Servant of the Lust Demon by Daniel L. Darke

Servant of the Lust Demon

(Daniel L. Darke)

Servant of the Lust Demon

Chapter 1


Everyone who knew Sam Hughes always suspected that he would meet his death at the hands of a jealous husband.

Sam saw no reason to think otherwise.  He had been obsessed with women for more than half of his thirty-two years and had learned long ago that nearly every female he was attracted to was going through life with a horde of issues. Some of these concerns came in the form of mental or behavioral problems while others dealt with more dangerous realities, such as husbands or boyfriends. Sam’s downfall was that he simply did not care. If a woman flicked his on switch, he simply went after her. 

Sam was not tall, handsome, or athletically built.  Slender and slightly pale, he was of average height and looks. However, his baby face, thick dark-brown hair, light blue eyes, and harmlessly soft manner served him well. Women noticed him wherever he went. Most experienced the instinctive need to protect him. To hold him in their arms and chase his demons away. To them, he was the deceptive-looking bad boy they had always been warned about or the brother they had always wanted to consume but couldn’t. 

Sam welcomed their advances with the enthusiasm of a starving man accepting food scraps tossed in his lap. He had lived and dreamed sex ever since he was old enough to experience his first erection.  He lost his virginity at age twelve, to the older sister of a neighborhood friend. The girl’s name was Janice. She was a flirtatious eighteen and should have known better. Like Sam, she didn’t seem to care about behavioral problems or principles. She considered him just as cute and as cuddly as the fluffy, one-eyed teddy bear she had slept with as a child and had no qualms about pulling him into the back seat of her ancient Ford Fairlane just fifteen minutes after meeting and talking to him.

Ever since that day, Sam had successfully nailed every woman he had ever wanted. 

Ursula interested him from the first moment he laid eyes on her. Tall, slender, and almond-eyed, Ursula worked as the attending R.N. of St. Cloud Hospital, where Sam went for X-rays one Saturday morning after hurting his shoulder lifting boxes in the mailroom at work.

Hot-blooded, with strong urges and a natural compulsion to flirt, Ursula took to Sam immediately. According to her, Sam favored her very first boyfriend Donald, who had died fifteen years earlier, in Iraq. And since her husband, a successful pawnshop owner in Kissimmee, had flown to Miami on a business trip, leaving her alone for several days, Ursula saw no reason why she should not treat herself to a spontaneous, sexually charged adventure.

While waiting for Sam’s X-ray results, Ursula pulled him into a deserted storage room. For the next half-hour, she pounded him senseless, leaving the small area in shambles and Sam with long, sweeping scratch marks covering his back. Which, of course, he treasured for months to come.

For the next three weeks, they met at bars and in motel rooms, as well as in the back of Ursula’s utility van, where she had installed a comfortable mattress and several sex toys for her more mischievous moods. Their luscious rendezvouses were planned during lunch breaks—sometimes for just a quickie, other times for a much longer, more involved pounding between the sheets. 

Ursula began calling him Stud Muffin Sam, or sometimes Sexy Sam.  Or, after a few particularly steamy sessions, Slammin’ Sam.

Mostly everyone else he knew simply called him Sam. Or just plain Hughes. 

Hughes was the last name he heard before the lights went out.  It was the name Ursula’s husband uttered, followed by a long, heated string of enraged profanities, moments after the man crept into their bedroom, found Sam naked in bed with his trophy wife, and promptly blew him away with the satin silver .45 snub-nosed Smith & Wesson he had brought along for the special event. 

Sam’s thoughts slammed into utter chaos as he plunged into searing darkness when the horrifying explosion made by the hollowpoint slug slammed viciously into his brain.



Chapter 2


Sam’s entire universe instantly turned black and sizzling hot. 

He could easily tell he was falling. And falling. And as he fell, the blackness grew even blacker. And hotter. 

Panic sliced through him.  He was dead—he had to be. The deafening explosion. The horrendous fireball that had slammed into the back of his skull…

It had finally happened.  Someone had killed him.

But that wasn’t the important thing right now. What concerned him was the darkness enveloping him. The darkness and the fact that his fall continued. Most of all, he couldn’t stop wondering why the darkness consistently grew hotter during his fall.

Just as his confusion grew unbearable, his fall ended abruptly. Before realizing what had happened, he landed with a sharp-sounding splat! on hot, muddy ground. 

Slightly dazed, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Squinting, he took careful inventory. Nothing felt broken, sprained, or twisted. He experienced no pain whatsoever. Everything seemed to be where and how it should be.  As far as he could tell, he was not hurt. 

This was baffling. Such a severe fall should have literally destroyed him, or at least turned him into a tangled pile of broken bones.

Then, in the midst of his mental chaos, the reality hit him.   

If he were already dead, such a drop wouldn’t have even mattered.

He was dead, wasn’t he?

He had no idea.  All he knew was that his back, side, and arms were covered in hot mud. He also noticed that this place really stunk. It smelled like fresh, pungent shit. No, worse. It took him only moments to determine its strong sulphurous reek. 


This could mean only one thing.

Slightly nauseous, he pushed the forbidden thought aside.  At least, for now.  There were more pressing issues to explore.

His main concerns were what had just happened and why he was no longer where he had been only moments ago.

The darkness surrounding him extended as far as the eye could see. The foul, steamy air drifting toward him brought about even more of a heavy sulfur stench. His eyes stung, watering so badly that he could no longer peer into the darkness.  

He rubbed his eyes. At first, he didn’t feel them. But after a few moments, the sulfur dissipated slightly, and his vision, though hazy, slowly returned. 

This was something he could not understand. It made no sense. He couldn’t even comprehend why his eyes stung in the first place.  If he were dead, how could a pair of non-existent eyes have any feeling?  And how could he possibly still have hands to rub them with?  Would he continue to possess the senses he would need to adapt to this strange new environment?

Why did he have anything left, for that matter?

If he had indeed become a spirit, he wouldn’t have much of anything.  Everyone knew spirits were nothing more than masses of energy floating around in the atmosphere. Spirits, as he had read over the years, were merely hazy images of the dead seen only by mediums or other spirits.

What the hell had just happened to him?

Disregarding his stinging eyes, he forced himself to squint into the darkness. Soon the blackness cleared, transforming into a hazy red mist. 

About twenty paces straight ahead, the mist faded. Just beyond it, a bizarre figure shimmered clearly.

A large throne surrounded by a wide circle of flaming coals appeared among the red mist. The throne seemed to be made of stone, glittering in the darkness as if painted or splashed with a thick gloss. A huge figure sat upon it. As Sam drew closer, it became clear that the figure was a naked female. At first he thought it was a statue. But when it moved, he realized the figure was that of an actual woman.

Her beautiful flawless face seemed reminiscent of a Victoria’s Secret model. Her enormous dark blue eyes stayed dead steady on him, watching his every move. Her long, flowing, fiery red hair blew softly in the foul current of sizzling air, sliding across her yard-wide shoulders and down her arms. 

Although she appeared to be twice his size, her features were in perfect proportion.  A magnificent pair of perfect round breasts swelled proudly from her chest. Her forearms rested on the thick, flat arms of the throne. Occasionally she raised one of them to forcefully push her hair away from her face. Her long, shapely legs were crossed at the knee.

Her smooth golden flesh gleamed in the reddish mist. Her shoulders and arms were covered with rivulets of a thick, clear liquid.  Streams of the stuff flowed between her breasts, continuing down her flat stomach. 

Sam was both intrigued and aroused. If you liked your women enormous, beautiful, and huge breasted, this babe fit the bill perfectly. In the right circumstances, such a creature could be the answer to everyman’s ultimate dream.   

But this wasn’t the right circumstance.  Sam was almost certain he was dead. He didn’t want to believe it, but his present surroundings—as well as what had just happened in Ursula’s bedroom—suggested such a conclusion.  After all, he’d been shot in the back of the head. When you’re shot in the back of the head, your chances of survival aren’t promising.

Then there was that somewhat minor detail of his falling into a hot, sulphurous pit. This was also something he couldn’t exactly ignore. If this wasn’t Hell, it could easily serve as a neighboring suburb.

So where did this leave him?

He wasn’t certain, but he had the nagging feeling that the huge naked babe sitting on the throne just a few yards straight ahead could quite possibly be the one who would answer his questions.

Even if he was wrong, talking to her seemed likely to be the next logical step. However, the fact that she was gorgeous, naked, enormous, and covered in goo suggested that he should be extremely wary. Dark, frosty vibes emanated heavily from her gigantic orbs. Tendrils of flame flicked from her mouth and nostrils. And each time she lifted a naked arm to push back her hair, a thick cloud of almonds mixed with sweat—as well as the strong, unmistakable tang of sex—wafted his way. 

He decided to reserve judgment. He had just arrived in a strange place and was now facing an extremely formidable female. It wouldn’t be very bright to do or say anything stupid.

Just then, her arm extended. The claw-shaped, long-nailed index finger beckoned him closer.

Was this a good sign? 

Sam had no idea. If this were Hell, he couldn’t imagine any part of this exchange turning pleasant, or stress-free.

However, he had the strong feeling that he didn’t have much choice. Her throne alone suggested to him that she was probably the one in charge of whatever kingdom this happened to be.  Obeying her seemed the only sensible option. If he had learned anything in his short life, it was that you did whatever the in-charge told you to do. It didn’t matter if the in-charge male or female; you made sure you did as you were told. 

Nervous and bewildered, he took a few cautious steps closer.  The mud covered his feet and ankles, making it difficult to move, but he forced himself. When he was about five feet away from the front line of burning coals, the heat had become unbearable. He backed up a foot or so and shielded his face with both arms.  

The babe’s index finger beckoned again.  Sam took a tiny step forward and carefully lowered his arms.