A demon takes a shower. It doesn't belong to him.
He chokes on something that sounds like surprise or content as his feet slip a little on the tile floor and his fingers tighten on the shelf of the small shower. Warm hands palm his form.
“You- you ‘ave vry nice… hands…”
It wasn’t a very creative compliment but it was the only thing on his mind at the moment both literally and figuratively. He was having trouble thinking or even counting the fingers running over his body. The hiss of the hot shower hitting the base of the cubical was muted and he could barely hear himself. He hums unintelligibly as another finger hooks around his waist, the third hand on the lower side of his torso… maybe. It was possible that there was a forth or that there were only two but everything was too hazy to tell.
The hands speak. “It’s okay, I can bathe you. Just let go of the shelf.”
He loosens his grip on the plastic shelf in front of him where a bottle of shampoo is neatly place back by one of the hands. He must’ve knocked it over when… Who do these hands belong to?
“You want this. That’s why I’m here. You wanted me to clean you.” They say.
He’s not sure of anything and is too heavy to care. His body falls into a safety net of palms and arms that reel him into a large warm mass. It’s soft and red and hot. Something slips down his back, a group of nails too dull to cut. It slips down and cups his behind where it lingers in a hungry groping massage. His scalp is assaulted by dozens of digits digging diligently into his follicles as he is lifted from the tile completely.
His toes wiggle freely in the steam and his legs wave pointlessly just an inch away from the floor. Something wetter than the rest of him oozes down his spine and the fingers dance down with it. In their palms, two of them, they have tongues and teeth. He could feel them grazing him and giving curious licks, tasting him and sucking the flavor from his flesh. Something wraps around his leg, a tail probably only he can feel another one wrap around his arm.
Someone else is here. “Shhh… do not be afraid, boy.” They whisper, kissing his ear. “Relax and be full.”
The sound of sneakers make him flinch as they squeeze him closer and circle around the rim of his tight back door teasingly. There is comfort in all of their lips as they glide up and down his skin with the same wetness as their invading- Welcoming fingers. More digits dance on his chest, experimenting with his breasts and counting his ribs. His mind begins to steam up even more in the mist as the feelers below push into him. One goes in slowly and easily, pushing through him like butter occasionally curling to put pressure on him.
One of the hands over his mouth has a mouth of its own. It pushes a large tongue into his mouth muffling whatever instinctual noises might pour from his mouth. The owner of the hands hums a comforting melody into the boys ear as time goes on. The sneakers are forgotten and he looses count of the minutes and hours. He loses count of a lot of things; fingers, hands, songs, teeth, tongues, tails.
He never forgets who owns them all or how many thank you’s he owes them.