In all modesty, Bryana thought they’d been pretty great hosts for their guest. Especially considering they didn’t even know they’d have a guest until he arrived.

The day had progressed much like any other at first. After a lunchtime waitressing shift at her parents’ restaurant, Bryana spent the afternoon painting and sketching. Her art business was moving at a slow crawl - she only tended to make one sale each week, if she was lucky - but late that afternoon she received $500 for her painting of Sunset Park, to her absolute delight. She made chicken and bean enchiladas for dinner, accompanied by some fairly expensive red wine they’d received as an engagement gift and had been saving for special occasions (after messaging her fiancé to break the good news and ask permission to open the bottle).

The meal wasn’t ready by the time Amy returned home, but that gave her time to pull Bryana close and make out with her slowly and tenderly, mumbling congratulations into her mouth, squeezing her butt possessively. Their lips eventually parted, and they chatted about Bry’s success and how to use the money (mutually agreeing to spend a little on the wedding and put the rest towards buying a house), before conversation turned to Amy’s day. She’d had a new patient today, an Irish backpacker who believed himself to be a demon. “Interesting case,” Amy remarked. “He was actually aware of how ridiculous it sounded, but that didn’t make it any less true for him. In most cases of supernatural delusions I’ve come across, the patients don’t even register the absurdity of it - they just believe it, and can’t understand why no-one else can...”

Just as Bryana served the food, there was a knock at the door. Frowning, Amy went to answer it, while Bry poured them each a glass of wine. Amy returned moments later, still looking confused, with a short red-haired man following behind her. “Bry, this is Ray,” she announced, “my new patient.”

Bry’s eyebrows shot up. The demon guy? she tried to telepathically ask her fiancé, well aware that she wasn’t really allowed to discuss her patients with anyone else. Amy gave her a small nod, clearly understanding her expression. “Uh, hello,” Bry said awkwardly to the newcomer. “Nice to meet you... What’re you doing here, exactly?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d stop by,” he said nonchalantly, resting his hand on the back of a nearby chair. “See, I’ve only been in town for - well, a few hours really, and I haven’t got anywhere to stay. And the doc here was so nice earlier, I thought I’d come and stay with her and her lovely fiancé.”

Bryana narrowed her eyes. Cheeky bastard! She was about to tell the man, in no uncertain terms, that he could not just pitch up at his new therapist’s home and stay there with no regard for either of their wishes, when she noticed his eyes glittering with crimson light. “That’s alright with you both, isn’t it?” he added, his tone still utterly light and casual.

It was as if her mind were a skipping record - she just went kinda blank for a moment, and when her brain started up again, it couldn’t produce any reason not to let this stranger stay with them. “Sure,” she said with a shrug, “it’s fine by me. Amy?”

Amy nodded, looking a little dazed. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great! And you’re happy to accommodate me in any and every way you can, right?”

Bry gave him a slightly bemused smile. “Well, of course! You’re our guest, after all.”

“Fantastic.” Without further ado, Ray sat down in the seat Amy had intended to take, and then reached over to grab Bryana’s plate and wine glass, moving them closer to those in front of him. “This all looks delicious! I bet I could easily have two whole portions,” he chuckled, smacking his lips. “Of course if I run out of room, you guys feel free to eat my leftovers.”

“Thanks!” Bry grinned, appreciating his generosity. She went to fetch a spare chair - she and Amy generally only kept two chairs at their dining table unless they had company - and the couple sat opposite their guest, holding hands in Amy’s lap.

“What’s with the glowing eyes, by the way?” Bry asked, intrigued. “That’s so cool, I’ve never seen anything like that before...”

“Oh, pay no attention to that,” Ray told her, that strange gleam returning. “You’ll find you won’t even remember seeing it.”

“OK.” She obligingly forgot all about the red glow, even while she could still see it slowly fading from his irises.

As he ate, Ray glanced over his shoulder, taking in the rest of the apartment. “Lotta paintings in there,” he noted. “Where did those come from?”

“Oh, Bry did those,” Amy said with enthusiasm, putting an arm around her fiancé’s shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “She’s so fucking talented. She sold one for five hundred dollars today - I’m so proud of her!” Blushing and grinning, Bryana quickly kissed her on the lips, restraining herself from another full-on makeout session while their guest was present.

“As well you should be, they’re excellent,” Ray commented.

“Aw, thank you!” Bry said gratefully. She was really warming to their guest, even after only knowing him for a few minutes.

Midway through another mouthful of enchilada, he raised an index finger, his eyes lighting up figuratively at first (which Bry and Amy noticed) and then literally (which they didn’t). “Y’know what would be absolutely hilarious?” he said gleefully. “You should both go in there and absolutely wreck every single one of your works of art. Every painting, every sketch, every, I dunno, sculpture, or whatever. That’d just be the funniest thing ever.”

Bryana and Amy’s eyes went wide - and they burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that’d be hysterical!” Bry hooted. “All - all the work I put into them, all those months... and we just fucking trash them?! That’d be priceless!”

“Oh, we’ve got to,” Amy giggled manically, “we’ve got to - c’mon. Excuse us,” she said to Ray, standing up from the table, Bry jumping to her feet only a second later. He waved a hand dismissively, already returning his attention to his meals. Scurrying over to the living room, where paintings were displayed on various stands and sketchpads lay on almost every available surface, the girls got busy.

By the time Ray had finished eating and come to join them, a wine glass in his hand, the room had descended into total chaos. Shreds of pulp paper covered the couch and carpet like snowflakes, the fragmented remains of Bry’s sketches, which she’d torn into the tiniest pieces she could. Canvases had been repeatedly slashed with a kitchen knife, the paintings they displayed irretrievably vandalised. The girls were just then demolishing the last of Bry’s art, though their progress was slightly hampered by their fits of hysterical giggles, their faces bright red and covered in tears of mirth.

The only surviving artwork was the newly-sold Sunset Park painting. “Saved the best ’til last,” Amy sniggered, approaching it with the knife raised.

“Hold on,” Ray said, mouth twisted into a malicious leer. “I think it’d be really funny if you smashed that painting over its creator’s head.”

The girls gasped and exchanged demented grins. Bry braced herself for impact, standing to attention with her arms at her sides and her eyes shut, struggling to suppress her titters. Moments later she felt the canvas smack into the top of her head, which immediately tore a huge hole in it. The painting was reduced to a gaping rift, only its rectangular edges left intact, hanging around the artist’s neck like a comically-oversized, bizarrely-shaped necklace, torn flaps of canvas dangling from it. Opening her eyes, Bryana looked at Amy, which was enough to trigger more hysterics from them both.

“We... we just lost five hundred bucks,” Bryana spluttered, clutching her sides.

“I know,” Amy wheezed. “And you, you look so silly standing there like that!” Cackling, Bry did a little dance, swinging her ersatz necklace from side to side, which only made her fiancé laugh harder.

“Oh, oh...” Bry sighed, finally regaining her composure. “That was a fucking riot. Too bad about the money - good thing you’re paid well!”

Lifting the ruined canvas off Bryana and carelessly tossing it aside, Amy drew her into a hug. “I’m the breadwinner,” she told Ray, smirking. Bry nudged her, on the verge of dissolving into giggles again.

“I gathered,” Ray chuckled. His eyes fell on Bryana’s left hand. “That’s such a pretty ring, by the way.”

Bryana raised her hand, glancing at the sparkling engagement ring on her finger. “Thank you!” Amy had spent quite a large sum on a ring that closely resembled the family heirloom Bry had proposed with, so they would match. Bry felt a little guilty for not spending anything on the ring she’d given Amy, but her partner had assured her the sentimental value of something so precious to Bry’s family far outweighed any amount of money. Both rings were incredibly precious to them, naturally, as symbols of their love and their forthcoming nuptials.

“Y’know, once I leave, I think I’d like some souvenirs to take with me,” Ray said matter-of-factly. “Give me your engagement rings.”

“Sure,” Amy said, pulling the heirloom ring off her finger. Bry followed suit, easing off her own ring. Trotting towards their guest, they dropped the jewellery into his outstretched hand.

He grinned. “Thank you very much, ladies.”

“Hey, no problem!” Bry said cheerfully.

“Now, as it turns out, there is some food left over,” he told them. “I made a start on the second plate, but didn’t get very far, so you guys can have the rest. It was just exquisite - if I could’ve eaten another bite I absolutely would’ve!” Bry blushed and grinned at the praise. “After that, I reckon you ought to clean up all this crap,” he said, gesturing around the living room.

“Of course,” Amy nodded. She was already halfway out of the room, rubbing her grumbling stomach. Bry followed, glancing back at Ray to see him raising his wine glass to his lips with one hand and slipping the rings into his pocket with the other.

She felt a pang of sadness over the loss of their engagement rings, but it passed quickly. The emotional worth of the jewellery (not to mention the financial worth) meant nothing compared to the whims of their guest. She and Amy were happy to accommodate him. That’s just what good hosts did.

***

“Mmm, another excellent meal,” Ray grunted around a mouthful of risotto. “Great job!”

Bryana beamed proudly. “Thank you, sir!”

He didn’t look round as he delivered the praise, or when she responded. She and Amy stood at attention a short distance behind him as he sat at their dining table and ate his dinner. Bry had spent almost two hours working hard to ensure the dish was Michelin-star quality. By contrast, she and Amy would be having cheese sandwiches for their own evening meal, once Ray had finished eating.

They were both dressed in clothes more suited to looking after an esteemed guest. Amy wore a long-sleeved white shirt, black tie and suit jacket, grey waistcoat, white gloves, grey and black pinstriped trousers, and gleaming black shoes. Her long black hair was slicked back and tied in a neat ponytail, adding to the sleek smartness of her appearance. Bryana wore a white apron with frilled edges over a black dress with short puffy sleeves, a ruffled lacey white headband and a matching choker and wrist cuffs (each decorated with a little black bow), translucent white stockings, and black heels.

Ray had suggested their attire, needless to say. The morning after his arrival, he’d cast a critical eye over each of them, and quickly decided the roles they would assume during his stay. He’d remarked that Amy would make a very handsome butler, and Bryana would be the most adorable maid. While he explored Brooklyn that day, they had gone shopping for the outfits that they now wore. Bry found it quite silly, playing dress-up like this, but was happy to indulge Ray, as always. Apart from their uniform-buying excursion, neither of them had been to work, or even left their apartment, since he had arrived, calling in sick each morning. Their duties as hosts took precedence over everything else.

Amy shot her a small, mirthful smile, which she returned. They’d exchanged a lot of these little grins in the three days Ray had been staying with them. Bry was sure her fiancé was finding this whole experience as amusing as she was, although they hadn’t discussed the subject. They hadn’t discussed much of anything, actually. They were only allowed to speak when spoken to, by Ray, otherwise maintaining a demure, respectful silence at all times - even when he was out sightseeing. Just one of the many rules they had to follow as professional, courteous hosts. A lot of these rules had been unknown to them until Ray mentioned them, but they made perfect sense as soon as he’d brought them up.

Still working his way through his meal, Ray raised a hand and beckoned, without looking round. His hosts immediately sprang into action, Amy marching forwards smartly, Bry tottering behind on her heels. At this point they knew what was required of them without needing to be told. Dropping onto hands and knees, Amy crawled under the table and positioned herself between Ray’s legs. While she was unbuckling their guest’s belt and unzipping his pants, Bryana stood to his right, pinched the edges of her skirt between thumbs and index fingers, and raised it high enough to expose her bare crotch. (She’d been surprised, but perfectly obliging, when Ray had told her that the best maids tended to omit underwear.) With his left hand continuing to scoop up beans and rice with his fork, Ray lifted his right hand to Bryana’s pussy and began to tease and toy, quickly working her up enough to lubricate her lips. Every so often, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked the maid’s juices off them.

It was a struggle to remain professional as Ray masturbated her. Try as she might, Bry couldn’t stop lewd gasps and moans escaping her mouth. She reminded herself that the most she could do was edge - it would be severely improper to cum while hosting a guest. She envied Amy - even though the therapist-turned-butler was on all fours sucking cock under a hard wooden table, her hands and knees surely aching from their prolonged period on the tiled floor, Bry was convinced that her job, providing extra garnish for the meal she had prepared, was the more difficult one. At least Amy wasn’t receiving the same level of stimulation, and didn’t have to work as hard as Bry to keep herself from orgasming.

Denying herself that release was getting harder and harder each time, because she’d been pent up for days at this point - they both had. On top of the orgasm ban, they weren’t permitted to have any form of physical intimacy while Ray was staying with them - even chaste kisses or holding hands would be too inappropriate. And they certainly weren’t allowed to touch themselves. Any pleasure they received was dispensed by Ray, at his own discretion. (It wasn’t as if they could ask him for it, with their code of near-constant silence.)

As he swallowed his last mouthful, Ray lowered his hand from Bryana’s drooling slit, using it to push Amy off his dick, leaving a sticky smudge on her forehead. “Now for dessert,” he declared, inhaling deeply and licking his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “I think I fancy... maid, right now. Butler, you clear the table and then come watch.”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused. Bry wasn’t sure Ray even remembered their names at this point, if he’d bothered to retain them at all. He’d mostly been addressing them by their ‘job titles’. She’d have found this rude from anyone else, but didn’t mind it from Ray. It was his right as their guest to call them whatever he preferred.

She trotted behind him as he strolled out of the room, hearing a clatter behind her as Amy began tidying away his plate and cutlery. Reaching the living room, he pointed to the couch, and she promptly bent over the armrest, spread her legs wide, and lifted her skirt up over her hips. Seconds later she felt him slide into her wet cunt and begin to thrust with vigour, his pelvis smacking into her butt cheeks. Gasping, she grinned at his fervour - her fiancé’s mouth must have really worked him up.

His hand pressed into her back, pushing her further down into the couch, squashing her face into the cushions, muffling her ecstatic cries and whimpers. His other hand delivered a stinging slap to her right ass cheek. She felt his already impressively large manhood grow even longer and thicker, vibrating as it slid in and out, forcing her cunt wider open. She felt long talons extend from the hand on her back, their wicked sharpness obvious even through the layers of her maidservant uniform. She heard his own moans of pleasure get deeper, more guttural, like the growls and snarls of a wild beast.

All of that was perfectly normal. She recalled Amy mentioning Ray’s belief that he was some kind of demon - clearly, as part of the delusion, he had a tendency to shift into a demonic form, particularly in the throes of passion. She took it as a compliment, that he was enjoying penetrating her glistening crevice so much that he’d lost control and transformed into a satanic monster. It was very flattering! And she had to admit, she understood just how he felt. Were it not for the code of professionalism she had to maintain, she was sure she would’ve cum at least five times since he’d entered her. She had to bite the cushion to stop herself from going over the edge.

Before too long he was filling her up with a volcanic eruption of his seed and withdrawing, leaving her panting and sweating over the side of the couch. She gradually composed herself, stood up straight and smoothed down her uniform, feeling some of his cum dripping out of her. Not for the first time, she wondered if he’d impregnated her with his supposed hellspawn.

Glancing across the room, she saw Amy standing at attention by the kitchen door, hands clasped together behind her back. She was the very picture of immaculate professionalism, aside from the flushed cheeks and the bead of sweat on her brow. Bry stifled a giggle, knowing exactly how turned on Amy got when she watched her fiancé being used as their guest’s cocksocket. She felt the same way when she was a spectator to him fucking Amy, after all.

Ray sat down heavily in an armchair, not bothering to revert to human form. “Go and have your tea, maid,” he sighed in his thunderous demon voice. “You too, butler.”

“Thank you, sir,” they both said graciously, and scurried away to have their sandwiches.

By the time they had finished eating and returned to the living room, Ray was back in his human guise. Standing up, he smiled warmly at them both. “As you know, it’s my last night here.” They grimaced, saddened by his impending departure. He’d been such a pleasant guest, and they’d thoroughly enjoyed catering to his every desire for the last three days. “I just want to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed my stay,” he continued, stepping towards them. “You two have been a delight.”

“Thank you, sir!” they said in unison, beaming broadly. Amy bowed deferentially, while Bry did a little curtsey.

“And I know it’s been difficult for you to keep yourselves denied,” he remarked sympathetically, “especially when I fucked you. So I’ll make it easier for you.” His eyes began to glow red. “From now on, no matter how hard you try, neither of you will be able to cum - unless the person fucking you gives you permission. And neither of you can grant that permission to each other. It has to be someone else.”

Bry nodded slowly as she processed this statement, unsure exactly why Ray was telling them this, unable to put her finger on why, exactly, his words made her a little uneasy. But she lost her train of thought when he added, “Of course, neither of you will realise this until the first time it happens - if it ever does.”

“Of course, sir,” Bry said quickly, not entirely sure what she was agreeing with. For some reason, she couldn’t remember what he’d just said.

He stepped closer to Amy, grinning at her. “Thank you for your service, butler.”

“My pleasure, sir,” she replied, bowing her head again.

“You have the cutest lisp, by the way. I know you never notice it, but it’s quite charming. It makes you sound so... infantile.” He smirked, his eyes gleaming with supernatural power.

Amy gave him a puzzled glance, but nonetheless replied, “Fank you, thir.”

“And I adore your stutter, maid,” he continued, turning to Bryana. “It’s so sweet, the way you can barely speak.”

Bry blushed and smiled. “Th-th-th-th-”

“You’re welcome. Now, I’d better pack and be on my way. You two, prepare yourselves as I’ve instructed you.”

“Yeth, thir,” Amy said. Bry tried to produce similar words, but her voice failed her, so she simply nodded and smiled.

As he strolled away to gather his meagre belongings (mostly consisting of souvenirs from his time in Brooklyn, including those he’d taken from his hosts), Bryana made her way to the corner of the room and lay down flat on her front, right up against the bottom of the wall. She was quite used to the carpeted floor at this point - she’d slept there every other night since Ray’s arrival. They’d given him their bed, naturally, while they swapped back and forth between the couch and the floor.

Fetching several lengths of rope, Amy crossed to join her and took hold of her arms, quickly and skilfully tying her wrists behind her back. She did the same with her ankles, before joining the two bonds together with another loop of rope, cinching it tight. Bryana’s legs were bent, held up in the air above her along with her arms, her bound wrists and ankles pulled close together.

Testing the strength of the knots, she was impressed. As hard as she strained against them, they wouldn’t come undone. Amy had learned quickly from the tutorials Ray had commanded her to watch - she’d even remembered to tie the knots in such a place that Bry’s fingers couldn’t possibly reach them. There was no escape.

“Excellent work,” Ray said as he re-entered the room, pulling one of the couple’s wheeled suitcases along behind him. “I must be off. As soon as I’m gone, you’ll both forget everything that happened while I was staying with you - you’ll lose every memory of the last three days from the moment I knocked on that door. You won’t even realise it’s a different day, until you’re told or you see today’s date somewhere.”

“I underthdand, thir,” Amy replied. Bry grunted her own incoherent noise of acknowledgement.

“Very good. Now, butler, when I leave, you won’t notice the maid any more. You won’t be able to see or hear her, no matter how she may try to attract your attention. As far as you’re concerned, she won’t be here. And it won’t occur to you that she’s gone - you simply won’t think about her, right up until you go to bed. This will only last for the rest of tonight - when you wake up tomorrow morning, you can see and hear her again. You also won’t notice anything else out of the ordinary, like your clothes, or her missing art, until the morning. Do you understand?”

“Of courth, thir.”

“Excellent. Goodbye then, butler.” Grabbing hold of her tie, Ray pulled Amy in for a passionate kiss. Bryana watched them make out from her prone position, smiling proudly. Amy made such a good, compliant host.

Breaking off the kiss at last, Ray waved down to Bry. “Bye, maid!”

“Buh-buh-bi-bye,” the hogtied maidservant stammered.

He strolled away without another backwards glance, making his way to the apartment’s entrance. A few seconds, Bryana heard the front door shut behind him. She blinked sleepily, rubbing her cheek over the soft carpet like a cat.

Then her eyes snapped open. Wait - the carpet? Why was she... why was she on the floor? And... was that - rope? Was she tied up?!

“Wh-whuh-uh?” she gasped, frantically fighting her intractable bonds. She looked up, across the living room (she seemed to be in the corner for some reason) to see Amy standing near the door, staring into space with a slight frown. She was dressed up in some kind of servant’s costume, rather like a butler’s uniform. Why the fuck was she wearing that? For that matter, why the fuck was Bry wearing what appeared to be a maid’s outfit? And where were all her paintings and sketches? The room had been full of them - where had they all gone?

Oh, yeah, and more importantly, why the fuck was she tied up?!

“A-A-A, A-A-A-A...” Damn her fucking stutter! It was always worse when she was anxious, let alone when she was panicking. It was a wonder she was able to produce any sound at all - not that the feeble barely-audible vowels were much of a victory. She wriggled and writhed desperately, hoping her movement would catch her partner’s attention.

It didn’t work. Seeming to snap out of whatever daze she was in, Amy wandered over to the couch and sat down, reaching for the TV remote. “Whad wath I gonna watth tonighd?” she mused aloud. Then she nodded, raising the remote to switch the TV on. “Oh yeah, Thecwet Invaython. There’th thuppothed do be a new epithode.”

Since when did Amy have a lisp?! “A-A-A,” Bry croaked desperately, still trying to twist her way out of the restraints. It was hopeless. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t break free. No matter how much she moved, or how much noise she made (and she couldn’t do much of either), she couldn’t alert her partner to her plight.

At last, after watching the new Secret Invasion, Amy retired to bed, switching off the living room light on her way out. Her frightened fiancé was left alone in the darkened living room all night long, desolately trying to figure out how she could have ended up in such a predicament.

She never did work it out. Neither of them did. Regrettably, they never remembered what accommodating hosts they’d been in those lost days.