Daimon by Pelaam

Daimon
     
    Daimon stretched and sighed. Sometimes life sucked. Bored and horny, neither condition unusual for his naturally libidinous nature, he reached to stroke one of his upswept horns. As he added a scratch to the action, he shuddered sensually. His shaft began to fill, and he relished the carnal sensation as he danced his fingers over his horn. Playing with the sensitive appendage was always a good start to pleasuring himself.
    He turned away from the arched turret window, intending to continue things in the comfort of his bed. He suddenly swivelled back around and stared at the moon. A couple of days and it would be full; that thought created a shiver that caught Daimon by surprise.
    The small niche in which he crouched restricted his movements, but he leant forward, peering into the night as he unexpectedly felt a soul-deep despair. The despair was so great it reached out and touched him deeply.
    His house, a large, grey-stoned edifice complete with turrets at each front corner, set in its own grounds, had just a couple of other isolated dwellings in its vicinity. He had specifically selected it because it reminded him of a castle from his younger days. He hated many modern houses with their acres of glass. He preferred stone solidity, and he liked the night. The house and grounds gave him opportunity to enjoy both with a decent degree of privacy.
    Therefore the feeling must have travelled some distance.
    He continued to gaze outside. He couldn't shake the inexplicable feeling that he was meant to do something. The nearest house to his held a long-standing occupant. But the other…
    A day or so ago he had watched some new people moving into the large villa. Two burly, non-descript human men had carried in some cases and other bits and pieces. However, the silver-haired, athletic male, who pushed a wheelchair containing a swaddled figure, had really caught his attention. Daimon had admired the movement of the man's muscles under a tight white T-shirt. Well-defined, powerful biceps were perfectly displayed under the thin cotton. Solid thigh muscles also caught Daimon's eye, thanks to cut-off denim shorts.
    All in all, the silver-haired male had proven an exceptionally attractive package, and Daimon gave consideration to the best way of making his… acquaintance. His demonic powers had no trouble identifying the man as Lycan. He also knew there was a second—he assumed the swaddled figure.
    He idly wondered if the proximity of a small pack of werewolves so close to a full moon had made him so horny. Whilst the change for Lycans wasn't a forced change during a full moon, it did bring their animalistic natures to the fore. It also made them more inclined to become sexually activity, something that appealed to his naturally carnal nature.
    His mind returned to the feeling of despair. He made his decision and allowed his body to dematerialise, catching just a wisp of the red, sulphur-scented, smoke he always left in his wake.
     
    * * * *
     
    Daimon easily concealed his presence from the Lycans in the large stucco-fronted villa. They might get a little agitated with him around but couldn't actually detect a demon with his powers. He grinned; he definitely had the advantage over them. He opted to rematerialise outside and have a closer look around. Although the agonised feeling had gone, a resonance remained, and he knew this villa was the place of its origin.
    He looked at the mansion. Wide stairs led to a portico, and the large, rectangular windows held heavy curtains. Some windows were fronted by small balconies on the upper floors. Daimon chose one such balcony and materialised on it effortlessly. He now had a prime view of the mansion's grounds, his demonic eyes seeing as well in pitch-blackness as they would in the light of day. The night had some illumination from the almost-full moon that cast cold, white light over immaculately manicured lawns.
    Daimon's mind probed carefully into the mansion. Too much and the