The Duenda Came to Collect My Luck in Seven Nights

Damián was sitting on the floor of his tiny boarding-house room, staring in disbelief at the creature that had been left tied to the leg of his old table. The duenda was small and chubby, with wrinkled, weathered skin, but with full lips and curves that did not fit the idea he had of a monster. She looked at him with a mixture of fury and mockery.

—So you thought I was to blame for your bad luck, huh, human? —she said in a rough but strangely seductive voice.

Damián swallowed. He had not expected this. The fortune-teller at the market had sworn that a spirit was cursing him, stealing his prosperity. But now, face to face with the creature, he could not help noticing how strangely attractive she was, in her own odd way.

—You… you were the one who ruined my life —he murmured, though even he could hear the doubt in his own voice.

The duenda laughed.

—I wasn’t the one who gambled away every last bill. I wasn’t the one who showed up late to work three weeks in a row. And I certainly wasn’t the one who decided to run from his problems instead of facing them.

—Then… why did the fortune-teller say that…?

—Because it’s easier to blame a goblin than to admit you like danger —she replied, edging as close as her bindings allowed—. You know it, don’t you? Risk turns you on. The bet, the money slipping through your fingers, the adrenaline of losing everything. And now, here I am.

Damián could not deny it. There was something about her, in her rough but magnetic presence, that made him feel more alive than he had in years.

—Now, human… you can keep pointing the finger at me, or you can accept what you really are.

And then, with a surprisingly nimble movement, she wriggled free of the ropes and leapt onto him. Damián did not try to stop her. After all, he had always been drawn to bad decisions.

The duenda settled onto his lap, her short, thick legs brushing his thighs in a way that made him stifle a groan. Her eyes shone with cunning and something more.

—You’re lucky, human —she whispered, running a wrinkled but soft hand over his chest—. Because even if I didn’t ruin your life, I can relieve you of that burden.

—How? —he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

—Bad luck doesn’t disappear, it only transfers. For seven nights, your bad luck will be mine.

—And how does that work?

Her thick lips curved into a naughty smile.

—By connecting our bodies, of course.

Before Damián could ask anything else, she leaned in and kissed him. It was an electrifying contact, as if a dark current passed from his mouth to hers. When they parted, panting, the duenda’s eyes were even more lit up than before.

—Get ready, human. These seven nights are going to be interesting. To transfer the luck… we need to be very connected.

With a teasing gesture she slid off his lap and, without breaking eye contact, took hold of the straps of her dress made of dry leaves and worn fabrics.

—If we’re doing this, better without obstacles —she said, lowering the straps from her shoulders.

The dress fell to the floor and revealed a compact yet voluptuous body. Her breasts, large and heavy, rested naturally, the nipples dark and hardened by the room’s cold air. Her belly was round and soft, marked by a long life, and her hips opened out into generous buttocks that trembled slightly when she turned.

Damián swallowed.

—What’s wrong, human? Never seen a naked duenda before? —she laughed, sliding her own hands over her curves—. Or maybe you’ve never seen anything so irresistible.

He could not help but grow fully hard looking at her. Her skin looked smooth despite the wrinkles, her body a strange blend of decay and pure sensuality.

—No… it’s not that —he murmured, unfastening his trousers with trembling hands.

The duenda watched him undress, her eyes sparking with malice and desire. When he was finally exposed before her, her smile widened.

—Mmm… not bad, for a human —she said, drawing closer with short but sure steps—. Let’s see how much you can take. Because these seven nights aren’t just for transferring your bad luck.

—And what else are they for? —Damián asked, though he already knew.

She took his hand and brought it to her breasts. He growled at the feel of the weight and heat.

—For having fun. And for teaching you that sometimes bad luck can be very, very pleasurable.

***

Damián lay naked on the bed, his body tense between desire and uncertainty. The duenda, who said her name was Brunilda, looked at him with her sly eyes, her mocking smile revealing tiny, sharp teeth.

—Poor human, so nervous —she murmured, dragging her wrinkled but skillful fingers along his thigh—. Don’t worry, I know how to make this work.

Before he could react, she leaned down and took his still-soft sex in her small, warm hands. The sensation was strange at first: her skin was rougher than expected, but the contrast with those thick, soft lips made him shiver.

—Mmm… there we go —Brunilda whispered, kissing the tip before letting it go with a wet, audible smack.

Damián stifled a groan. This was not the timid kiss of any ordinary woman; this was savage, primitive. Every time her lips closed around him and then parted with that obscene sound, he felt a pulse of pleasure driving him to the edge.

A dozen times she repeated the motion, until, against all odds, he stood fully erect and throbbing in her hands. Brunilda pulled back with a satisfied little laugh, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

—See? I still have the touch —she said proudly, running her tongue over her full mouth—. And this is only the beginning.

Damián’s hips lifted toward her by instinct. There was no fear left now, only need.

—Give me… more of that touch —he growled, the words broken apart.

The duenda laughed, low and hoarse, before climbing over him, her generous curves pressing against his torso. Without hurry, with devilish patience, she kept working over his body, her hands dropping to caress him with a mix of tenderness and mockery.

—You like it, human? —she asked, looking up with a wicked smile—. Do you like it when an old, wrinkled duenda adores you like this?

Damián could not lie. His body answered in involuntary jolts, pleasure gathering in his belly.

—Yes… damn it, yes —he growled, arching when she blew warmly over his sensitive skin.

Brunilda went back to work without warning, taking him in one single movement, muffling his moans in a throat that, though old, knew exactly how to tighten. He cried out, pushing his hips upward, but she did not stop. She had other plans.

She dropped onto him with all the weight of her chubby body, riding him at once, her insides unbelievably tight and burning. Damián saw stars. He didn’t even last half a minute before the heat, the pressure, and the intensity of it all burst inside her with a muffled groan.

Brunilda laughed, panting, her heavy breasts swinging as she rocked lazily over him, squeezing out the last drops of his bad luck.

—Ha… so fast, human —she murmured, before collapsing onto his chest with a satisfied sigh.

Within seconds, the duenda’s rough snores filled the room. Damián, still dazed, did not know what to feel. Had it been real, or just another trick of his mind, desperate to blame someone for his ruin? But Brunilda’s weight over him and the lingering ache in his pelvis made it clear that, for the next seven nights, everything was going to be very real.

***

At dawn, beside the bed, he found a gold coin engraved with ancient runes that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

—And quick, human —Brunilda yawned, stretching like a satisfied cat before sinking back into the sheets—. I’m not feeding on human misery again.

Hunger was roaring in his stomach and he had only three packets of tasteless instant soup left, so he tucked the coin away and went out. At the pawnshop, the coin was worth ten times what he expected, and the old man at the counter did not ask questions, though he fixed him with glassy eyes as if he knew something.

—Don’t come back with any more of these —he warned in a rough whisper.

He returned with decent food and a bottle of cheap liquor, because he was not stupid: if the duenda wanted alcohol, he was not going to spend money on the good stuff. When he opened the door, the smell of sex and wet earth hit him again. Brunilda was lying on the bed, naked, idly toying with a second gold coin between her fingers.

—Ah, finally —she said, smiling wickedly at the sight of the bottle—. I knew you were smart… for a human.

***

Dinner passed amid the clatter of cutlery and the long swigs of liquor Brunilda drank as if it were water. Damián could hardly believe he was sharing a table with a drunken, lecherous duenda, her heavy breasts resting on the wood, her smile of sharp teeth promising nothing good.

—Mmm… you cook decently, human —she murmured, licking the remains of sauce from her lips—. But I’m still hungry.

Damián went to offer her more food, but Brunilda’s eyes flashed and, before he could react, she was already sliding under the table. A rough tug, his trousers opened, and suddenly the wet heat of her mouth wrapped around him again.

—Shit! —he growled, clutching the edge of the table.

It was identical to the previous night: those full lips sucking hard, the rough tongue tracing circles on the tip, the small teeth just barely grazing, as if at any moment she might decide to bite.

—Mmmf… so easy… —murmured Brunilda between one thing and another, her hands squeezing his thighs.

Damián buried his fingers in the duenda’s tangled hair. There was no resistance; there never had been. And when she swallowed with an obscene sound, he was already lost.

—Good dessert —Brunilda said, pulling back with a satisfied smile, as if she had just tasted a sweet and not his total surrender.

***

Damián’s sleep was heavy, soaked with the exhaustion of the day and the liquor still burning in his veins. In his drowsiness, his body moved by inertia, his arms seeking the warmth of a body against his, even if that body was not human. So, without thinking, he wrapped Brunilda in an embrace and buried his nose in her tangled hair.

She smelled of cheap alcohol, sweat, sex, and something earthy, like roots and dry leaves. It was not pleasant, but he did not dislike it either. It was real, raw, as if the world had more texture with her there.

She woke to the duenda’s touch as she climbed back into bed, her skin still damp and hot, dragging herself over him like a lazy cat.

—Mmm… hot human —she murmured, deliberately rubbing against his thigh.

Damián stifled a groan. His body was already responding, betraying him. She laughed, low and hoarse.

—Besides… you’re ready again already —she whispered, nipping at his ear.

And it was true.

***

On the fourth night, the tiny bathroom filled with steam. Brunilda eyed the bucket of steaming water with one raised eyebrow and skepticism on her face, but the gleam in her eyes at the word “tequila” made her give in. With a sharp gesture she removed the dress of leaves and climbed into the tub with a splash that spilled half the bucket onto the floor.

Bathing a duenda was not like bathing a woman. It was more intense. Damián’s hands, timid at first, took out their frustration on the soap, running over every curve of her small, voluptuous body.

—Mmm… not there, human —she growled when his fingers lingered too long between her legs.

—It’s just… gotta clean it well —he murmured, feeling his own breathing quicken as he rubbed those sensitive folds, noticing how Brunilda, against her will, arched toward the contact.

The duenda snorted, but did not stop him. Until he let his finger brush, “accidentally,” the tightest opening.

—Human… —she whispered, drawing the word out like a cat playing with its prey—, if you wanted to put something in me there, you only had to ask.

Damián nearly choked on his own saliva. Before he could answer, she turned and guided his hand back to where he so badly wanted to touch.

—But this time… do it right.

***

On the third night, Brunilda laughed with a rasping sound and arched over the pillows, her round buttocks exposed without shame.

—So you finally got brave, human —she taunted, looking over her shoulder with those eyes that gleamed like dirty coins—. Well then, help yourself.

Damián did not need to be told twice. First the tongue, tracing that tight ring, tasting the duenda’s salty, earthy flavor. She growled, pushing back against his mouth.

—More… idiot… —she panted, digging her nails into the pillow.

Then the fingers. One, then two, moving in circles, preparing her with a mixture of curiosity and desperation. Brunilda moaned, a sound halfway between a growl and a purr, while her body opened for him.

—That’s it… like that… —she murmured, every word splashed with gasps.

Damián was not gentle. He could not be. He lined himself up and entered her in one hard thrust, tearing a cry from her that was not pain, but triumph. She was tight, tighter than he had imagined, and hot, as if her insides were made of embers. Each thrust was a conquest and a surrender at once.

Brunilda was no delicate lover. She was wild. She scratched, bit, twisted, and pulled him deeper, as if she wanted to devour him from the inside out.

—See, human? —she panted, turning her head to pin him with eyes full of malice—. This is what you wanted.

Damián could not deny it. He had wanted it.

***

On the penultimate night, a secondhand television flickered with an absurd soap opera, the bluish light bathing the sweaty bodies sprawled on the sofa. Brunilda had her torso bare, her heavy breasts resting on Damián’s belly, while she sipped liquor straight from the bottle with obscene pleasure.

—Mmm… this is good —she murmured, offering him the bottle—. Try it, human.

He took a bitter, thick swallow, but he didn’t mind. Nothing mattered to him at that moment except the duenda’s warm weight on top of him and the fact that only one night remained. One night, and she would leave with his bad luck, her gold coins, her growls and her rough laughter. The idea weighed on his chest.

—Brunilda… —he began, searching for words.

She looked at him, her sly eyes shining with an understanding that scared him.

—Don’t you want me to go? —she asked, teasing but not cruel.

Damián did not answer. No need. The duenda lowered the bottle, settled over him, and pressed her hips right where he was starting to respond again.

—Poor human —she whispered, brushing his lips—. You like your curse, huh?

Damián closed his eyes. Yes. He liked it, too much.

—Lucky for you… —she murmured, guiding him back toward her heat—, pacts can be renewed.

And when she sank down over him, Damián knew he would never let go of that curse, or of the duenda who had brought it to him.

***

The months passed. Although Damián did not recover his former wealth, something better bloomed in his life: a wild and addictive routine, flavored with cheap liquor and wrinkled skin.

That night he arrived with a bottle of cheap whiskey under his arm and, as always, Brunilda was waiting, arms crossed and chubby foot tapping the floor impatiently.

—Late again, human —she growled, but the gleam in her eyes betrayed her excitement.

Damián wasted no time. He grabbed those buttocks he knew so well and crushed her against him, sealing her mouth with a deep, dominant kiss. The duenda answered by biting his lower lip before laughing, rough and hot.

—I missed you, little duenda —he murmured, while she tore his shirt from him.

—Liar —Brunilda spat, though her smile was one of pleasure.

He lifted her against the wall, feeling her short, strong legs hook around his waist, and in one motion he made her his where she liked it best. Brunilda screamed, a mix of triumph and pleasure, her nails digging into his back.

—Fucking yours! —she roared.

Damián pressed his forehead to hers, inhaling that smell of earth, sex, and something indescribably hers. Had it been bad luck to find her? Maybe. But as the duenda bit him, scratched him, and pulled him deeper, he could no longer imagine a life without that curse.

—We renewed the pact —she whispered in his ear between gasps—. One more year.

And he only nodded, knowing that, in the end, the best luck of his life had been losing everything in order to win her.