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DamonDarg - Demon — Description

Sergeant Rick
Act 0
Call
A police station in a small American town. Eleven o'clock at night.
The room holds that particular stillness that comes only in the dead of night—when the crackle of the radio seems louder than by day, and every movement echoes off the institutional walls.
Two officers sit at their desks. Sergeant Rick and a young officer, Tim. The sergeant is around thirty. Powerful musculature beneath a dark blue short-sleeved shirt. Dark, neatly cropped hair, a thick well-groomed mustache, gray eyes. His gaze is calm and confident.
Tim is about twenty-three, dark-haired, with a modest mustache.
Rick flips through reports on his monitor. Tim fidgets at the desk across from him. For the third time in the last half hour, he gets up and heads to the restroom.
When he returns, Tim casts a guilty glance at the sergeant.
"Sorry. Dinner must've been… questionable."
"I noticed," Rick answers dryly, without looking up. "You should see a doctor tomorrow."
"It'll pass on its own," Tim waves it off and quickly turns back to his monitor, pretending to work.
Rick continued sorting through reports. The evening had been surprisingly quiet. Not a single call or message from citizens. He'd even checked to make sure the phone on his desk was working. And then a notification came through from his Discord account. Rick hardly ever used it—he'd only made one because all his colleagues were there. The message was from a man he didn't know. He said he'd tracked the sergeant down to send him their Boy Scout troop photo. It was from fifteen years ago. Rick had been only fourteen at the time. He opened the picture and saw all the boys from that trip. They stood in two rows, and in the middle stood their leader. A muscular man, dressed in a sand-colored short-sleeved shirt and short olive-green shorts. On his rugged, yet handsome face there was a good-natured smile. He was strict with the boys, but he always helped them through their difficulties. Looking at him, something long buried from that time suddenly surfaced in Rick's memory.
A scorching afternoon, the river, boys laughing. He'd stepped into the supply tent to get water and froze. The leader—a tall, muscular man with broad shoulders—stood with his back to him, changing. His uniform lay tossed over a folding chair. The leader turned sharply, and Rick saw him naked. All at once: the broad chest, the strong arms, and most of all—what hung between his legs—a heavy, large member even in its resting state.
Rick froze and awkwardly shifted his gaze from the man's member to his face. His face flushed red. He wanted to apologize, to back away, to run—but something held him in place.
The leader looked at him calmly and, quickly pulling on his swim trunks, asked:
"What do you need?"—it sounded like an ordinary question.
Stunned, Rick was silent for a second, trying to remember why he'd come in.
"I came for water," he finally blurted out.
The leader quickly pulled a bottle from the cooler and handed it to him.
Rick nodded, grabbed it, and ran out, stealing a glance at the bulge in the man's trunks. For the rest of the day, the image of the leader's body haunted him. When he looked at him, his gaze kept drifting to the prominent bulge in his shorts. And with it came a strange, unfamiliar flutter—and a desire to see it again.
That night, in the tent, he dreamed that he walked up to the leader. Reached out and touched his chest—muscular, hot, alive. The leader didn't pull away. He allowed it. And then Rick's hand slid lower.
He woke to find his underwear wet. Rick was frightened, not knowing then that it was his first ever nocturnal emission.
He was ashamed. So ashamed that he couldn't look at the leader for the rest of the camp. Then camp ended, and Rick buried the memory deep beneath layers of rules, duty, and iron discipline. Never returning to it, never asking himself why it had affected him so.
The memory unexpectedly stirred a light arousal. His cock reacted slightly. Rick immediately closed the message on his screen, pushing the intrusive feelings away. He furrowed his brow, forcing himself to focus on work.
And at that moment, the duty phone on his desk rang.
Rick picks up the receiver.
"Police station, Sergeant Rick."
"Hello, officer." The voice on the line is a pleasant male baritone—calm, even, and, it seemed to Rick, commanding, yet polite at the same time. "I'd like to report suspicious activity at the abandoned temple on the edge of town."
"What exactly did you see?" Rick picks up a pen.
"Movement. Shadows inside. Could be homeless people, could be… I don't know. The temple is a historic landmark—it ought to be checked on."
"Have you been there yourself?"
"I was driving past. Noticed a light. Strange, flickering. Decided to call." A pause.
"What's your name, sir?"
"Lucius, but I'd rather not appear in the report."
Rick knew the abandoned temple. It stood off by itself—old, from either the seventeenth or eighteenth century. Long closed, but never torn down—historic value. Calls like this usually turned out to be false alarms, but protocol was protocol.
"Your report has been noted. We'll check it out, sir," the sergeant said by the book.
"Very good, Sergeant Rick," the caller thanked him and hung up.
Rick set the receiver down and entered the temple's address into the navigator. Normally he'd send Tim out on a call like this, but given the kid's condition, he decided to go himself.
He stands, checks his holster.
"Tim," he calls. "I'm heading out to check on the abandoned temple. You stay by the radio."
"Maybe I should go?" Tim offers obligingly, then immediately doubles over with another cramp.
"Stay in the station. I'll handle it. If anything happens—call right away," Rick orders.
"Okay, Sergeant," Tim confirms with obvious relief that he won't have to bounce around in a squad car with a sick stomach.
Rick steps outside and gets into the patrol car. He mounts his phone with the navigator on the dash. Starts the engine and heads for the temple.
Act 1
Temple
By half past eleven that night, with a full moon shining in the sky and the air thick with dampness and the smell of wet earth, Rick pulled up to the old abandoned temple. The cold moonlight illuminated walls of uneven black brick. The windows gaped with dark stained glass, and an oppressive silence hung all around—broken only by the occasional creak of old trees. The sergeant looked at the windows, trying to make out any sign of light inside. But he saw nothing. The temple was as silent as a sarcophagus.
Rick checked his weapon and got out of the car. His movements remained habitually crisp, but each one carried a hint of wariness. His gaze slowly swept across the black facade, trying to catch the slightest movement or sound. His service Glock rested in its holster. He didn't know what to expect—and that was what unnerved him most of all. Accustomed to clear rules and understandable threats, he took a deep breath and moved toward the dark walls. Every step was swallowed by the rustle of grass beneath the pressing silence.
Rick approached the main entrance. The carved arched doors were shut tight. So he went around the side and found a small wooden side door. It turned out to be unlocked and gave way with a soft creak, opening a path into the yawning darkness. Rick pulled out his flashlight and lit up the dark passage. With his first step, he was enveloped by coolness and the smell of old dust, wood, and something else—elusive, yet unsettling. Passing through the narrow corridor past a stone staircase, Rick emerged into the nave of the temple. Moonlight, filtering through the colored stained-glass windows, painted ghostly patterns on the walls and floor, dimly illuminating the vast space. The darkness was thick and dusty. The moonlight from the stained-glass windows glowed through it in murky beams.
The bright beam lunged forward, piercing the darkness. Gray eyes methodically scanned every corner. His movements carried the caution of an experienced officer. He took his time, lighting up the wooden, nearly black pews, the columns, the floor—all covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Every shadow seemed sinister, and the silence set his nerves on edge. His heart beat steadily and strongly, keeping time with the unknown. The air was frozen, as if the temple itself had stilled in anticipation of something inevitable. Rick moved on, trying to make as little sound as possible, listening into the silence.
He came within a meter of the altar and scanned the space around him. No one. Only dark walls, columns, and centuries of dust.
He was already about to leave with relief when suddenly, from above, out of the center of the dome over the altar, a bright glow appeared. It began to illuminate the altar and the space around it. Rick stepped backward, placing his hand on his gun just in case. He stared upward in astonishment, trying to understand the source of the light. And a few seconds later, from there, as if from the heavens, something luminous and large began to descend. Rick froze, stunned by the sight, continuing to watch the descent in amazement. His body was tense, and his thoughts raced through impossible explanations. Finally, a glowing angel descended onto the altar. But not an ordinary one, like in old paintings and icons. This was a muscular man with golden wings, wearing golden briefs that clung tightly to a large erect cock and large balls. His entire body and wings radiated a soft, radiant light. He gracefully lowered himself onto the altar, standing at full height before Rick. On his face there was a joyful smile, as if he was glad to see Rick. He resembled his Boy Scout leader—the one Rick had seen naked fifteen years ago. He stood fully open before the sergeant. The stone altar instantly turned to gold.
"Hello, Rick. I am here to make your dream come true," the angel said in a pleasant baritone.
Rick was in shock and bewilderment at what he was seeing and hearing. His mind couldn't fit the situation into any known framework. He searched for explanations, but all of them seemed absurd. And the main question—"What should he do?"—remained unanswered.
"You are not asleep, Rick. This is not a dream. And I am not a hallucination," the angel said, as if reading his thoughts. "I am here. Real."
Rick swallowed.
"Who are you?" he managed.
"I am your guide into a new world. I will not ask you to trust me. I merely offer you to take a step."
The angel extended his hand to Rick, palm up. And then the altar began to transform. A staircase gradually extended from its front, forming a path upward.
"If you command it, I will leave at once. But if you wish, I am entirely at your disposal. I will do only what you yourself desire. And you may step back at any moment."
Inside Rick, the sergeant and the male fought each other—honor and lust, fear and passion. He quickly weighed all the pros and cons, the craving and the risks, the pull and the resistance. But none of his reasoning was backed by hard facts, weighty arguments, or reliable guarantees. Only faith in the angel's words against the doubt of whether stepping back was the right choice. Rick looked at the angel and saw his radiant, so coveted body. He suddenly thought that he was being given a chance to experience what he wanted. A being that by definition could not bring harm or pursue selfish ends. And this intimate, mystical setting. All of it moved him to decide—to agree, to try, to take a step. He stepped onto the first golden stair and reached out his hand. The moment it was cradled in the gentle embrace of the angel's hand, Rick felt relief. He ascended onto the altar and looked at the angel. The angel turned out to be half a meter taller than him, and Rick felt his power. And at that moment, Rick's clothes vanished completely. He flinched in surprise and looked at the angel with alarm.
"Do not be afraid, Rick. Your clothes will return when you step down from the altar. They are not needed here."
Rick felt the warmth radiating from the angel's body and calmed somewhat, trusting his promise. Besides, it made them equals in their shared nakedness.
"You are beautiful, Rick. I admire you and want to give you pleasure."
This confession emboldened Rick, and he found it pleasing that the angel saw him naked. He felt arousal from his own nudity. From the sensation of freedom and lightness.
"Touch me, Rick. Feel my body. Allow yourself to do what you want."
Rick cautiously touched the angel's muscular chest. It was warm, firm, and pleasant to the touch. He began to caress it.
"Will you allow me to caress you?" the angel asked.
Rick looked at him with relief. His delicacy and tactfulness gave him confidence that he was safe.
"Yes," Rick answered, and the angel slowly began to stroke his shoulders and chest.
Gradually they drew close and embraced. The angel began kissing Rick on the mouth intoxicatingly. His kiss put Rick into a trance. He closed his eyes and savored it, feeling the angel's muscular body and the caresses of his strong yet tender hands. The angel's cock rubbed between Rick's legs.
Then they pulled apart, and Rick looked at the angel's erect cock in his briefs. The fabric concealed it completely, yet revealed its shape very distinctly.
"Do not be shy, Rick. It is only us here, and all I want is for you to feel good. Enjoy it, if you wish."
Rick touched the cock through the briefs and began to caress it. The golden fabric was very pleasant to the touch. A few minutes later, he was kneeling before the angel, worshiping his genitals clad in golden briefs. He ran his lips over them and rubbed his face against them, reveling in them.
Then the angel knelt before the kneeling sergeant and, embracing him, began kissing him again. Smoothly and carefully laying him onto his back, he continued caressing his body. Then he lifted Rick's legs up and began pressing his clothed cock against Rick's anus. Rick tensed slightly but quickly surrendered, feeling pleasure from the pleasant sensation of this massage against his opening.
"Allow me to enter you," the angel said softly.
Fear appeared on Rick's face. This was the last boundary of his world. The last point of no return.
"Do not be afraid, Rick. Trust me. I know you need this. Relax and simply try. I want us to feel each other in complete union. I promise everything will be fine. You can stop me at any moment."
"Okay," Rick surrendered. He decided to go all the way, to fully complete this act of reunion and mutual possession. The angel pressed against him and entered. Rick gasped, closing his eyes at the sensation of first penetration. It was slightly painful, but bearable. The angel began slowly sliding his cock into Rick, and within a few minutes he was fully inside. Letting him adjust, he began to move his hips slowly. Rick lay on his back on the warm golden surface of the altar while the angel made love to him from behind, looming above.
With each thrust, Rick opened up more and filled with intoxicating pleasure. He moaned softly in bliss, completely immersed in the sexual sensations. The angel varied his rhythm, driving Rick to ecstasy. Rick looked at him and wanted more. At last he couldn't hold back, and a stream of semen spilled from his cock onto his stomach. He had never felt such an intense orgasm before. When Rick finished, the angel kissed him on the forehead.
"You did well, Rick. And now this temple will be the sanctuary of your pleasures. If you wish, return here in three days at midnight."
The angel withdrew from Rick and stood over him at full height. He looked at Rick with tenderness—and smiled. With a wave of his hand in farewell, he soared upward, dissolving into the light of the dome. The moment he disappeared, the light went out, and Rick found himself on the cold stone altar. He stared into the dark space of the dome for a while, coming to his senses, then struggled to his feet and sat on the edge, swinging his legs down. Then he jumped to the floor. But his clothes did not appear on him. He looked around and found them laid out on the altar. Rick dressed unhurriedly and walked toward the exit. At the end, he turned and looked back at the empty altar.
Once outside through the same side door, Rick drew a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. There was turmoil in his soul. On the one hand, he had done something society condemns; on the other, he had done it with an angel—and he had liked it very much. He walked to the car, got in, and after replaying the events in his mind for a while, started the engine and drove back to the station.
---
Entering the station, Rick sees Tim sitting at his desk. He's no longer fidgeting; his face is calm, his stomach apparently settled. At the sight of the sergeant, he straightens up.
"So what was it, Sergeant?"
"Nothing," Rick says shortly. "Empty."
"Who called?"
"Don't know."
Tim opens his mouth to ask more, but the sergeant's gaze—distant, heavy—kills any desire to continue. Tim falls silent and turns back to his screen.
Rick goes into the utility room and closes the door behind him. He stands before the sink and turns on the faucet. Cold water runs over his fingers. He splashes his face, runs his palms over his cheeks, his forehead—as if trying to wash off something invisible. He lifts his head. Looks in the mirror, trying to find traces of what happened. But everything looks as usual. On the outside, he remains the same as before. But in his memory, it all remains. Every touch, every movement. How he himself, without coercion, without threats, stepped onto the golden altar. How he became aroused and willingly gave himself.
Rick dries his face with a paper towel and smooths his shirt. He looks in the mirror once more—and averts his gaze.
Coming back into the main room, he sits down at his desk. Opens the report program. Tim glances at him but stays silent.
Rick types:
"Upon arrival at the scene—an abandoned temple on the outskirts of town—no suspicious activity was found. A sweep of the premises revealed no signs of forced entry or the presence of intruders."
He saves, closes it, and leans back in his chair. Silent. He stares at the monitor, but sees neither letters nor numbers. He sees only stone columns, and the radiant angel who stood before him and waited.
Rick rubs the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly.
Then he suddenly remembers the call. Judging by the voice, it wasn't some angel who called, but someone else. "Lucius"—the name surfaced in his memory. A strange name. Possibly made up. Was he just a random witness, used to lure Rick to the temple? Or an accomplice in this game? And Tim's food poisoning? Was that also part of the plan, so that Rick would be the one to go to the temple? The angel knew his name. And knew what no one but Rick could have known.
Questions without answers. And the main one: what to do about it now?
He had tasted the forbidden fruit, allowed himself to sample it—and it had proven very sweet. If it wasn't magic, then it had always lived inside him. A desire he had always avoided, sublimating it through work, career, daily routine. And the strangest thing was that he felt no gnawing shame, no remorse. He decided not to go back to that temple again, but the feeling of pleasure he had experienced there now smoldered in his soul like embers of passion that could no longer be extinguished.
"Alright, Rick. Focus on the work," Rick mentally ordered himself, and immersed himself in the routine of police duty.
Act 2
Second Visit
On the morning of the third day after his encounter with the angel, a message arrived from an unknown number.
"Tonight the temple will open its doors for you again at midnight."
Rick read it, and a wave of memories from his first meeting with the angel in the temple washed over him at once. It was a mix of lust and doubt. Rick had already decided that it would be his only lapse, his single surrender to temptation. But this message fanned the embers of passion into a small flame. He remembered those sweet moments he had never experienced before. The brief releases in the shower at home could not compare to the emotions and pleasure that living contact with someone who aroused him had given.
Today was Rick's day off, and he was at home. Deciding to gather information, he ran several searches on his personal computer about anal sex. It wasn't idle curiosity—it was a serious approach. He read about the risks, the technique, the hygiene. Then he looked up information about homosexuals and discovered that his knowledge had been limited to snippets from the news about gay pride parades in big cities. In his small town, no such liberties were on display. He also learned that it had long ceased to be considered an illness, and that there were even openly gay police officers. He came to understand that orientation was not a lifestyle or a particular look. All of this changed his view of the matter—and of himself. His sex with the angel no longer seemed wrong or sinful.
He decided to go—not because he was summoned, but because he himself wanted to. For the first time in his life, he wanted something not for the sake of duty, not for the sake of rules, not for the sake of others. But for himself.
He prepared himself hygienically with great care and left for the temple at half past eleven.
---
At midnight, Rick pulled up to the temple. He made his way inside through the same side door. Lighting his path with the flashlight, he moved toward the center of the nave.
A sharp flapping of wings as a pigeon took off made him spin around abruptly. His hand flew to his holster instantly. For a second, his eyes reflected the pure, instinctive reaction to the sudden noise. The beam darted to the side, catching the rising bird as it vanished somewhere in the shadows. His heart pounded harder, but he quickly pulled himself together—just a pigeon. He exhaled slowly, trying to steady his breathing. His mustache twitched almost imperceptibly—a flicker of irritation at his own reaction. He pointed the beam forward again, his gaze growing even more focused. Now every step was more cautious, his hearing stretched to the limit, catching the slightest rustle.
Reaching the pews, Rick heard the soft cooing of a pigeon somewhere behind him, up above. Instinctively turning, he raised his head and aimed the flashlight upward. The beam pulled something out of the darkness that made his heart stop and his blood run cold.
At a height of about three meters, perched on the arch console by the main entrance, loomed the menacing statue of a demon—full human height, with half-spread membranous wings. Its stone eyes stared straight ahead, toward the altar, as if it guarded this old temple. Behind it, above the main entrance, a round stained-glass window glowed in the moonlight.
Rick quickly realized it was only a statue. But its position, its sudden emergence from the darkness, seemed like an ominous omen. Against the expectation of light and the angel, this image created an unsettling feeling.
The pigeon sat between the statue's legs, cooing peacefully. The figure was absolutely motionless, and that calmed Rick somewhat. Strange that he hadn't noticed it last time—or that it hadn't been there then. He tried to brush off the anxious thoughts, but they clung to him like an obsession, stirring a faint unease.
"Calm down, Rick. It's just a statue," he repeated to himself, but his subconscious didn't quite believe it. He lowered the flashlight and his head, thoughtful.
Suddenly he heard the pigeon flutter away. Rick aimed the beam at the statue again. And then he saw what had been hidden behind the bird.
Between the demon's powerful stone legs jutted a large, clearly erect stone cock. And it decidedly defied Rick's notions of what belonged in such a place.
His face, already pale from tension, flushed slightly—then the color quickly faded, giving way to a completely dumbfounded expression. It was unthinkable, absurd, but the fact remained. The demon, glowering down from on high, possessed a substantial member, which was furthermore in a fully upright state.
His mustache twitched involuntarily. Inside him, professional bewilderment warred with a strange, misplaced confusion. He stepped back a couple of paces, his gaze still fixed on the unexpected detail.
Rick drew a deep breath, trying to collect himself. "Okay. Just get to the altar," flashed through his mind as the only possible response to the absurdity. He shook his head sharply, as if casting off the intrusive images, and turned toward the altar. He moved on unhurriedly, away from the strange statue. The flashlight beam slid stubbornly across the floor and walls, lighting every corner. He walked slowly toward his intended goal.
Suddenly, when he was a couple of meters away, a powerful, sharp beat of wings sounded directly overhead. The gust of air was so strong and dense that Rick instinctively ducked. His body tensed instantly, ready for an attack. The shockwave swept over his hair, his clothes. A huge shadow streaked over him, blotting out the dim moonlight. Passing over the altar, the shadow stopped on the edge of a high window ledge behind the altar, four meters above the floor.
In the moonlight breaking through the stained glass, Rick clearly made out the silhouette: a humanoid being with enormous membranous wings, frozen motionless against the colored glass. His heart hammered wildly, beating out an anxious rhythm. The word "demon" flashed through his mind, and this was no longer a figment. So it hadn't been a statue. It was a living creature. And now it was looking at him.
The flashlight in his hand pointed at the floor. Rick didn't dare illuminate the creature, afraid of provoking an attack. He felt defenseless before something mystical and incomprehensible, before which all his courage and experience were worthless.
Rick froze, his gaze locked on the silhouette in the window. The air around him thickened. Then, with astonishing grace for such a massive being, the demon pushed off from the ledge and glided down. Its membranous wings sliced through the air soundlessly, and it landed on the altar. Its powerful legs bent, absorbing the impact—only a dull thud echoed through the temple. The demon slowly rose to its full height.
On autopilot, Rick drew his pistol from its holster and aimed it, along with the flashlight, at the creature.
"Freeze, or I'll shoot!" Rick shouted sharply.
To be continued...