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The Devil in the Detail

by

J. Morgan Woodall




The Devil in the Detail

By

J. Morgan Woodall


https://www.facebook.com/JMorganWoodall


Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2016 by J. Morgan Woodall

All Rights Reserved


Editing services provided by SJS Editorial Services.


Cover Art by Vanesa Garkova

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Disclaimer


This story is intended as adult entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, sexual nature. If you are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please do not read any further.


This story is a work of fiction. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities described herein.





For my beloved Jenn …



“So … you’re a succubus?” he asked as he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

She smiled softly, as she took the glass. “I take it you find that somewhat hard to believe?”

He smiled and shook his head, obviously amused by her apparent need for over-the-top silliness. What am I supposed to say to that? Somewhat hard to believe? Jesus, lady! Really? What do I look like? Some dungeons and wizards geek?

In reality, he really couldn’t say much. After all, it had been obvious from their initial conversation back at White Caps that she was just a tad bit ummm … eccentric. And yet, here she was, sitting here in his hotel room, pretty as you please. With a body like hers, he reckoned, most men probably overlooked her peculiarities.

The first hint had been the skintight red dress and thigh-high, black, slouch-leather boots. It was a bit much for a steamy, July night in a Florida beach club full of bikini tops, surf company tees, and Forever 21 miniskirts. She was definitely not afraid to stand out in a crowd. Nor had she even broken a sweat in the sweltering heat of the packed bar.

“I like the Vampirella look,” he’d told her, after multiple Crown and Cokes had supplied enough liquid courage to broach the subject. “Was always one of my favorite comic book heroines.”

Jesus! Did I really just say that aloud? He’d regretted it the moment he said it, but his fears of her taking it wrong were apparently unfounded. She smiled, seeming to take no offense.

“It draws the moths to the flame.” She’d given him a wide-eyed psycho look in mock jest. Yet, for a second, in the darkness of the nightclub, against the incessant strobe lights … was that a glint of authentic, psychotic maliciousness he’d caught for the briefest of moments?

Nah! Probably just the whiskey!

Regardless, he had to give the devil her due, pardon the pun. The plan worked perfectly. It’d definitely gotten her onto his radar screen. And he wasn’t the only one. That night, she seemed to be at the top of every male’s list. As he’d watched with amazement, they’d come. All had come! Every male in the building: vacationing tourists, partying college boys, local regulars, the handsome and homely alike. From the sweaty, drunk throng of writhing humanity, they made their way over, shamelessly and eagerly competing for her attention, vying for her time. Boys and men crowded her table, wanting a dance, to buy her a drink, to hear her life story, to just have her look their way. Some would sneak away from dates, girlfriends, prospective one night stands, even wives, to make the pilgrimage to the table of the goddess in red. Some even had the audacity to blatantly walk away from the ones they’d brought, leaving their women humiliated and enraged as they stormed out of the bar. Such was the irresistible draw of this siren. Even though she’d obviously dressed to achieve this effect, as he watched intently from his barstool, she seemed to tire quickly of all the attention, as none of her suitors seemed to interest her in the slightest bit.

After watching for an hour or so, he’d finally decided to try his luck. And why not? He figured he owed it to the rest of his disappointed brethren to get shot down as well. There was no shame in going down in flames, as long as his guns were out of ammo and he’d gave it his best. He didn’t figure it would take her long to send him away with his tail tucked between his legs, so he’d been somewhat surprised that she’d allowed him to sit down. She’d passed on men he thought had far better chances than he did. Women. Go figure. Who knew what she was looking for? Women like that … full of mystery and intrigue, their minds are as unfathomable as the ocean outside, separated from the bar by only a few hundred feet of sugary, white sand.

Dressed in his usual casual attire— polo shirt, khaki cargo shorts, and leather boat shoes— he looked like just every other sweaty, drunken, beach rat in the place. He was handsome enough, he guessed, still fit and trim in his early thirties, with an all-over tan from the two previous weeks he’d been here. His blond hair was cut close and stylish, and his hazel eyes seemed to change color with the lighting. But to her, he probably looked like just another out-of-town rube.

Somehow, and he wasn’t real sure how, he had managed to talk her into coming back to the hotel with him. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. However, a part of him wasn’t so sure his gift of gab had all that much to do with it, especially after that ludicrous Vampirella comment. The more he’d thought about it, the more it seemed the opposite had occurred. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that she had chosen him, not vice versa.

She now stood at the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony of his king suite, high on the fifteenth floor of the Conquistador, the posh, new high-rise hotel overlooking the Gulf. Out on the water, the lonely lights of ocean-going ships and small craft blinked their forlorn presence through the dark and stormy night. Lightning raced across the horizon, its orange-white forks illuminated the heavy clouds that formed the leading edge of the nasty-looking front moving inland. It would be raining within the hour, a hard driving rain, with the wind coming off the water, battering the glass like a wailing banshee, mournfully announcing someone’s demise.

“It’s going to be a beautiful storm,” she remarked, surveying the ocean. “Do you enjoy a good storm?”

He shrugged. “It’s funny … when I was a kid, I used to love playing in the rain. Running around in it, stomping in mud puddles, getting soaked to the bone.” Standing at the dresser, he raised the lid on the bucket of ice and dropped two cubes into a tumbler. Reaching for the half-empty bottle of Crown, he filled the glass with whiskey, contemplating what she’d said before turning back to this ravishing but strange woman he’d just met a few hours before.

“Y’know, as I grew older, the more it seemed like getting rained on was some kind of sin, something to be avoided at all costs. Raincoats … umbrellas … anything now to stay dry.”

“Why is it that adults are discouraged from the same fun and laughter that they were allowed to enjoy as a child?”

“Part of growing up, I guess,” he shrugged, after a thoughtful pause. “You’re expected to be responsible, mature … all that bullshit. If you aren’t … people don’t take you seriously.”

“Restrictive, puritanical views!” she scoffed. “Imposed upon you by the same oppressive hypocrites who burnt innocent people at the stake in Salem!”

He chuckled. “I didn’t figure you to be a member of the local First Baptist Church. Not that I’m all that religious myself.”

“Oh, you seem to have gotten the wrong impression of me.” She had a mischievous twinkle in her captivating eyes. “To the contrary, I’m quite religious!”

“Ah! Of course!” He nodded knowingly at the backdoor reminder. “When I did go to church as a kid, we had this ol’ fashioned hellfire and brimstone preacher.”

“Ewww, reminds me of home.” Her face twisted in revulsion. “And not in a good way!”

“Uhhh, yeah … right!” He gave her a condescending smile. “Anyways, the ol’ parson used to always say the devil was in church every time the doors were opened.”

“Not my department, really,” she shrugged. “So, I wouldn’t know, although I’ve gotten to know many a man of the cloth quite well through the centuries.”

She smiled wantonly, and for the first time, he allowed himself to consider the outlandish notion that she just might be what she claimed. Indeed, she had a distinctly devilish look to her now. But even with a definite, diabolical bent, she was still as alluring as ever, maybe even more now. Those eyes … Good God, so blue they’re almost transparent! It was somewhat unsettling. They drew him in. Made him want to lose himself. She had a small, slightly upturned nose, like the hot comic MILF Blondie. Her full, luscious lips were so red they reminded him of a juicy ripe fruit … forbidden fruit maybe? Seemed somehow fitting. Her raven-black hair hung thick and wild down her shoulders, like that of a witch in season. The tight, form-fitting, red dress clung to every perfect curve of her body. Its neckline plunged low, all the way to mid-stomach, and the two milky white breasts were barely contained by the tight, stretched spandex that accentuated shamelessly erect nipples. The little red number was a sin in itself, ending just barely below her ass … long enough to cover the bottom of those exquisitely rounded cheeks and short enough to make even the most pious man want to look twice. Out of the bar and now back in his room, in much better light, he realized just what a stunner she really was.

Could it be possible?

“That whole vampire thing earlier … I was outta line,” he apologized, turning his glass up and downing a generous portion of the whiskey in it. “You really are a beautiful woman. No bullshit.”

She didn’t answer, but instead reached down and unlocked the glass door. Sliding it open, she looked back at him and smiled. “Come. Sit with me on the balcony.” With a bat of unnaturally long eyelashes, she added, “Please.”

He followed her outside, where two patio chairs awaited them. The night air was heavy with the scent of saltwater. In the distance, the rumbling of thunder accompanied the lightning, and a steady breeze now rippled the sunbrellas in the pool area directly below. Down at the beach, large, angry waves had begun crashing into the shore, the storm driving the tide in front of it like a herd of stampeding cattle.

She sat down in the closest chair, but he remained standing, making his way to the railing. Leaning against it, he surveyed the panoramic view like a king overlooking his kingdom. During his stay, he’d come to enjoy gazing out over it all. It gave him a sense of freedom to observe the beach scene, the pool, the vacationers frolicking on the surf or laying out, cooking their oiled bodies. He loved to watch the boats race up and down the coast and the paragliders float by. More than anything else, he simply loved to gaze out upon the ocean spreading out toward the endless horizon. Powder blue, tinged white, inside the sandbar, it turned a beautiful blue-green as it spilled out toward the bottomless depths of the Gulf. His favorite time of the day was just after dawn, sipping his morning coffee while he watched the dolphins feed just off the beach.

“I never got your name.” He turned back to her, only now realizing that awful breach of proper etiquette.

“No, you didn't.” She looked up at him, a sly smile parting those sensuous lips. “Don’t you know if I tell you my name, you gain dominion over me?”

“Ah, of course!” he rolled his eyes. She insisted on playing the game. “The whole ‘I am Legion’ thing.” He wondered how long she would persist with it. Girls like this, no matter how beautiful they were, tended to get on his nerves very quickly. He was a grown man, not some college boy who still read Harry Potter.

“You mind if I get a little more comfortable? These boots are killing my feet,” she changed the subject, as she raised a leg high and held it out in front of her.

“Sure, by all means,” he told her, although it was clear her asking was merely a formality. She began to unzip those garishly long boots, the zippers running full length, from mid-thigh to an inch above the sole. He watched her free her legs from their leather encasements, and felt an immediate twinge in his groin as he did.

Hidden inside the boots, it had been impossible to gauge just how long and sexy those legs were. Now displayed in their full glory, he couldn’t help but admire them. Before him now, liberated from their leather trappings, were a pair of the sexiest legs he’d ever seen. They were perfect and sleek, like works of art. The thighs, well-defined and shapely, were creamy smooth and unblemished. The calves were long and slender, not too muscular, but with just the right curve, as they flowed flawlessly into graceful, dainty feet with highly defined arches and slender, delicate toes. She pulled one of them up into her lap and began massaging the sole of it. It was very un-ladylike, but he had to admit, he found it quite charming.

He couldn’t resist taking a jab. “You know, for a supernatural entity, you sure do have some very human traits.”

“You insensitive males don’t realize what your women go through just to appeal to your basic senses,” she grumbled, as she continued to rub her foot vigorously. “Uncomfortable shoes, tight clothes, restrictive bras, cosmetics, and hairsprays. You should appreciate them more than you do.”

“Mmmm hmmm …” he answered absent-mindedly. In pulling her foot up to tend to it, the hem of her dress had slid up past her crotch, exposing a very racy pair of thin, red panties. He found himself now captivated by the sight of them. By far, this wasn’t the first time he’d gotten a free shot, yet as much as he hated to admit it, there was just something about this girl that was different. Maybe it was all this hokey-ass spook bullshit. Maybe it was the fact she was so damned sexy without really having to be. Even without the red dress and “fuck-me” boots, she exuded a confident, quiet sexiness like no other woman he’d ever seen. Even sitting there awkwardly rubbing out her throbbing toes, she was hot to watch. She knew all too well what she was and what she did to men. And he was a man like any other. He couldn’t deny the feelings running through his head and his groin; he’d grown completely hard just watching her work the soreness out of her feet.

“You like what you see?” Her head dropped down into his view, as she gave him a knowing wink. “And I thought you were a gentleman.”

“Did you now?” He was slightly embarrassed at the fact he’d been busted gawking like a teenaged schoolboy, but he tried to save face with a rakish smile. “You may be disappointed then.”

“I’m never disappointed.” She let go of her foot, picked up her glass, and drained it. “And do you know why?”

“Enlighten me,” he swallowed hard, as she sat her empty glass down, stood up and moved toward him.

“Because …” Her voice was deep, husky now, as her eyes locked onto his. “I know men’s hearts. Their deepest, darkest desires … the ones they tell no one.” She was in front of him now, her perfume sweet and intoxicating in his nostrils. “The ones they keep in the darkest corners of their mind, where light is never allowed to penetrate.” He looked into those blue eyes and immediately knew he’d made a terrible mistake. Look away! a voice inside him screamed. Yet he couldn’t. There was something in them now, a deadly seductiveness that dulled his senses like a drug. Those pools of sky-blue spoke to him, calmed him.

“I see men for what they are,” her voice was hypnotic, like a mother singing a lullaby to her child. Reassuring. Comforting. Disarming. Mesmerizing.

“Oh, is that a fact?” He wanted the words to come out differently than they did, with a bit of machismo to counter her smugness. Yet, they came out flat, almost robotic, as she stood before him now, a pagan goddess.

“And I give men what they desire. Any man. Any desire.” A light, purplish glow seemed to shroud her now. He should have found that very strange. Yet, somehow, in some way, it didn’t seem all that troubling. He sensed a feeling come over him, much like right after he’d had that one Crown too many. Warm and cozy, but not yet drunk and silly.

“I can be anyone to any man.” She moved closer to him, intruding upon his aura. Her ample breasts were almost touching him. So close! So agonizingly close! Every nerve ending in his body seemed to come alive, as she continued.

“I can be the neighbor next door you’ve wanted for ten years.” Suddenly, a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties appeared before him. She wore faded jeans, an old t-shirt, and sneakers. Her soccer-mom haircut and cat-eye frame glasses did nothing to hide an obvious sexiness that everyone knew was repressed by raising kids, paying bills, and supporting a thankless husband.


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