Howlin' - The Spirit of Jazz/The Hitcher
Pairing: The Spirit of Jazz/The Hitcher
Rating: NC-17
Includes: smut, shadow-hands and non-invasive shadow-tentacles. Consensual.
Summary: The Hitcher displeases his master...The Spirit of Jazz. A glimpse at their working relationship ...
“Harder boy, like tootin' a clarinet.”
“Yes mastah.” He paused, licking the underside before sucking it down again. His hands were tied behind his back, flexing in the greasy black coils as he sucked him off.
“That's it, thaaaaaaaats it...mmm...lookatcha...like one of ya damn eels wid dem big lips. What's wid dem anyways?”
“English thing master, my childhood, alway's loved the taste and...”
“Did I tell ya to stop? No, nos I dids not!” Smacking him he gasped, shutting his eyes tight from the familiar sting.
“Talk. Wid ya mouth full.”
Nodding he gritted his teeth a moment, sighed and let the frustration out. Opening his mouth he took his master's thrusts, horking the dark meat down as he was trained to do. Except its harder to do so with pride in the way, and black slimy shadow-hands fingering him.
“Mpfhg....ufngh...eelllffffssshhh...” Blushing he tried to talk, shivering when they crept into his pants. With a yank they were down, several smooth fingers around his cock and others creeping to circle his hole.
“Mmmm mon...” His master's red eyes flared up, watching the old man's eyes cross and his sucking sounds choke. “Like that?”
“Hrrrrrrrkkkk!” He did not. He never did, but in the end he did.
“Been awhile since you last displeased ya elders hasn't it?”
Pulling away he lowered his head to breathe and groan, barely able to take it once the shadow-finger wriggled inside. It was warm, not like his eels, a dark sting fire to it. He felt the evil pulse of the voodoo powers, far greater than his own inside, pushing and lubricated with liquid-Lucifer.
“Yeah...been awhile...” The man mumbled, panting.
“Louder you minty-dandy, couldn't hear ya.”
“I SAID ITS BEEN AWHILE YE BLOODY YANKEE!” Hissing he turned up, jumping on his rickety knees to bite at the dripping dick. The suited man stepped back, laughing at his English servant's predicament.
“Don't be cross with me. You baying hound...” Smirking the skull-man smacked the top hat off the balding white head, and with a well placed foot on the heaving shoulders pushed the man down.
“On ya knees.”
Grumbling and gulping down his moans he reluctantly did so. His face was on the wicker floor, fists clenched behind him and his knobby knees shaking. With a yank his trenchcoat was pulled back revealing his boney arse to his master, no doubt his 'favorite' shadow-power hands appearing from out of the air and shadows, having a ball thrusting not one but two fingers into his puckered hole. Humiliating him, by his rape-standards.
“Fuck you. You fucking slag. You fucking dirty jazzin'...”
With a moan he shut his eyes, shuddering and heaving a submissive sound once the magic fisting of his cock moved faster.
“...you slaaaag...”
“Go on den ya Brit cunt, curse ya maker.” With an 'oofff!' he kicked him, indenting his pointy spats into the green flesh. The shadow-hands continued scissoring and stroking the villain to his knees. Panting he chewed his lips again, jaw hurting as he tried not to make a sound. The fingers well-trained in the art of evil (and done this before) easily found his prostrate. It was getting harder for the experienced man to refuse the humiluating pleasure.
“We all know who gave you ya powers boy.”
“I know...unfgh...but ye don't have to remind me, I'm not yer Whitechapel slut!”
“Oh is that so, Reginald?”
His master leaned down so Reginald didn't need to look up that far. He twisted his neck, the side of the face against the floor as he snarled, flexing again.
“Don't. Call. Me. That.”
“Or you'll what mon? Cut me up? Spit on me wid ya herpes-teeth? Oh no Reggie, I'm not 'fraid of ya...” Grinning he smacked the green buttocks, delighting at how the man growled again.
“I tried my best boss! Ye don't have to go this far hmm?” Panicking he growled again, though his face went lax. Oh, he moaned, another shadow-hand fondling his sack, oh no...
“'tink I do.”
“No no no ye don't.” Grunting he arched, unable to stop the shock of pleasure once his master's fingers curled in. Wincing he tried to stay firm, his legs pushed apart even more with red pants down past his calves. “Unfgh!” Digging the toes in his boots he tried to push off but the shadow-hands stayed him. A warm vile hand, familiar and dominating gripped the rolled lump of his trenchcoat and yanked him back. He felt the familiar feel of his master's beating sex against his bum, just waiting to get in, right into his slot.
“When I ask for little things from those I've given gifts to, I except what I want to be given.” His husky laugh was dripping with arousal. Wriggling, panting his servant struggled against the hands gripping his sticky clothes and greasy white hair, keeping him face down and ass up.
“If ye gave me more time and power maybe...”
“I've given ya plenty you ungrateful wretch!” He spat on him, smiling and slicking himself up. “Ya knew the contract if ya didn't do what I tell ya to do, so the only way to keep your powers and your filthy...ohoh...perverted mind alive is to take it ya hear?”
Pleasure was boiling over. The shadow-hands continued on his cock, no doubt making a small puddle of precum beneath him. Shaking, dominated and afraid of the evil being about to rape him again he bowed his back, giving in.
“I h-hear ye...” He choked out.
“Good. 'cuase now boy I'm gonna get inside ya. Like a niiiiiice warm kitten...”
Gripping the coat he angled himself in, yanking the old man unto his cock. Moaning he chuckled, enjoying the Cockney rapist getting his own medicine. He heard the man make a raspy gasp and whimper. It always turned him on, which was another reason why he favored him so much.
“Fuck...fucking...bollocks...!” He hated it. He hated how he felt being the spirit's bitch. When he failed in his evil ventures for his master it always came down to this. It would happen every 20, 30 years sometimes. He was never prepared for it, no matter how many times he'd get 'reminded'. If he knew such things would happen he would have never sold his soul to this devil for his powers...
“That's right boy, take it like a bitch!” Cackling the supreme demon began his hard and fast thrusts. His dreads whipped back and forth as he pounded the seaweed-green ass of his favorite voodoo slave. Shivering The Hitcher moaned and groaned, eyes shut as he took it. Took it deep. The pain was nothing compared to the aching he felt in his cock and the special spot the other one's dick was pushing at. The hands knew their work well...
“Ah...ahgn...hate ya...not...supposed....”
Smirking he thrust fharder. He commanded the darkness to pleasure him faster, eager to make the man-witch cum with shame. Louder and louder the man protested, curses dying into weird yowling sounds; whimpers.
“YAAGH! No, NO, NO...”
“Mmmm I know you like it Reggggginald...” Flicking his tongue into the green ear, he felt pleased at the man's defeated expression. The face went from resisting to giving in, hot rancid breath that smelled of sardines and ale in his phantom-face. The jaw was slack, open and drooling as The Hitcher gave in to the pleasure, to the submissive role he always gave to his victims. His erection was twitching as he took the hard, rough thrusts inside him, hot and deep. Just like he always did.
“T-that name is...d-dead to me...” He managed to moan out, a shaking wail.
“Not whiles I's around. You'll always be dat eager hitch-hikin' fool ta me. No matter how green ya get.” Grunting he bellowed, enjoying the 'boy''s hate and pride; it only made him tighter to clench around him, making him work for it.
“I'm The Hitcher n-now, Baboo Yagu, the b-bethnal g-green demon...! UNG! AHHHH!”
Whimpering he almost came, he was that close. The spirit's hands wrapped around his own, pumping him lazily while his insides were pulverized.
But then again, two could play at this game.
“Beg for it. I know yous almost cum.” The spirit chortled, his hand clawing the hip he was fucking.
Swallowing his pride he began to move with his thrusts instead of shivering stock-still.
“Y-yes...Jefferson.” He moaned with a smirk.
“You...!” Slapped it was worth it. The Hitcher laughed now, choking on his own groans. It lasted only a short while though because his master snarled and began to thrust ravenously to punish the Cockney's impertinence.
“I'm the Spirit of Jazz now, yous knows dis!”
“A-ahhh but I'm The Hitcher you bloke! Yet you're the one callin' me Reggie today hmm? What if I c-cum HOWLIN' your name, Jimmy?”
“NO YOUS DONT BOY!”
“Then FUCK yourself you indigo bone-head!”
“Nah fuck YOU!”
“AHH! You're making me howllllllll Jimmmmmmy...”
Slowing down the spirit growled, sweaty and finding he was getting a bit too turned on by their argument in the midst of fucking. It was mostly because his own name was being uttered by the stubborn lips of old-man-Baboo, his voodoo-witch name.
Its times like these he enjoyed giving the man his powers back in the day. For these stubborn one-night stands.
“Yous not to say that, you're not gunna or I'll cover you with tar and...!”
Groaning The Hitcher arched his back and began to fuck himself more vigorously on the spirit's manhood. All to torture and confuse him.
“You're not gonna yet Jeff.” The Hitcher panted, not caring about his pride anymore and soaking up the pleasure like an old whore. “You're gonna breathe with me and spurt your damn load cuz you get off on it, don't you? Makin' me give in like this...”
He was right. He didn't tell The Hitcher to beg with his real name...now it was too late.
“You....UNG! S-stop!”
“Finally s-stammering eh?” The green man craned hishead back, smiling toothily at his master. The spirit's painted face was contorted, his red eyes throbbing with pleasure as the man beneath gyrated his hips, sweating and panting as he did so.
“Look at me Jimmy, look at how horrrrrrny I am...”
“Stop TEASING...”
“Oh Jimmy, JIMMMYY! JimmyJimmy make your naughty whore c-c-c-c-cuuuummm!” Snerking The Hitcher imitated, mocked, rolled his eyes back and pursed his lips like a tarty whore. The Spirit was too hot, shaking on his knees and unable to stop thrusting with him to laugh. He was feeling kinda sick, but perhaps it was just the release pooling in his gut and balls, waiting to spurt out if he clenched too much...
“Ung! Hahaaahaaheehaaa...” The Hitcher cackled, throwing his head back as he fucked himself on it, the shadows fisting him once more. “Yer gonna spill, juuuust like you wanted, breakin' in the old man...”
“You're n-not broken yet b-boy!” Gritting his teeth he tired to pull away but, with a lurch The Hitcher reared up and pushed him down. Scowling and growling the spirit tried to sit up but The Hitcher was now on top, screwing himself down, his feet hooking onto the white-pantsuit legs kicking.
“ENOUGH!” The spirit cried, not as dominating as he hoped. The shadow hands, quavering from the lack of concentration of their voodoo master went to grab and pull the wily man off his cock but something else stopped them.
“Mmmm but I want ya filthy biiiig black cock Jimmy...” Smirking The Hitcher bounced off, turning around as something else shadowy and green helped him with his pants. Struggling the Spirit of Jazz watched as The Hitcher's own voodoo magic was combating his own. Dark green magic tentacles were wrapping around and prying off the shadow hands, pulling off the constricting red pants and angling his cock back up. With a thrust The Hitcher yelped and impaled himself again, panting, and with a click his shackles were dropped.
The spirit was on bottom. Sweat beaded down his dark face, dreads in the dirt.
“You's ruinin' my suit, old man.” He snorted with disgust, his lip in a snarl as The Hitcher was raping him back.
“Coulda say the same thing 'bout mine shirt you ripped up, you wanker.” Grunting The Hitcher was quite happy where he was at; delirious with pleasure, a sappy look in his glazed blue eyes as he continued fucking himself on the spirit's dick. He pointed to his shirt, now ragged shreds and nail-marks on his chest. His hair flounced up and down a little as they shifted and groaned on the swamp-house floor. His greenish tentacle shadow-magic wrapped around the spirit's arms when he tried to reach and push him off, pinning him down. Grinning The Hitcher tore open the fancy white jacket, now clawing him up too with stubby grimy fingers.
“Urgh! That's en-nough now!” Hissing and writhing he squirmed like a monochromatic snake, fighting against the constricting green magic. His concentration was gone, overwhelmed by the feeling of pleasure throbbing in his cock.
“Not y-yet Jimmy...”
“Stop...”
“Jimmy....f-feels so good Jeff...” Howling indeed. The Hitcher ripped a chunk of dress shirt from the spirit, clawing him and grabbing his own cock. Laughing, wicked with wild lust he gave in and bounced up and down, up and down on his lap, pumping himself into bliss.
“No! STOP MY NAME! REGINALD!”
“What's that Jim?” The spirit's eyes lolled about as he bucked, so damn close in that tight wet head. “Callin' me name?”
“Y...no!”
“That's right. Say it. I'm gonna spurt all over ye tattooed face with it.”
“Nnnnn...”
“Oh J-Jimmy...”
The spirit couldn't take it. He hadn't heard those words in such a long...long while...breathless he dug his head back, dreads in the dirt as his legs gave out. Heaving he let the fast rhythm of the thrusts carry him away, a moment of helpless pleasure with his voodoo associate.
“Reginald...”
“Jeff...J-Jeff...Jimmmmy! JIMMMY! JIIMMMY!!!”
“R-Regg...iiieeeeeee...!!”
Howling they came. The spirit thrusted up, spilling inside and writhing with scatting howls in The Hitcher's name. The Hitcher, true to his word howled Jimmy Jefferson. His load shot all over The Spirit of Jazz's ruined dress shirt, dark chocolate chest and suit. White against white, some against dark sweating skin. The voodoo magic hands and tentacles quavered, wriggled and dissipated into the air, their concentration nill with their orgasm. With a lurch and his back hurt The Hitcher slipped off him and collapsed to his back besides him. Both magic-men on the floor, panting in his master's hut in the middle of the swamps.
“Yous...”
“More like the 'spirit of jizz', eh boss?”
The darker man turned, glaring breathlessly at his fellow. The Hitcher snorted, sitting up and putting his hat back on.
“Just get out you polo freak.” Growling he staggered to his feet. His suit was smeared with dust, sweat and gobs of cum around his fly and lapels. “Dammit boy I need sum dough for the dry cleaning and stains...”
Laughing The Hitcher staggered up as well, clutching his sore lower back. Fishing in his coat pockets he stuffed a wad of American dollars in his master's hands, smug as hell as he slipped his red pants on. The spirit was too cross and flabbergasted from the turned-tables to strike him...so he limped back, leaning against the coffee table fishing around for his cane and hat again.
“You know where to find me, Master.” The green-man winked and adjusted himself, laughing quietly as he hobbled to the door. Not even minding how hurt his ass was, considering the triumph of fucking with the jazzman's mind.
“Fuck off.”
Rating: NC-17
Includes: smut, shadow-hands and non-invasive shadow-tentacles. Consensual.
Summary: The Hitcher displeases his master...The Spirit of Jazz. A glimpse at their working relationship ...
“Harder boy, like tootin' a clarinet.”
“Yes mastah.” He paused, licking the underside before sucking it down again. His hands were tied behind his back, flexing in the greasy black coils as he sucked him off.
“That's it, thaaaaaaaats it...mmm...lookatcha...like one of ya damn eels wid dem big lips. What's wid dem anyways?”
“English thing master, my childhood, alway's loved the taste and...”
“Did I tell ya to stop? No, nos I dids not!” Smacking him he gasped, shutting his eyes tight from the familiar sting.
“Talk. Wid ya mouth full.”
Nodding he gritted his teeth a moment, sighed and let the frustration out. Opening his mouth he took his master's thrusts, horking the dark meat down as he was trained to do. Except its harder to do so with pride in the way, and black slimy shadow-hands fingering him.
“Mpfhg....ufngh...eelllffffssshhh...” Blushing he tried to talk, shivering when they crept into his pants. With a yank they were down, several smooth fingers around his cock and others creeping to circle his hole.
“Mmmm mon...” His master's red eyes flared up, watching the old man's eyes cross and his sucking sounds choke. “Like that?”
“Hrrrrrrrkkkk!” He did not. He never did, but in the end he did.
“Been awhile since you last displeased ya elders hasn't it?”
Pulling away he lowered his head to breathe and groan, barely able to take it once the shadow-finger wriggled inside. It was warm, not like his eels, a dark sting fire to it. He felt the evil pulse of the voodoo powers, far greater than his own inside, pushing and lubricated with liquid-Lucifer.
“Yeah...been awhile...” The man mumbled, panting.
“Louder you minty-dandy, couldn't hear ya.”
“I SAID ITS BEEN AWHILE YE BLOODY YANKEE!” Hissing he turned up, jumping on his rickety knees to bite at the dripping dick. The suited man stepped back, laughing at his English servant's predicament.
“Don't be cross with me. You baying hound...” Smirking the skull-man smacked the top hat off the balding white head, and with a well placed foot on the heaving shoulders pushed the man down.
“On ya knees.”
Grumbling and gulping down his moans he reluctantly did so. His face was on the wicker floor, fists clenched behind him and his knobby knees shaking. With a yank his trenchcoat was pulled back revealing his boney arse to his master, no doubt his 'favorite' shadow-power hands appearing from out of the air and shadows, having a ball thrusting not one but two fingers into his puckered hole. Humiliating him, by his rape-standards.
“Fuck you. You fucking slag. You fucking dirty jazzin'...”
With a moan he shut his eyes, shuddering and heaving a submissive sound once the magic fisting of his cock moved faster.
“...you slaaaag...”
“Go on den ya Brit cunt, curse ya maker.” With an 'oofff!' he kicked him, indenting his pointy spats into the green flesh. The shadow-hands continued scissoring and stroking the villain to his knees. Panting he chewed his lips again, jaw hurting as he tried not to make a sound. The fingers well-trained in the art of evil (and done this before) easily found his prostrate. It was getting harder for the experienced man to refuse the humiluating pleasure.
“We all know who gave you ya powers boy.”
“I know...unfgh...but ye don't have to remind me, I'm not yer Whitechapel slut!”
“Oh is that so, Reginald?”
His master leaned down so Reginald didn't need to look up that far. He twisted his neck, the side of the face against the floor as he snarled, flexing again.
“Don't. Call. Me. That.”
“Or you'll what mon? Cut me up? Spit on me wid ya herpes-teeth? Oh no Reggie, I'm not 'fraid of ya...” Grinning he smacked the green buttocks, delighting at how the man growled again.
“I tried my best boss! Ye don't have to go this far hmm?” Panicking he growled again, though his face went lax. Oh, he moaned, another shadow-hand fondling his sack, oh no...
“'tink I do.”
“No no no ye don't.” Grunting he arched, unable to stop the shock of pleasure once his master's fingers curled in. Wincing he tried to stay firm, his legs pushed apart even more with red pants down past his calves. “Unfgh!” Digging the toes in his boots he tried to push off but the shadow-hands stayed him. A warm vile hand, familiar and dominating gripped the rolled lump of his trenchcoat and yanked him back. He felt the familiar feel of his master's beating sex against his bum, just waiting to get in, right into his slot.
“When I ask for little things from those I've given gifts to, I except what I want to be given.” His husky laugh was dripping with arousal. Wriggling, panting his servant struggled against the hands gripping his sticky clothes and greasy white hair, keeping him face down and ass up.
“If ye gave me more time and power maybe...”
“I've given ya plenty you ungrateful wretch!” He spat on him, smiling and slicking himself up. “Ya knew the contract if ya didn't do what I tell ya to do, so the only way to keep your powers and your filthy...ohoh...perverted mind alive is to take it ya hear?”
Pleasure was boiling over. The shadow-hands continued on his cock, no doubt making a small puddle of precum beneath him. Shaking, dominated and afraid of the evil being about to rape him again he bowed his back, giving in.
“I h-hear ye...” He choked out.
“Good. 'cuase now boy I'm gonna get inside ya. Like a niiiiiice warm kitten...”
Gripping the coat he angled himself in, yanking the old man unto his cock. Moaning he chuckled, enjoying the Cockney rapist getting his own medicine. He heard the man make a raspy gasp and whimper. It always turned him on, which was another reason why he favored him so much.
“Fuck...fucking...bollocks...!” He hated it. He hated how he felt being the spirit's bitch. When he failed in his evil ventures for his master it always came down to this. It would happen every 20, 30 years sometimes. He was never prepared for it, no matter how many times he'd get 'reminded'. If he knew such things would happen he would have never sold his soul to this devil for his powers...
“That's right boy, take it like a bitch!” Cackling the supreme demon began his hard and fast thrusts. His dreads whipped back and forth as he pounded the seaweed-green ass of his favorite voodoo slave. Shivering The Hitcher moaned and groaned, eyes shut as he took it. Took it deep. The pain was nothing compared to the aching he felt in his cock and the special spot the other one's dick was pushing at. The hands knew their work well...
“Ah...ahgn...hate ya...not...supposed....”
Smirking he thrust fharder. He commanded the darkness to pleasure him faster, eager to make the man-witch cum with shame. Louder and louder the man protested, curses dying into weird yowling sounds; whimpers.
“YAAGH! No, NO, NO...”
“Mmmm I know you like it Reggggginald...” Flicking his tongue into the green ear, he felt pleased at the man's defeated expression. The face went from resisting to giving in, hot rancid breath that smelled of sardines and ale in his phantom-face. The jaw was slack, open and drooling as The Hitcher gave in to the pleasure, to the submissive role he always gave to his victims. His erection was twitching as he took the hard, rough thrusts inside him, hot and deep. Just like he always did.
“T-that name is...d-dead to me...” He managed to moan out, a shaking wail.
“Not whiles I's around. You'll always be dat eager hitch-hikin' fool ta me. No matter how green ya get.” Grunting he bellowed, enjoying the 'boy''s hate and pride; it only made him tighter to clench around him, making him work for it.
“I'm The Hitcher n-now, Baboo Yagu, the b-bethnal g-green demon...! UNG! AHHHH!”
Whimpering he almost came, he was that close. The spirit's hands wrapped around his own, pumping him lazily while his insides were pulverized.
But then again, two could play at this game.
“Beg for it. I know yous almost cum.” The spirit chortled, his hand clawing the hip he was fucking.
Swallowing his pride he began to move with his thrusts instead of shivering stock-still.
“Y-yes...Jefferson.” He moaned with a smirk.
“You...!” Slapped it was worth it. The Hitcher laughed now, choking on his own groans. It lasted only a short while though because his master snarled and began to thrust ravenously to punish the Cockney's impertinence.
“I'm the Spirit of Jazz now, yous knows dis!”
“A-ahhh but I'm The Hitcher you bloke! Yet you're the one callin' me Reggie today hmm? What if I c-cum HOWLIN' your name, Jimmy?”
“NO YOUS DONT BOY!”
“Then FUCK yourself you indigo bone-head!”
“Nah fuck YOU!”
“AHH! You're making me howllllllll Jimmmmmmy...”
Slowing down the spirit growled, sweaty and finding he was getting a bit too turned on by their argument in the midst of fucking. It was mostly because his own name was being uttered by the stubborn lips of old-man-Baboo, his voodoo-witch name.
Its times like these he enjoyed giving the man his powers back in the day. For these stubborn one-night stands.
“Yous not to say that, you're not gunna or I'll cover you with tar and...!”
Groaning The Hitcher arched his back and began to fuck himself more vigorously on the spirit's manhood. All to torture and confuse him.
“You're not gonna yet Jeff.” The Hitcher panted, not caring about his pride anymore and soaking up the pleasure like an old whore. “You're gonna breathe with me and spurt your damn load cuz you get off on it, don't you? Makin' me give in like this...”
He was right. He didn't tell The Hitcher to beg with his real name...now it was too late.
“You....UNG! S-stop!”
“Finally s-stammering eh?” The green man craned hishead back, smiling toothily at his master. The spirit's painted face was contorted, his red eyes throbbing with pleasure as the man beneath gyrated his hips, sweating and panting as he did so.
“Look at me Jimmy, look at how horrrrrrny I am...”
“Stop TEASING...”
“Oh Jimmy, JIMMMYY! JimmyJimmy make your naughty whore c-c-c-c-cuuuummm!” Snerking The Hitcher imitated, mocked, rolled his eyes back and pursed his lips like a tarty whore. The Spirit was too hot, shaking on his knees and unable to stop thrusting with him to laugh. He was feeling kinda sick, but perhaps it was just the release pooling in his gut and balls, waiting to spurt out if he clenched too much...
“Ung! Hahaaahaaheehaaa...” The Hitcher cackled, throwing his head back as he fucked himself on it, the shadows fisting him once more. “Yer gonna spill, juuuust like you wanted, breakin' in the old man...”
“You're n-not broken yet b-boy!” Gritting his teeth he tired to pull away but, with a lurch The Hitcher reared up and pushed him down. Scowling and growling the spirit tried to sit up but The Hitcher was now on top, screwing himself down, his feet hooking onto the white-pantsuit legs kicking.
“ENOUGH!” The spirit cried, not as dominating as he hoped. The shadow hands, quavering from the lack of concentration of their voodoo master went to grab and pull the wily man off his cock but something else stopped them.
“Mmmm but I want ya filthy biiiig black cock Jimmy...” Smirking The Hitcher bounced off, turning around as something else shadowy and green helped him with his pants. Struggling the Spirit of Jazz watched as The Hitcher's own voodoo magic was combating his own. Dark green magic tentacles were wrapping around and prying off the shadow hands, pulling off the constricting red pants and angling his cock back up. With a thrust The Hitcher yelped and impaled himself again, panting, and with a click his shackles were dropped.
The spirit was on bottom. Sweat beaded down his dark face, dreads in the dirt.
“You's ruinin' my suit, old man.” He snorted with disgust, his lip in a snarl as The Hitcher was raping him back.
“Coulda say the same thing 'bout mine shirt you ripped up, you wanker.” Grunting The Hitcher was quite happy where he was at; delirious with pleasure, a sappy look in his glazed blue eyes as he continued fucking himself on the spirit's dick. He pointed to his shirt, now ragged shreds and nail-marks on his chest. His hair flounced up and down a little as they shifted and groaned on the swamp-house floor. His greenish tentacle shadow-magic wrapped around the spirit's arms when he tried to reach and push him off, pinning him down. Grinning The Hitcher tore open the fancy white jacket, now clawing him up too with stubby grimy fingers.
“Urgh! That's en-nough now!” Hissing and writhing he squirmed like a monochromatic snake, fighting against the constricting green magic. His concentration was gone, overwhelmed by the feeling of pleasure throbbing in his cock.
“Not y-yet Jimmy...”
“Stop...”
“Jimmy....f-feels so good Jeff...” Howling indeed. The Hitcher ripped a chunk of dress shirt from the spirit, clawing him and grabbing his own cock. Laughing, wicked with wild lust he gave in and bounced up and down, up and down on his lap, pumping himself into bliss.
“No! STOP MY NAME! REGINALD!”
“What's that Jim?” The spirit's eyes lolled about as he bucked, so damn close in that tight wet head. “Callin' me name?”
“Y...no!”
“That's right. Say it. I'm gonna spurt all over ye tattooed face with it.”
“Nnnnn...”
“Oh J-Jimmy...”
The spirit couldn't take it. He hadn't heard those words in such a long...long while...breathless he dug his head back, dreads in the dirt as his legs gave out. Heaving he let the fast rhythm of the thrusts carry him away, a moment of helpless pleasure with his voodoo associate.
“Reginald...”
“Jeff...J-Jeff...Jimmmmy! JIMMMY! JIIMMMY!!!”
“R-Regg...iiieeeeeee...!!”
Howling they came. The spirit thrusted up, spilling inside and writhing with scatting howls in The Hitcher's name. The Hitcher, true to his word howled Jimmy Jefferson. His load shot all over The Spirit of Jazz's ruined dress shirt, dark chocolate chest and suit. White against white, some against dark sweating skin. The voodoo magic hands and tentacles quavered, wriggled and dissipated into the air, their concentration nill with their orgasm. With a lurch and his back hurt The Hitcher slipped off him and collapsed to his back besides him. Both magic-men on the floor, panting in his master's hut in the middle of the swamps.
“Yous...”
“More like the 'spirit of jizz', eh boss?”
The darker man turned, glaring breathlessly at his fellow. The Hitcher snorted, sitting up and putting his hat back on.
“Just get out you polo freak.” Growling he staggered to his feet. His suit was smeared with dust, sweat and gobs of cum around his fly and lapels. “Dammit boy I need sum dough for the dry cleaning and stains...”
Laughing The Hitcher staggered up as well, clutching his sore lower back. Fishing in his coat pockets he stuffed a wad of American dollars in his master's hands, smug as hell as he slipped his red pants on. The spirit was too cross and flabbergasted from the turned-tables to strike him...so he limped back, leaning against the coffee table fishing around for his cane and hat again.
“You know where to find me, Master.” The green-man winked and adjusted himself, laughing quietly as he hobbled to the door. Not even minding how hurt his ass was, considering the triumph of fucking with the jazzman's mind.
“Fuck off.”