Publisher’s Note: This is a re-release of the title formerly known as “Talus: A Demon Story.” All Blushing customer who have purchased “Talus” will be able to re-download the new version in their online libraries.
Grace the house sitter is in for a very interesting surprise. The supposedly empty house is far from it. And what occupies the house is not your every day mouse, either.
Talus first comes to Grace in a dream, granted the most erotic dream of her life, but a dream nevertheless. And then some very strange things start to happen, and the dreams become more and more vivid. Finally, Grace realizes that demon or not, Talus is real.
And Talus has some very interesting sexual tastes. He’s not only a demon lover – he’s a dominant demon lover, very much so. The edge between pain and pleasure is a thin one, Grace learns – and much much more.
This is an extremely hot, sexually expicit story, with BDSM themes, some quite severe.
Watch the book trailer below!
Part I In-cu-bus. Is that a new type of minivan?
Grace Ferrentino wrestled the last suitcase into the foyer of her temporary home-away-from-home and just stood for a moment, hands on her hips, one wary eye on the rocking, hissing cat carrier and one on the beautiful horizon of nothin’ but ocean. Out of the goodness of her heart – yeah, right – she’d offered to housesit for June, July, and August at a huge old beach house on Drake’s Island. Tanya Hennessey was suffering through another whirlwind tour of Europe with Mr. Wrong, and she’d needed someone she could trust to watch her house. Some people had all the luck
. . . well, in Tanya’s case, maybe luck wasn’t exactly the right word for it, but whatever she was doing, she must’ve been doing it right to be paid a teacher’s salary and drive a Jag.
Of course, Grace’s superhuman hearing in relation to anything beach-oriented
had perked up immediately; personally she thought it was a horrible waste
for anyone to live anywhere else . . . although the price of real estate
along the coast translated into un-real estate, which is why she lived
in a cramped little condo well inland. She carefully insinuated herself
into the conversation the three teachers had been conducting in the small
room at the back of the high school library that functioned as a break-slash-lunchroom
for those who got neither breaks nor lunches. “What’s this
I hear about you needing a house sitter, Tanya, and do you want the bribe
in small bills or will you take a check?”
Luckily, Tanya liked Grace, and Lord knows that, considering Grace’s
distinct lack of anything even vaguely resembling a life, the house would
certainly be safe enough with her, if one ignored the puddles of drool
that were likely to dampen the carpeting. Arrangements were made and emergency
numbers exchanged, and now she was finally taking possession – well,
temporary possession – of the property. She’d left her roommate
so fast, once school was out for the year, that there were probably still
skid marks in the driveway. But Lydia was one of the few people who seemed
to truly understand her perverted obsession with this house.
Probably because Lydia had a good idea just how perverted Grace really
was, she thought with a wry smile.
Grace was the librarian at the same high school where Tanya taught history.
They had known each other for years, although not terribly well, but Grace
had attended the annual holiday get-together that Tanya through for her
friends on the staff every year. And, from the first time she’d
stepped into it, there had been something about this place that had poked
at her from the back of her mind ever since; a feeling – an aura
that both attracted and repelled her at the same time . . . niggling at
her like a loose tooth that you just can’t keep your tongue away
from when you’re six years old.
Only Gracie was thirty-six years old, old enough to know better. Creaky,
creepy houses that had been there since Noah was a pup abounded in New
England, and they naturally had that “been around since dirt”
feeling. Grace was enough of a house connoisseur that she should have
just sloughed off the disturbing aura, but it wasn’t that easy.
Not at all. And she’d noticed that the feelings didn’t recede
until she’d left the house, dispelling slowly on the drive home
as if severely reluctant to let got of her. She’d been teaching
at the same school for almost ten years now, and had attended ten such
parties at Tanya’s beautiful house. That sense of nervous expectation,
that mantle of uncomfortable, almost sexual awareness settled onto her
and into her like a musty cloak every time she crossed the threshold.
And here it was again, only tenfold as strong.
Grace straightened her shoulders. She was not going to let whatever weird
spooky things that might be haunting what amounted to her territory for
the next two and a half months get the better of her. Before she loosed
one very pissed off kitty from her crate, she got her stuff put away –
the fewer things for Mouse to shred, the better. Once the litter box was
in place in the downstairs bathroom – the better to chase away any
guests with – Grace put the carrier in a quiet corner of the kitchen and
opened the door.
Now, Mouse wasn’t much of a cat’s cat. Having been raised
from kittenhood by her devoted Mommy, she was very attached to Grace,
and, although she had a very demanding schedule which included at least
sixteen hours of sleep a day, she also required plenty of loving attention,
which Grace was more than happy to provide. But instead of tentatively
sniffing her way out of the crate as Grace expected, Mouse literally race
over her sneakered feet to dart down the cellar stairs in stark fear.
Grace, a seasoned cat owner, just shrugged. She’d come up when she
was hungry. Tuna-breath’s food and water dishes took up residence
next to a solid oak waste basket.
Grace shook her head. Tanya needed to float down to Earth with the rest
of the humans and buy a butt-ugly Rubbermaid wastebasket, she thought.
Who the hell uses oak for a waste basket, for God’s sake?
Still mumbling to herself, she wandered out onto the screened-in, wrap-around
porch and just stood there, taking huge, deep breaths of coolish evening,
salty air, listening to the wonderful, soothing sounds of the waves and
the gulls . . . As she stood there, though, Grace couldn’t rid herself
of the idea that someone was standing behind her. That was silly. She’d
locked the door, she knew she had. But, paranoia reigning supreme, Grace
went back and re-checked everything. Yup. Locked. Screen door: locked.
Deadbolt: locked. Doorknob: locked.
Heck, this was backwater Maine, for God’s sake – at least
until the herds of touristas arrived in a couple of weeks. And even then.
You’d think she was in an apartment in the middle of the combat
zone in Boston!
Trying to laugh it off, Grace grimaced and headed back to the porch. She
couldn’t believe she was here until the end of August – heck,
she could practically roll out of bed and onto the –
Something was rubbing against her clitoris, and it wasn’t the seam
of her jeans, because she was wearing gym shorts. Grace could feel her
lips being parted, as if around a big, male finger as it granted itself
access to that hidden nub of flesh . . .
She turned around, half expecting to find the owner of that finger standing
behind her, but, of course, no one was there – hadn’t she
just checked the locks?
Flick – flick.
She had to brace herself against the wall of the house with one hand,
gulping air as she did. That was a finger. Grace knew fingers and that
was someone’s finger!
Flick – flick.
Holy fucking Christ, she was standing alone on a porch getting brought
off by a – by nothing! By something . . . invisible! Oh, God, her
nipples were both being coaxed into livid, aching peaks by something hot
and wet and slightly rough that suckled and tugged and pulled at her deliciously
. . . relentlessly – Grace’s knees almost gave away as she
moaned, long and low –
And then it was gone. Nada.
Nothing but a very deep, faintly amused chuckle, but that must’ve
come from next door.
Still shuddering, still pulsating, blood thrumming through now swollen
flesh, Grace forced herself to stand up straight and walk back into the
Why the hell hadn’t Tanya told her that this house was haunted by
a perverted ghost?
the unpacking process, Grace kept looking over her shoulder and jumping
at everything, including the phone when it rang next to her ear. When
she’d come back from the heart attack, she picked it up. “Hello?”
“Grace?” It was Lydia, her roommate.
“Lyds!” Grace greeted, dropping bonelessly down onto the freshly-made
Lydia liked to live vicariously through Grace – she might have spent the
summer at the beach house also, but then Lydia actually spent more time
with her boyfriend than at their apartment anyway. “Where are you
“I’m in the master bedroom – it’s freakin’
huge! The bed and the room itself – you know, she’s got a
walk-through closet dressing area thingie and a bathroom that’s
the size of our goddamned apartment!”
“Well, we all knew she was a clothes horse . . .” Disapproval
was rife in Lydia’s tone. “Is there any room for you to put
Grace snorted. “Yeah, like I have the gowns and stuff she has. I
can just see hanging my Jaclyn Smith’s from K-mart next to her Diors
– they’d probably curl up and die. I’d wake up tomorrow
morning to find all of her stuff had segregated itself into one corner
of the closet!” She figured she was pretty much done for the night,
so she put the toe of one foot to the heel of the Reebok on the other
and pulled each of her shoes off, flexing and stretching each foot as
it was released from sneaker purgatory.
A thought struck her suddenly and she tuned out Lydia’s story about
her rascal of a boyfriend – should she mention the bizarre happening
on the porch, or just write it off as an ode to the fact that she hadn’t
gotten some in a while . . . okay, an enormously long while? Lying stretched
out on the bed had made her t-shirt ride up above her shorts, which she
didn’t usually allow, not being the skinniest of people, but what
She was alone.
Grace raised her head and looked around her furtively, just to assure
herself that she was, truly alone. Then she relaxed back on the bed again,
her hand landing on her bare, much too round tummy, rubbing lazily as
she tuned back into Lyd’s story, able to pick it up without missing
“ – and then I said, ‘Fuck, no, you’re not gonna
touch me there . . .’.” Lydia was the world’s youngest
prude, Grace swore.
The snort that wafted through the wires was somewhat less than ladylike.
“Well, not all of us are slut puppies like you!”
“I am not a slut puppy!” Grace protested, then relented. “Well,
not in reality.”
“I don’t care that you haven’t slept with many guys
– when you do sleep with them, I’m sure they don’t hear
‘no’ very often . . . “ came the teasing comment.
“Bite me,” Grace responded with no real rancor.
Lydia didn’t hesitate with a comeback. “No, thanks. I’m
not into that, but I’m sure you are . . .”
Her best friend giggled like a little girl. “Well, I’ll let’cha
go – dipnod is coming to pick me up – we’re going to
see the new Star Trek movie. Wanna come?”
She knew that the offer was genuine, but Grace didn’t want to be
a third wheel, and regardless of how well she got along with Lydia and
Rick, anyone who went anywhere with a couple that was romantically involved
could rarely rise above that. “No, thanks, I’m kinda wiped
and I think I’m gonna open the French doors onto the balcony and
fall asleep to the sounds of the waves crashing onto the beach –
“ she teased mercilessly.
“Isn’t that what you have Rick for?” Grace replied sweetly.
“Or isn’t he quite up to the task?”
Lydia groaned. “That man is never down for any length of time, unfortunately
– he’s never down on anything, either. I definitely have that
bone to pick with him – “
“ – But not his bone, I take it?”
Grace could hear Lydia’s grimace. “I’ve been pickin’
his bone for far too long with no reciprocal consideration, if you know
what I mean . . .”
“I do, I do. So tell him you ain’t gonna give him any of your
hot, nasty love until he settles up his . . . er, debts.”
“Yeah. I guess I’m gonna have to.” Lydia sighed heavily.
“Well, I gotta go get ready.”
“Okay, talk to you later.”
Grace hung up the phone and fell into an all-out stretch that had her
groaning like she was in the midst of the most torturous of orgasms. When
she was done, she lay there panting for a long moment, then got up, pulled
all the shades and the curtains over the balcony doors, and indulged herself
in a hot, steamy shower. Tanya’s huge garden bathtub was an entirely
separate entity from the big shower stall, but she still managed to cloud
up the whole room nicely. Grace took a long time in the shower, shaving
her underarms and legs, even her mons – the pantyhose-pubic-hair
demon had gotten her for the last time in college. Since then, she’d
never let that hair get long enough to get caught in its clutches. Then
she wet her unfashionably long strawberry blonde hair, washing it twice,
with an unbelievably expensive shampoo that sluiced down her whole body
and scented it lightly with wintergreen . . . while something vaguely
man-shaped watched avidly through the glass, clearly outlined by the vapors–
if she had known to look.
After shutting off the water, Grace stepped out of the shower, wrapped
one towel around her hair, then dried herself off with a second luxuriously
soft one, sprinkling Ralph Lauren’s Romance powder liberally all
over, then walking nude into the bedroom to flop down on the end of the
bed and apply scented lotion to her horribly dry shins, arms . . . everything.
Into a soft jersey-knit nightshirt that proclaimed “Hand over the
chocolate and no one gets hurt”, as well as a pair of little-girlish
flowered cotton panties, and she flung open the doors to the balcony to
invite the salty sea air and the natural rhythm of the waves to lull her
Despite her usual neurotic tendency not to sleep the first time in a strange
bed, she had no such trouble that night, except for the fact that when
she awoke, she felt less rested than when she’d gone to bed. Her
whole body seemed to tingle and ache, as if she’d spent the night
making love . . . and the dreams! Grace lay half-awake in the morning
sun, and her whole body flushed a bright red at the thought of how every
dream she’d had last night had been entirely sexual in nature. Usually
her dreams had some sort of story to it – occasionally fairly elaborate
plots – but not these! It was as if she’d set her REM sleep
television to the Spice channel – and then some!
Now, she’d had wonderful, sexy dreams before, and these certainly
qualified . . . but there was an edge to these . . . for one thing, the
man she was making love with didn’t seem to have a face; it wasn’t
that she couldn’t recognize the features, it was that there weren’t
any features! Oh, Grace could remember details about his body –
how tall and broad and muscular he was – just like she liked ‘em.
And she could certainly recall exactly what he’d done with those
big, ham hands of his – all that probing and plunging and pinching
while his mouth – oooooooooh God in Heaven his mouth– what
mouth? – he was ravenous and almost animalistic with that thing!
He’d kissed her everywhere he touched her, leaving no room for any
sort of reticence on her part, as if he knew what she wanted and wasn’t
about to let her tell him “no” just because of some sort of
false modesty on her part . . .
Grace shifted restlessly under the light covers, noting that the muscles
of her inner thighs hurt, just as they would if she’d spent the
night with a guy . . . Her nightie was somehow too rough on her well-used
nipples . . . and her lips still felt swollen from where he’d –
But he hadn’t! No one had! She had been alone, all night, dammit!
Just to satisfy her own sense of security, Grace threw the covers back
and padded barefoot downstairs to the front and back doors. Locked up
tighter than a drum, just as she’d done last night. Absently, she
looked at Mouse’s food and water, but it was entirely untouched.
The door to the cellar was still open, but apparently she hadn’t
done any noshing in the night . . . That was unusual, too. Mouse wasn’t
the kind of cat to ignore the dinner bell in her tummy, whenever or wherever
it went off.
As she padded her way back into the bedroom, Grace had to determinedly
throw off the remnants of those dreams – they invaded her consciousness
insistently, flashes of her climaxing repeatedly . . . of someone’s
head between her legs for the fifth and seventh and ninth times . . .
a large hard dick taking her mouth while she cupped a heavy ball sack,
squeezing gently, rhythmically, but he hadn’t let himself cum down
her throat. No, he would only cum – such as it was for him – in
her pussy, he’d said in husky, snakey voice – but he didn’t
speak with his mouth – that was much too busy teasing or torturing
her to explosion after explosion. Instead the words forced their way into
her mind with lots of moans and groans and hissing that could have been
from either of them, amplifying them into a constant sensual background
in her brain, invading her brain like his big cock plunged into her slightly
Then he’d leaned forward, pushing himself even deeper up inside
her until she thought he’d come out her mouth he was so big, collecting
her legs over his elbows and forcing her to accommodate him in every way.
“Until I take you hard up the ass, that is,” he’d said
in a threatening tone as he caught her eyes.
Only there was nothing for her to look into – no eyes, no nose,
no lips that had suckled every intimate place she owned . . .
Grace could feel herself starting to swell and spread for him, as if welcoming
him to take her again in the broad daylight. Out of a pure sense of self-preservation,
she darted from the bed as if it was the source of her long night of sexual
fantasies and grabbed her bathing suit. She was going to spend the day
on the beach with a book even if she’d been fucked to death the
night before – and she almost felt like she had.
About an hour later – after she’d had breakfast and gone down
to the disgustingly immaculate basement to suss out where the kitty was
holed up, satisfying her compulsive maternal concerns about whether or
not the snotty little chit was okay – Grace sat in a comfortable, low
beach chair with the waves lapping at her toes, a steamy not-quite X-rated-but-very-close
romance novel on her lap, a Diet Coke in the sand next to her, and a tourist’s
cheap boom box playing seventies and eighties hits just behind her. This
was truly the life!
It was funny, but now that she was a ways away from the house, her concerns
about the dreams seemed overblown. After all, they were just dreams. No
sexy young stud had snuck into the house and ravaged her in the night
– she couldn’t be that lucky, Grace mused wryly, ignoring
the very real twinges of the muscles on the insides of her thighs as she
shifted position. It was probably just her subconscious reminding her
that she needed to either find someone to help her get there or she’d
need to take matters into her own hands tonight, which was a more distinct
possibility. All of those fantasies, which had, thank God, faded considerably
in the stark morning sunshine, had definitely had an effect on her and
she was, well, horny.
Of course, she’d bought the necessary accoutrement to take care
of just that development. Grace liked sex, and since she was uncompromisingly
picky about who she slept with, it had been a while . . . okay, a long
while, since she’d slept with a man. Too long, Lydia always said.
Lyds was always telling Grace that she needed to get laid, as if that
was a news flash to Grace, for crying out loud. But, when the need arose,
and it was arising with alarming frequency with the onset of peri-menopause,
she could take care of things quite nicely herself without having to explain
her particular likes and/or dislikes to yet another man who inevitably
slipped into that deer-in-headlights expression whenever she suggested
anything other than vanilla, man-on-top-get-it-over-with-quick sex.
It was a lazy day, exactly what she wanted every day to be like for the
rest of summer vacation. She didn’t go anywhere, didn’t see &ret