Jobs

Act 13 – the Medium/Exorcist Part 1

This is a Jobs Hallo-Wiener special ^^

Fʊck that kid who says he can see dead people. Not only do I see dead people, I fʊck them too!

~ Delvina Carlisle

The four poster canopy bed is creaking loudly in its foundation, the frame heaving and on the verge of collapsing in on itself—its red tassels, gold trimmings, fringed lace, and the four ivory pillars swaying and vibrating as I exorcise the demon out of Mr. Hortonberry’s 40-year-old body. But dayum he’s fine. He’s so fine that he can pass as a thirty year old with his fit, luscious body.

He’s convulsing with sweat underneath me. His chest flushed red all over and in heat like he’s suffering from a malarial fever or something. His hard member is pushed inside me, serving as my connection to the spiritual world. His tool is my tool to flushing out the sick, perverted incubus from within him. God, I can feel his díck inside my throat the more I fʊck his hard-on.

I hold him down with my healthy, naked body; my breasts getting squeezed and fondled by rough, calloused hands. I can tell that the incubus inside Mr. Hortonberry is a títs kind of demon, judging by the moving thumbs that are rubbing circles around my n*****s.

I’ve been impaled for over half an hour now, riding him with my clítoris which is starting to feel numb inside my core; my poor, poor clítoris gelling against the damped skin of my inner flesh the more I hammered Mr. Hortonberry’s demonic bird. Ugh I have managed to come multiple times already and still the demon refuses to come out, “I command you! Release!” I shout into his face and the demon bellows a gut-wrenching, sinister, maniacal laughter.

“What is happening to him!” cries Mr. Hortonberry’s wife, who is clutching a white hanky to her mouth, “Nothing is happening! Do something!” she’s hysterical, her crying pulling me out of concentration. I hold my sharp tongue from spouting a vile retort, or something disrespectful.

But lo and behold, I’m way past the point of irritation, and so I snap at her, “Mrs. Hortonberry! Calm the shít down! You’re not helping!” I seethe, infuriated to the bone because the thousand dollars she is paying me is breakeven with the damage my vagína is doling out.

Mrs. Hortonberry gasps pointing at her husband, and it makes me snap my attention to look into the possessed eyes of the viciously stubborn incubi. Finally, some progress I tell myself as I gaze into the demon’s eyes, surfacing, rolling backwards in pleasure, the body it possessed contorting in supernatural ways that any woman will most likely find terrifying…but not me…nah-uh, nope, cos I’m built to stomach the most debauched, perverted, demonic, and satanic display of putrid manly aggression in my many years of exorcising, exonerating, and extracting demons; sucking out evil spirits, fʊcking them till they come out of a man—or a woman’s—possessed body. And I get paid hefty. Heftier than my ex’s hairy balls which, at one point in our short-lived relationship, I remember choking on, because they were just…too…big. Just too big and Ow.

Ow. Ow. Ow! The demon inside the man’s body has decided to sink his talons into my hips.

“I DON’T CARE IF YOU’RE TWELVE! I WILL STILL RâPE THE FʊCK OUT OF YOU!” he screeches, mouth frothing with obscene profanities, drool coming out of the side of his mouth.

I’d be lying if I say that fear didn’t crawl over my skin. It did. But I’m quick to drown fear just as swiftly as it comes, because to succumb to fear is to fall into the hands of the devil. Or in this case, an incubus…a fʊcking, thousand-year-old, horny-to-the-bone incubi who has a penchant for blondies, “In the name of all my fʊcking ancestors who have fʊcked demons from hell and back! I command you! Release!” I yell in-between fʊcking him like a bronco and digging my thumb onto his forehead which I doused with holy water—not really holy water, but I told Mrs. Hortonberry that it is, just to make me sound more authentic. Not that I’m not authentic. I am. It’s just that holy water doesn’t really work all the time. Not anymore since vampires started walking in the daylight and Oh!

Oh my, oh my indeed! I’m building into my third orgasm! “Mrs. Hortonberry,” I gasp, having a hard time breathing, “I’m really sorry it’s taking longer than the usual,” I look to the corporeal clock by the bedside table and realize I’ve been fʊcking the demon that possessed her husband close to an hour now, “I may need to buy topical medicine for my vagína. Is it okay if I charge you a little extra?” I ask, because I have to. This is still a job. A fʊcking job if you may. And I need to be well compensated.

Mrs. Hortonberry is a sniveling wreck of sobs and snots as she takes the white cloth to her nose for a mortifying sneeze-a-thon, “Anything! I don’t care how much! Just please…please save my husband!” she weeps, and the promise of a few more dollars become my motivation as I press my palms over her husband’s chest, pumping his torso like I’m giving him CPR or something as I continue with my cʊnt-to-díck resuscitation.

Rolling my eyes, throwing my head back, pushing my palms over his chest, and undulating my hips, I yell, “You leave this body now or I will be forced to fʊck you out of it and shove you in my cʊnt forever!” I snap looking down in a fit of anger, breathing heavily, because the man—who this bloody incubi has possessed—got a big, fat díck, and one more minute of pounding myself onto his erection is going to break not just my hymen—which is practically broken from my first ever encounter with a demon back when I was seventeen—but it will also split my crack into a much bigger and wider crack, “Oh God,” I look to Mrs. Hortonberry, “No wonder you want him back. Your husband’s a monster!” Shít, my poor vagína, ungh…more of this and my clít is gonna fall out, “Agh!” I struggle as I work the steely length of Mr. Hortonberry’s rock-hard shaft, sweeping it with forceful thrusts. Goddammit, might as well enjoy this demon fʊckfest while I’m at it, “You fʊcking demon!!”

“YOU’RE A WASTE OF SEMEN, BíTCH!” are the colorful words that frothed from the man’s mouth, or rather the demon inside him, “YOU WILL NOT EXTRACT ME! BAHAHAHAHA!!” I slap him hard across the mouth, drawing blood.

“You’re a disgrace to the underworld!” I screech, “Of all the demons I exorcised, yours is by far the smallest p***s I encountered!!”

It’s true. This incubi’s p***s was so damn small that he made possession of men with much larger p*****s his lifelong mission.

“p*****s are not meant to be that small! Even for a demon!” I accuse, repulsed as I pummeled away, sweeping his hard-on, drawing out the demonic spirit to surface which I know is happening for I can already see the satanic energy flowing out of Mr. Hortonberry’s pores, fighting to stay, even if it couldn’t.

“Give it up already!” I yell and thrust harder, giving it all I got, and in the process of doing so I come. I come so hard that it prompts Mr. Hortonberry’s release of the sinful incubi, filling my cʊnt with delicious cream which I secretly relish as I clench my vagína.

The demonic energy separates from Mr. Hortonberry’s convulsing body as he spills come inside me, “Oh my God,” I collapse on my elbows, desperately drawing breath as I feel the incubus take root inside of me, disappearing within the recesses of my humanity.

“Is it gone?” Mrs. Hortonberry asks, wide-eyed and in shock. I look at her and her face is a mixture of relief, jealousy, and disgust. The kind of look I get from all the women whose husbands I fʊcked just to flush the demons outside.

“Yeah, it’s over,” I say, “Oh God,” I rest my hips in a lax position, my inner thighs slippery and dripping into the sheets and over and down the hairy, muscular legs of Mr. Hortonberry, “Hey,” I clasp the man’s chin and shake it from side to side, “Hey, wake up, it’s over,” I can feel his body shifting beneath me as he comes back to his senses.

His lids flutter and he draws what looks like his first breath of life as he examines me with a growing furtive smile, “Hey,” he breathes huskily, rubbing his palms down my arms which, even if highly inappropriate, makes me want to go for another round, “Are you an angel?” he asks and I lift an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my breasts to hide the pulse of pleasure that is making my n*****s hard again, “Let me see you,” he pulls my arms away and cups my breasts, “Wow, what size are these? Double D?”

“Thomas Michael Hortonberry!” Mrs. Hortonberry snaps and it makes Mr. Hortonberry bristle in shock, realizing that this isn’t a dream, “You just had a fʊcking exorcism and I’m not in the mood for your philandering! So you take your hands off her right this minute or I’ll have your díck on a platter!” I roll my eyes. This woman is a kill-joy. Thomas Michael Hortonberry without the demon’s crazy eyes is actually attractive. He’s a sexy, hunky, middle-aged man. He’s the kind of daddy I like to fʊck.

“Here’s your thousand,” I hear Mrs. Hortonberry say, “And another five hundred for your trouble with your yoohoo,” she adds, plucking out Benjamins from her wallet to give to me, “Can I have my husband now?”

“Of course,” I say, mildly distracted, with my mouth dry from all the screaming I’ve been doing, “Ow…” I wince as I pull myself up from Mr. Hortonberry, with his shaft making a delicious clenching sound as I withdraw from being impaled, “…you’re a very lucky woman, Mrs. Hortonberry,” I fake-smile, grinding my teeth in pleasure, my body already craving the lustful penetration of her husband’s manhood.

“It’s Peaches, call me Peaches,” she says.

“Peaches,” I repeat, smiling, and turning to Thomas Michael I say, “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hortonberry,” I wink, “You feel like my favorite Matterhorn Bobsled ride in Disneyland,” I smile, reaching down for my clothes, “You behave now,” I pull myself together, wrinkle my shirt, and pull my dark raven hair back into a ponytail, “Peaches,” I clasp Mrs. Hortonberry’s arm and whisper, “If Mr. Hortonberry gets another episode, don’t hesitate to call for me,” I slip her my card and she takes it, frowning that demon’s might—yet again—possess her husband.

“Goodbye, Mr. Hortonberry.”

He clacks his tongue and winks at me, completely oblivious of the demonic trance he went through not a moment ago.

Peaches sees me to the door, “Will his demons come back?” she asks, concerned.

“Depends. Your husband is a demon magnet. Spirits seem to like using his body for pleasure.”

“But you sucked out the demon, right?” she clasps my arm, tears of hope in her eyes.

I hold her hand, “Yes. It’s in my cʊnt now.”

I call a cab and wave my goodbye to Peaches, hoping that some twisted, malevolent demon will take hold of her husband again because I need to have me another hour with her man.

“Where to, little lady?”

“The nearest 7-Eleven.”

My phone rings as I relax inside the cab. With a heavy sigh, I pull the phone from my purse, “Hey there. What’s up?”

‘Your brother is at it again!’

It’s Moira, my best friend calling, “What did he do now?” I ask, not the least bit interested to know what my younger brother has done.

‘It’s the same like yesterday and the day before! I walked in on him and saw him jerking off over pictures of our friends! It’s so disgusting—!’

“So? What’s the problem?”

‘He’s a pervert! Can’t we just throw him out?’

“That’s my brother you’re talking about. No throwing anybody!” I lecture her, knowing that my seventeen-year-old younger brother has nowhere to go, “Wait, are you pissed because he never m*********d on you, hmm?”

I hear her gasp, ‘Me? Pissed!? No! Why would I be!? I’m not pissed!’

“You sound like you are.”

‘Well I’m not! I just…um.’

“Come on now, Moira. I know you’re pissed because you don’t see yourself as one of the hot ones in school. But know that you are. If you wanna fʊck my brother, go ahead. I’m not stopping you,” I turn to the cab driver, “Just drop me off here, thanks, here.”

‘Where the hell are you?’

“I’m getting dinner,” I answer, paying my taxi fare and padding to where the 7-Eleven is. I pinch my phone between my ear and shoulder as I take a basket to fill with cup noodles and junk food.

“You need tampons?” I ask as I push random items into my basket, “Harboring all that jealousy is gonna get you nowhere. If you want my brother, by all means do him. You have my blessing.”

“How forthcoming,” she comments, and I can feel her smile over the phone, “Yeah, get me tampons. I’m running low on personal hygiene.”

“Ew,” I joke, “It’s like living with a fʊcking horny skunk with you.”

“My personal hygiene is just fine,” she retorts, “And that was one time. One time!” That ‘one time’ she spoke of was when she had to wear the same panties from the day before cos her laundry got fʊcked, and she needed to put on underwear to gym class to avoid getting a camel toe, “That will never, ever happen again, I swear.”

“Yeah, you should swear. Swear to Satan even. Cos I remember the smell like it was yesterday. You smelled like a tropical safari down there. Ew. Anyway, I got us some noodles for dinner.”

“Good God, cup noodles again? You’re getting paid thousands exorcising demons. At least order McDonalds. And oh, Delvina, did you hear about Penelope hooking up with…” I drift off, falling in line to the cashier to wait for my turn, listening to Moira banter about Penelope, the ‘It’ girl of Georgetown University. Apparently she has a yeast infection.

I snort and whisper into my phone, “If she got so much yeast, she might as well put up a bakery already,” I laugh, getting side glances of disapproval from the people in line. I raise a brow, “Last time I checked this is a free country. So I’m free to make bathroom jokes as I please.”

‘You’re a riot’ Moira says, ‘I’m so gonna be fʊcking your brother tonight.’

“Oh yes please. Please do. So he’ll stop jerking off.”

“All in?” asks the lady behind the counter, “You having a party tonight?”

“Yeah,” I smile, slipping a gum strip into my mouth, all the while thinking what sick, demented form of exorcism I will have to cure next in our demon-infested Columbia.