the trouble and effort to create.

“The Rochester bitch is away!” one of them protested bitterly to his companion. “There’s no way her protection spells would have lasted this long - she’d need to recharge them!” 

“That ‘Rochester bitch’ you so kindly referred to isn’t here,” you said, stalking close to them. The acrid smell of brimstone was enough to make your throat close and your lungs burn. What the hell had they been up to? “You’ll have to deal with this Rochester bastard instead. And what the fuck did you do?” You punched in the code to the burglar alarm, silencing it. Your ears rang, but you weren’t afraid that they’d be going anywhere any time soon. Those were some powerful weaves you had them wrapped in. 

“He did it,” said the second figure, a woman from the sounds of her voice, though her face was shrouded from your sight by an enchantment. 

“Did what?” you demanded.

All three heads of your trapped burglars turned to the doorway behind you, and slowly, you swivelled round, horror settling in the pit of your stomach. Standing there and filling the doorway was a huge figure, silhouetted against the faint glow of a dropped flashlight on the floor. Horns curled upwards from just above her temples, and her waist was slim and sculpted, her hips wide, and her arms and legs strongly muscled. A flame burned between her horns - a bright, acid blue - and it sent flickering light dancing around the small shop. 

“He picked the urn up, and something just… happened…” one of the burglars whimpered. “We didn’t even come for that. Idiot should have known better.”

Your eyes flickered to the urn which was now on the floor beside the till and counter, and you saw smudges and bloody fingerprints on it. Somehow in breaking the glass of the locked cabinet, they must have deactivated the binding seal on the urn and freed the demon inside.

Reacting instinctively, your eyes darted to a nearby cabinet. Bringing your elbow up to the glass in a swift motion, you shattered it, the fabric of your hoodie protecting you from the impact, and grabbed the wand that sat on the shelf. 

Raising it to the demon, you cried, “By the blood of my Rochester ancestors, I bind you, demon.”

She laughed, but the light which flashed from the tip of the wand caught her full in the face and she screamed in rage a heartbeat later. Ethereal chains in prismatic colours shot out of the wand and she bellowed and thrashed, taking down half the doorway and the wall with her flailing body. She crashed to her knees and you saw that she had a thick tail, the same hue as her blood red skin, as it lashed behind her. She bared a mouth full of needle sharp teeth and tusks, snarling and frothing with anger. “No!” she bellowed. “I will not be bound again!” 

“You are bound,” you roared. “I bind you to me, demon. You will not walk free.”

The three burglars hung there in the air like flies in amber, clearly astonished at the display of your power. 

“You really are a Rochester,” the woman hissed. “I’d never have believed it.”

“Believe it,” you snarled, breathing heavily. Truth be told, the strength it had taken to bind the demon, without knowing her name, had nearly brought you to your knees, but, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead as it tracked down towards your eye, you stood firm. “The police will be here shortly,” you said. “Our store’s alarm is connected to the local station because of some of the artifacts we hold here. This demon being one of them.” You spoke as though you knew what was going on, as if you were in control of the situation, but honestly, your mind was reeling. You had a snapping, snarling demon on the end of a leash that felt like it was made of cobwebs. At any moment she could break free if your concentration snapped.

The police did indeed show up five minutes later, with a witch of their own, who bound the intruders up up with cuffs of her own, nodding respectfully at you as you released the three captives. She glanced nervously at the now silent but still terrifying demon who had got to her feet once more and stood in the wreckage of the doorway, dust and bits of plaster work still raining down around her. “Good to have a demon on hand, I suppose,” the police officer commented. 

The demon snorted, “It’s thanks to them that I’m fr-”

“Silence!” you barked, and she went rigid at the command, unable to disobey while those iridescent chains held her around the neck and wrists. 

“If you could come by the station tomorrow and give us a statement,” the officer practically squeaked, “I’ll… er… leave you to it for now.”

You nodded, and they all left. 

The moment the door shut, you staggered sideways and clutched the counter for support as your knees turned to water. 

“I knew it!” the demon chuckled in her deep voice. “I knew you weren’t that powerful.”

“Silence,” you hissed, but she ignored the command this time, though not without a flicker of flames creeping around the chains between the links and her skin as punishment for disobeying. She grunted and you laughed. 

You reached an uneasy accord after that, finding a way to stabilise the binding spell without it requiring a constant input of magic from you. 

Your aunt was away in Australia visiting relatives, and would be gone for another three months, so you’d have to fix this mess on your own. 

You took it one day at a time, leashing the demon to a special enchanted silver ring, like a dock ring for mooring boats, bolted to the floor. You made her fix the mess she’d made of your doorway, which she did, but instead of restoring the plasterwork to the same colour as the teal walls around it, she gave it all the properties of the roiling clouds of a thunderstorm, including the searing electric shock if you touched the wall beside the door. Deciding to cut your losses, you said nothing about it, which seemed to annoy her. Good, you thought. Let her seethe.

She followed you around, causing belligerent mayhem wherever you went. If you headed out at lunchtime to get a sandwich from the local shop, she let you buy it and get halfway home before she’d turn all the lettuce to pond weed and the chicken to maggots, then she would laugh as you spat and retched the rest of the way home. 

“Tell me your name?” you asked one evening as you sat on the sofa while she glowered at you from a corner. With the wand on your person, acting as a tether, you were able to bring her around with you. Her eyes were black as the night sky, and she rarely took them off you. The flame between her horns blazed brightest when she was emotional, and the moment you asked that question, it burned as blindingly as a magnesium flare. 

“No,” she snorted. “You own enough of me already.”

“Fine. I don’t like calling you ‘demon’ all the time though.”

“Why?” she said, picking nonchalantly at her talons. She couldn’t lash out at you with them, but still, they made you nervous. “I call you ‘human’ all the time.”

“You already know my name,” you said, regretting that she’d overheard you give it at the police station. If she ever got free now, there was no end to what she could do to you with that kind of power.

“So?” she laughed. Then she looked around the sitting room, the light of the TV screen pretty much the only other light in the room, and hissed, “You’re pathetic, you know that? Look at you. Any other man with your powers would be using them incessantly, and all you do is enchant a few pendants and put them in the post, and mash up some herbs to give to some bloke who can’t get it up. It’s pathetic. Your ancestors would be ashamed of you.”

“No,” you countered, “They’d be ashamed of me for binding myself to a demon instead of putting her the fuck back into her little vase,” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

“You can’t do it, can you?”

“No,” you admitted. “But when my aunt gets back, she’ll help me, and you’ll be back in there for good this time.”

She cocked her head to one side, her long, flowing, black and red hair tumbling down over one shoulder. “You’re always so honest,” she said, her black, forked tongue whispering the words behind those sharp fangs. “Do you even know how to lie?”

“Disappointed?” you asked. 

“Confused,” she said. “You’re… You’re not what I expected from a male Rochester.”

“As far as I know there haven’t been any… so how would you know what to expect?”

Instead of being offended as she usually was, she smiled, and it was a genuine grin of amusement that lit up her eyes. “I don’t,” she said. “But whatever I might have imagined, it wasn’t you.”

“Aw,” you crooned, picking up a dry pizza crust from the box on the table in front of you and flicking it at her. “You almost sound like you’re growing fond of me.”

She caught it in mid air and wolfed it down with a snarl.

That made you frown. “Are you hungry? I thought demons didn't eat human food…”

She shrugged. “It’s been several hundred years. You’ve invented a lot since the last time I had roast venison or something. That’s good… it… it smells good.” The demon hung her head slightly and began to flicker out of sight, as she sometimes liked to do. You knew she was still there - you could always feel her presence - but she liked the privacy of a quiet glamour every now and again. 

“I could order you a pizza next time if you want?” you said to the seemingly empty room. “Or Chinese?” 

You got no response, but the next time you got take-out, you added an extra round to the order. 

You had just sat down at the table when she strolled in from the other room. You had worked out how to adapt the chains of your binding so that she could wander freely for a short distance, without the need for you either to carry the wand around all the time, or to maintain constant mental and magical effort on sustaining her bonds. If she got too far from you, she simply materialised closer once again. It was a clever little enchantment which you’d dug up from the family grimoire, an ancient and invaluable tome to the witches of your family, containing every spell that had ever been devised or used successfully by them, and annotated with diary entries and thoughts from the preceding generations. 

It stood open next door on the counter in the shop where you’d left it after closing up and finishing off a few last enchantments. “Hey, Demi,” you called out, using the nickname you’d given her after refusing to call her ‘demon’ any more. “C’mere! You have to try this.”

In all honesty, after her pranks had settled down, she had been pretty good company. She no longer woke you at three in the morning with a huge, wet frog in your bed, or unplugged the fridge-freezer so that everything thawed out and flooded the kitchen by the morning, and she very rarely scared the shit out of customers any more. Every now and again she was even helpful, though the first time she’d suggested an alteration to an ancient recipe from the grimoire, you’d flatly ignored her. She’d been only too glad to sit back and watch you scrape the burnt remnants of your potion from the cauldron afterwards, and following that, you had tentatively begun to listen to her. 

She stalked around the corner, her massive frame filling the doorway, and you swallowed awkwardly, almost choking on your own saliva when you saw her. She often wore very little, but now she was topless, her large, round breasts bare for you to see, the ridges of her muscular stomach rippling as she moved, and the slip of gold and red silk that covered her last scrap of dignity was sheer and barely there. 

“If this is some ploy to get me to release you,” you said, voice thick and obviously strained, “I’m not interested.”

The demon cocked an eyebrow and slid her tongue out over her lips. 

“Seriously, just… put something on and come and eat.”

She seemed baffled that you had refused her so easily. “Are you interested in male bodies?” she asked. “Because I could make that happen too…”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m interested in women. It’s just… not appropriate, you know?”

“What,” she laughed, “No sex at the table? No food play?”

“No sex with demons!” you snorted. “But I’ll happily share a pizza with you. 

In a wave of her hands, a sheer, gauzy top materialised over her chest, and while it hid most of her frankly beautiful assets, you were still very aware of the curve of her breasts and the fact that both nipples were pierced through with gold. 

“You really aren’t what I thought you’d be when I first saw you,” she said as she tucked heartily into her pizza, sitting cross legged on the floor beside your low-slung coffee table. “Most male witches I’ve met - admittedly it was a long time ago - just… ugh, they let the power go to their heads, you know? They’re selfish and disgusting and ostentatious and they abuse their gifts.” After a pause she added, “But come to think of it, I’ve actually met a fair few female witches who are even worse, so…” she shrugged, and bit off another piece of pizza with obvious relish.

You stared at her for a long moment and then said, “Demi, can I ask you what really happened to get you locked up in that urn? Apart from being, well, a demon of pretty immense power, and a prankster on a par with Loki himself, you’re actually alright.”

Her black eyes bored into you so hard you thought she might be reading the skein of your soul for a moment. Eventually though, she said, “You’ve never lied to me. I suppose the least I could do in return would be to tell you truthfully what happened. I fell in love with one of your ancestors. Her mother did not approve. She was supposed to be wed to this rich businessman from the city to try and improve the family fortunes, but she begged me not to let her go. I’d been summoned about a generation before to protect the family line and assets, and I’d never felt so torn.” 

She tucked a strand of her long hair back behind her slightly pointed ear, the light of her ever-burning flame dimming and then flaring bright as she remembered and retold her story. 

“On the one hand,” she said, “The marriage would have saved the family. But it would have suffocated my love. So, I killed the businessman. I should have been more careful. I should have done it more subtly. But, demons are demons, and I took the simplest and easiest course of action. My love’s mother was so furious at me that she confined me in that jar. Do you know what the inscription says?”

You shook your head.

“It reads: No daughter of my line shall free you, demon.” 

“Oh the irony,” you laughed. 

“Actually it was your presence that woke me first. I knew something was different about the place. But then that idiot put his bloody fingers on the vase and I drew on his power, and… well… then you came along and I didn’t get very far, did I?”

You grinned a lopsided smile and said, “Honestly, you’re not so bad.”

She leaned across the table towards you and took your face in her huge hands. Frozen half in horror and half in pleasure, you gazed up into her eyes and felt all the warnings of your magical training evaporate in the face of her harsh beauty. She was easily twice your size, but there was just something about her that called you inexorably into her. She kissed your mouth gently, nipping your lips playfully with her teeth before slipping her long, black, forked tongue out to explore your mouth more. 

All your blood rushed to your cock and you rolled your eyes, the remnants of your supper forgotten as she kissed you. Your blood sang in your ears so loudly that you almost missed the shattering of glass from the front of the shop. 

She stopped kissing you immediately and you both lurched to your feet. “Are you serious?” you hissed. “Again?”

“Maybe they came back to finish the job,” she replied in a snarl. “Leave them to me.”

But you grabbed her arm as she made to dart forwards, and mouthed, “Together.”

She nodded and stalked out behind you. 

Hushed voices rose from the main shop area, and you caught the words, “Grimoire… there…”

“No!” you yelled, rushing forwards. “No!” If they got their hands on that, all the knowledge of the generations of Rochesters would be lost to you and in the hands of the wrong people it had the potential to be incredibly dangerous. 

A spell flashed past you from one of the burglars and you heard the splintering of wood behind you, shortly followed by Demi’s animal roar of anger. 

“Take out the demon first!” the second intruder yelled, concentrating their efforts on Demi as she reared to her full height, swathed in darkness. Her flame burned black now, and you felt truly afraid of her for the first time since you’d bound her. 

As the two thieves turned their fire to her, you leapt in front of her. The blast from one hit you full in the chest and you fell back with a grunt. Demi didn’t wait. She clenched her fists and roared, and the intruders turned instantly to dust. 

“Useful,” you choked. 

“Shh,” she said, dropping to the scrubbed floorboards beside you. “Shh, rest. Oh that’s…” she grimaced when she saw the mess of your chest. “Oh hellfire,” she swore. “That’s bad. Keep still.” 

Your vision darkened, but you managed to keep your eyes open as she reached up and scooped a small section of the flame which now burned bright blue once again into her hand. She laid it down on your chest and closed her eyes, pressing the heat of the fire into you. 

“What are you doing?” you rasped, ignoring the pain and the tingling all down your body. 

“Quiet,” she growled. “Keep still. That’s a nasty wound.”

Eventually the prickling heat and tingling died down and you took a tentatively deeper breath. With the wound completely healed, you sat up, still a little winded, and saw her sitting back on her haunches, staring at you with wide, glassy eyes. “Demi, what is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, still looking honestly baffled. “Why… Why would you do that?” she finally asked. “Why would you put yourself in danger for me?”

“Because I…” I love you. The words were on the tip of your tongue. Would telling her that release her? Would it change everything? Instead of speaking the truth, you gave her a half-truth. “Because you’re a lot more useful to me alive than dead.”

Demi’s eyes clouded over and her expression went blank. Her flame flickered to a dark blue, and she rose and walked away without a word. 

“Demi?” 

She opened the front door and caused a small tornado to sweep through the shop and carry the dust from the intruders out into the street. With another wave of her hand, the glass in the door repaired itself, and she stalked back over to you. “I’d lock that up again if I were you,” was all she said as she passed. Then she vanished from your sight without speaking again.

You didn’t see her for days. You didn’t call on her, you didn’t ask her to help you with anything, and you left her to her own devices, trusting that she wouldn’t be plotting somehow. You’d hurt her by not telling her the truth, but there was no way that her knowing the full extent of your feelings could be a good idea, could it?

One night about a fortnight later, you went out for drinks with an old friend who had got back in touch to say she was in town, and you stayed out late, laughing and catching up. You didn’t tell her about Demi though, but she knew something was up. “There’s someone in your life, isn’t there?” she pressed, sipping her whisky and eyeing you suspiciously. 

“Maybe, but it’s super complicated,” you sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” she said, eyes narrowing curiously. The conversation moved on to other things after that, and before you knew it, it was one in the morning, and the bar was closing. 

You saw her safely to a taxi and then headed home yourself. 

You frowned as you peered in through the glass door of the shop that also doubled as your own front door. The room was dark, as expected, but the darkness was thick as smoke, broiling and shifting constantly. You were almost afraid to open the door. Had something else broken free? Then with a pang of terror, you thought of Demi. With shaking fingers, you unlocked the door and stepped inside. 

“Demi?” you yelled, your eyes instantly veiled by the churning blackness. “Demi? Are you alright? Where are you? What’s going on?”

Her voice, coming from everywhere at once, whispered your name, and the fog cleared instantly to reveal that she had been pacing the room. She stared at you with wide, frantic eyes. “I thought… I thought something had happened to you,” she said eventually. 

“I’m surprised you care so much,” you said, closing the door behind you, relieved that it was just one of her temper tantrums. “I’ve not seen you in weeks…”

“Of course I care!” she blazed, flame burning white hot as she strode towards you and covered the distance in two massive steps. 

Her hands found your shoulders and she bent over to kiss you. She backed you roughly into the wall and then simply picked you up, straight-jacketing you with your own arms pinned to your sides by her huge hands. Her kiss was passionate, deep, and full of feeling. 

“Demi?”

“Elarieth.” 

“What?” you gasped between kisses, trying to find some kind of purchase on her so that you could push her back for just a moment. 

“My name,” she growled before lunging forwards and latching her teeth onto your neck. She sucked hard enough that you felt a colossal bruise beginning to form, but her sharp teeth didn’t break the skin. She moaned against you. “I want you,” she said. “My little human witch, I want you.”

With a shudder, you went limp in her arms and sighed. “I’m yours, and you know it,” you said. 

Triumphant in her victory, she bore you upstairs to your bedroom and laid you down on your bed. The fact that she could carry you so easily had made you more than half hard by the time you were at the top of the stairs.

She paused just a moment to look around your room and grinned. “It’s so you,” she laughed. 

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” you panted. Your cock strained against your jeans and all you wanted was to be inside her, to feel that infernal heat close around you. 

She lowered her arms and placed her taloned hands on either side of your body. She began to stalk slowly up the bed, flattening you into the sheets by the intensity of her presence alone until she lay over you in a fixed plank, her muscles barely shifting at all. Her long hair fell down over one shoulder and curtained off your view of the room so that all you could focus on were here eyes, her lips, and, with another wave of her hand, her naked body. 

She had the muscles of an Amazon or a giant, and while she wasn’t necessarily gentle with you, her black talons never hurt you, and she used her lithe tail to wrap around your ankle and hold you in place as she worked her way down your body with licks and kisses and teasing scratches. 

Your hard cock wept against your abs as she ran her fingers over your aching balls, drawing a broken moan from your throat. “Please!” 

She acquiesced a moment or two later, and closed her mouth over you. She took you hilt deep in her mouth in one stroke, her tongue rippling along the underside of your cock until you saw stars. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked. As you gazed down at her, you watched the blunt tip of her tail slither up the inside of her own thighs to begin to tease herself. 

“Fuck that’s hot,” you rasped, and she grinned around your cock. Elarieth peeled her lips back to reveal her row of sharp, white teeth, then opened her jaw wide and wrapped her long tongue around the circumference of your cock, pumping upwards in a way that made your head spin. Pre-come beaded instantly and slipped down, running along her coiled tongue until she lapped it up from the source with a delicate motion that set your nerves on fire. 

She continued to play with herself as she worked you closer and closer, and as you gasped that you were going to come, she shifted, releasing you with a wet pop that made your balls clench, before sinking down on top of you. You were much smaller than her, but with the addition of her rounded tail inside her, you filled her utterly. The feeling of being pressed inside her, feeling her walls clenching with pleasure as the two of you fucked her, was enough to send you crashing over the edge and you emptied yourself inside her. 

She came a moment later, growling and snarling her ecstasy into your ear, her body gripping you and drawing every last drop of release from you with her wild, rolling spasms. The flame atop her horns burned white, sputtered, and then went out as she flopped onto the bed beside you, panting hard and still twitching with little aftershocks. 

“You alright?” you slurred, concerned, and she nodded, smiling. “That was incredible.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement, hooking an arm over your body and drawing you close to her warm, hard body. Her hands wandered, and in almost no time at all, you felt yourself beginning to stiffen again. You moaned and pushed your hips back into the curve of her body. 

“Ready to go again?” she purred in your ear. 

“Are you?”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m just getting started…” 

And with that she began all over again. 

Do let me know, as always, if you enjoyed it by leaving like, and a comment if you feel like it. 

Tomorrow's is a big old orc boy x male reader - nsfw