The Devil Made Me Do It: Cain, Part 1.3 by TheBaldestOfThemAll

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Cain slammed Asmodeus against the wood-paneled wall, running his hands through the demon’s hair as the two well-muscled hunks made out viciously. The huntsman looked at the demon lustfully as he held him against the wall, penetrating him with green eyes full of vice and violence. Asmodeus could feel the air coming out of Cain’s nostrils. Hot. Heavy. The huntsman had this look to him that could daunt even the most dauntless of demons. It was Desire at its most debased.

Aggressively, Cain undid Asmodeus’s already half-undone dress shirt. He ripped the shirt off of the demonic hunk’s musculature and bared his beastly, Hell-hewn body. A physique fit for one of Hell’s most legendary legionnaires. With a calloused hand, the huntsman caressed the demon’s pecs, feeling the monstrous muscles contract beneath his sweaty skin, hot to the touch. The huntsman manhandled the manly coat of fur that covered the demon’s chest and savored the sensation between his fingers.

"So tell me, what’s the big, bad hunter going to do to me?" Asmodeus asked through hot, heavy breaths.

"I torture demons," Cain threatened lowly, "and for you, I’ve got somethin’ special." He held Asmodeus’s manhood in a vise. Cain brandished the clippers. He brought them up to the demon’s forehead and threatened him with them. Tormented him with them.

"Mmm… f*** yeah," Asmodeus tempted. "You know that’s what you want."

"Well, that’d be too easy now, wouldn’t it?" Cain asked callously.

"I didn’t know Patience was a virtue of yours," the demon taunted, a bit of impatience in his voice.

"It ain’t." A sadistic smile crossed Cain’s fine lips.

With the flick of a switch, a familiar hum filled the room. Deep and dominant. Demonic. Asmodeus eyed the clippers in the huntsman’s hand. His breaths got heavier and heavier as they approached his chest. The huntsman took the Osters over the demon’s chest, over the hair that he’d thought to be untamable, but the manly fur fell to the floor in surrender. It was a revelation of the rawness of the clippers’ power. The sort of devastation they could do to a man. Cain brought himself closer to the demon’s newly-shaved chest, licking the stubbly skin as he played with his pecs. Asmodeus convulsed at the sensation.

"Mmmph… f***…" Asmodeus growled, gasping for air breathlessly as Cain tormented his hard nipples with his tongue.

He pulled the hunk of a huntsman in and took off his henley, revealing the man’s own massive set of muscles. Beneath his burly body hair were symbols of all sorts. Tattoos he’d had etched into his skin for protection. The demon eyed the scars and eons-old sigils that adorned his well-muscled body. Incantations in the common tongue of angels and demons on both of his arms. On his atlas, an ophanim’s eye. Up and down his back, old Aramaic verses that’d been clawed out wolfishly. Three long slashes along his latissimi. Scars all across his abs, some from his time in the Ninth Circle. On his left pec was a pentagram—what was left of it, anyway. Cain's deal with the devil all those months ago corrupted the symbol that used to protect him. Now, he bore the insignia of the incubus, branded onto his chest by hellfire. The two were bound by blood till Death herself did them part.

Asmodeus kissed the mark, feeling the hunk’s chest rise and fall rhythmically with every breath. The taste of the man’s sweaty skin lingered on the demon’s lips. The soap he’d used earlier this morning had been overpowered by a saltiness with his own manly aftertaste.

As Cain took off his work boots, the offensively manly scent of the huntsman who’d been brawling with demons in the desert all day long overpowered the air around them. The huntsman took off his crew socks, and finally, the soles of his big, burly feet felt relief against the terracotta. Asmodeus inhaled deeply. F***. Cain was intoxicating.

The demon got onto the floor at Cain’s manly feet and kissed them in worship of the man. He started to undo the huntsman’s well-worn jeans, struggling to pry them off of the man’s muscles. He coerced the denim off his ass harder, more forcefully, and they finally came off. The man scowled. The skin of his inner thighs was all red and irritated from a day of dancing with demons.

Now, the huntsman was clad in nothing but a jockstrap that smelled like his cojones.

Asmodeus smiled sinfully at the sight. He brought himself closer to the big, hard bulge that struggled against Cain’s confinement. As he manhandled the huntsman’s ass, he started to suck on the man’s cock through his jockstrap, sniffing him and getting a taste of his masculinity.

Cain growled, grinning wildly. "F***… yeah, you like that?" He gripped the demon’s head, pressing him against his cock harder.

Damn. It was almost animalistic how much he craved Cain. Almost… human.

"I can’t get enough of you, Cain." Asmodeus looked up at the huntsman as he sniffed and sucked on his manhood. He slapped his well-muscled ass with both hands. "I can’t resist a real *f***ing* man."

The huntsman ran his fingers through the demon’s abundant head of hair in a frenzy. "A real man, huh?" Cain asked as he stroked Asmodeus’s head. He smirked. "I’ll give you a real man." He pressed his nose against the demon’s head and sniffed, getting a whiff of sandalwood. He kissed the top of his head, savoring the silk against his lips one last time. Cain and Asmodeus breathed heavily, the air around the two hunks hellishly hot and the tension as thick as the precum dripping from their cocks.

Cain took the clippers off the table and turned them on, destroying the silence with the sound of violence. He savored the sensation of raw power reverberating through his hand. He took his jockstrap off, and the stallion was finally unbridled. He’d always been the type of man who acted before he thought. Hot-blooded and controlled by instinct. He’d become so consumed by it that you’d best not be in his way whenever he was.

They always say that humanity harbors some of the worst monsters out there, and with Cain… they were absolutely right. His monstrosity was a vicious-looking thing, veiny and throbbing violently with precum. Asmodeus wrapped a hand around Cain’s uncut cock and started to jack him off. The huntsman coerced the demon to come closer and closer until finally, his lips were wrapped around his cock.

As Asmodeus sucked, savoring the taste of manliness on his tongue, the hum of the clippers grew louder and louder, taunting him. Haunting him. As a Prince of Hell, Asmodeus’s original sin wasn’t Lust, but instead, it was Pride. In this cutthroat business, Pride was something incubi and succubi had to have to survive. Don’t get it twisted—a sex demon is a sex demon for a reason, but there was something deeper within his damned psyche that f***ed with him.

For as long as there has been humanity on Earth, the tempter brought upon the rise and the fall of entire empires with his unholy beauty. He was a kingmaker. He was a destroyer of kings. The beginning and the end. Of course he had an ego. He knew he was a beautiful bastard. His hair was the crown of his beauty, and the thought of having that crown stripped away daunted him. But it was also something that got him off. Hard.

To be an incubus, a demon of Desire, Desire was something Asmodeus had to be well-acquainted with. Truth be told, it was something he was *too* well-acquainted with. It was his nemesis. What a wicked game to play, to give to others everything they’ve ever wanted, but never being able to have anything for himself. As an incubus, it was the curse he had to carry for all eternity. A demon acting on his own Desires, especially one as powerful as the Prince of Hell, was a dangerous thing. It was like playing with hellfire. He’d lived this life of self-restraint, of repression, but for what? Why should the Prince of Lust deny himself the same sort of pleasure he bestows?

It was damn time he finally got what he desired, too.

In his eternity of existence, Asmodeus had only ever eyed one forbidden fruit. One. It was the same fruit that Cain was so hungry for. Tonight, they’d share that fruit and get a taste of what they’d been deprived of for far too f***ing long.

He and Cain, they were a lot more alike than they’d wanted to let on.

To have his head shaved completely bald and be deprived of all his hair… the thought did something to him. To finally be freed from the burden of his hair after an eternity of repression. To feel the freedom of baldness. Its rapture. It scared the Hell out of him, but like the huntsman, he wanted a taste of baldness for himself too.

Now, Cain was going to give it to him.

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