Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – by steelkat29

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1. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:56 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 2

   Lying on the demon’s soft bed, his body weighing over me, I feel my pleasure mounting again. One hot finger massages my throbbing clit while two more stroke the moist folds of my opening. My own hands are grasping at his dark broad shoulders, holding on to him as if he were my lifeline in this ocean of ecstasy. I’m drowning in it, sinking further into the abyss. My world is melting, becoming one with his, and becoming one with him. Every touch, every miniscule movement of his fingers drags me down further until I am gasping for air. Time holds no meaning, not here, under his body and within his grasp. My lungs scream for air, unable to draw a full breath. My eyes are heavy; the drug-like state he’s induced me in has my mouth opened in a soundless scream. In my grateful stupor while he continues to please me, I look for his gorgeous face again, startled to find it so close to mine.

   He’s been watching me this whole time.

   My irregular breathing becomes raspy as I take in his inhuman beauty. I can’t believe I was ever afraid of him. His eyes lock with mine and I’m pleased to see that he is enjoying watching me writhe beneath his touch. His firm mouth is turned up in a devastating smile, sharp, pointed canines indenting his lower lip. I cry out and squeeze my eyes shut as a particularly well-placed rub by his fingers sends a charge racing to my heart. My hips buck off the bed and crash into his. The hand placed over my sex moves with me, unwilling to let me take control, affording pleasure only when Asmodeus sees fit. His turgid member slaps against my thigh and I hear my demon king growl. His fingers stop moving and I open my eyes again, breathing hard.

   Staring into those wicked red eyes again I see that overwhelming desire I’ve been feeling, echoed on his face as he looks at me. That hand which has pleasured me so wonderfully withdraws, sliding back up my abdomen. Up it goes; the fingers trailing ever-so-slightly past my navel, tracing the lines of my heaving ribcage and brushing against my tender nipples. All the while, the Demon of Lust stares into my very soul. He knows me, really knows me and I believe he cares for me as well. His hand finally reaches up, knuckles caressing my cheek. I lean into that touch, eyes closed and heart aching, inhaling my own musky scent still drenching his fingers. His thumb comes to rest over my lips while his fingers unfurl to cradle my cheek. I kiss that thumb until it slips away and is replaced by firm lips.

   The kiss is slow, deliberate and unbearably sweet. My heart breaks with the sheer beauty of it. This is it. This is what I have waited for, for so long. It’s not just the anticipation of my first time – if I had wanted it that badly, any man would have sufficed. No, what I’ve been waiting for was this, something meaningful and tender.

   He breaks away from me slowly, planting a brief peck on my lips again before his body begins to move. The arm which had been holding him up straightens, his thigh slides away from mine as together they help him move lower down the bed. His warm breath washes over my mostly naked skin as his head hovers over my stomach. Soon he’s crouched by my legs, hands on either side of my hips, knees straddling my calves, muscled ass in the air and tail lashing playfully. Giving my tummy a quick lick he looks up at me, another wide grin spreading across his dark face.

   He grabs my panties again; this time shredding them. The ripping noise and sharp nip of stretched elastic surprises me and my tense body jumps slightly. Tearing away the now useless cotton, he lowers his head further still. As he passes my sex his tongue lashes out and licks my sensitive nub. My hips respond automatically, tilting up to meet his lips. He doesn’t give me the satisfaction though, moving further down instead, that long tongue tracing the contours of my inner thigh. He continues his blazing trail, past my knees and down my left calf before he stops at my battered ankles.

   During my wrestle with those chains earlier, it was my ankles which bore the brunt of their assault. As the loose strands of Asmodeus’ metallic hair sweep over the raw rings of angry flesh, a fresh surge of pain rolls through me. Hearing my hiss at the sting, he quickly laps his tongue over the torn skin. The hair on my arms stand on end at the uncomfortable sensation as the wounds suture themselves closed. With my previously injured body finally fully mended, the demon lifts himself up, kneeling on the bed and looks down at my exposed maidenhood.

   “Beautiful,” he growls, before dipping this head down to taste my core again, “and delicious.”

   Inching my up towards me, Asmodeus once again aligns his body with mine. Holding his chest high above mine with one arm, he uses his other to grab my thigh. Taking a hold of my left thigh – just above the knee – with his large right hand, he gives it a near painful squeeze before smoothly spreading it outward. Replacing that hand with his knee, the demon king keeps my thighs apart and positions his groin above mine. His huge member nudges at the entrance of my folds and I clutch at his arms so tightly that my own arms begin to ache, as pure terror grips my heart.

   Sensing my fear he waits, using his now free right hand to seize my chin. Forcing me to look at him he stares down at me, all amusement gone, replaced with a serious calm. The tenderness is not lost though and his next words are soft.

   “Unfortunately my love, this next part will hurt you. If I could prevent the pain I would, but I cannot unmake a wound which has not already been inflicted.”

   I shudder in horror and whimper desperately.

   “But you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

   A tear rolls down the side of my face and Asmodeus catches it with a finger before it settles in my ear. He looks at the clear liquid for a second and then puts his finger to his lips, sucking up the salty droplet.

   “Is that really what I said?” the question is teasing.

   “Yes!” I half-sob.

   “Recall, dear one, I told you that I would not intentionally harm you. Certainly it is not my intention to hurt you now. However, what I am about to do will cause you pain and although it is regrettable, it is also inevitable. I tell you this now not to frighten you but rather, to prepare you. It will be a sharp pain – your god made sure that his females had more than one reason to be prudish – but it will be over in a few seconds. After the pain resides, you will experience pleasure like never before, I swear to you that.”

   That mischievous gleam returns to his eyes.

   Oddly, the expression comforts me. Most people would be freaking out right now, but as fucked up as it seems, I trust this demon. Taking a deep soothing breath, I hold it in for a second and release it slowly. As the air leaves my lungs, I feel my tension being purged with it. My body relaxes slightly and I shift my weight nervously.

   Taking this as his cue, the demon pushes forward. The pressure at my entrance increases and my body tenses up again.

   He’s moving in slowly while my heart is pounding frantically. My arousal is high but my fear threatens to overwhelm me. I tighten my hold on his arms as he pulls back slightly then presses a little harder. My body is rigid, but I have to admit, this is going better than I had anticipated. I haven’t felt any pain yet. He moves back again. This isn’t so bad, I think that if he continues easing his way in slowly I won’t feel any pain at-

   Suddenly he plunges into me, fast and hard. All hopes of a painless deflowering are banished from my mind as I feel something tear in a secret place within me. Pain the likes of which I have never experienced before cuts me deeply. My body bucks violently and I scream into Asmodeus’ chest, tears flowing freely down my face. My fingers dig into his arms and he stops moving completely. My body is tensed so tight it aches and it feels like a lifetime before the pain finally begins to reside.

   I lower my back gingerly onto the bed again and all the while the demon waits for me. I’m still sore but that intense first bite of pain is gone. In fact, it’s more than gone, it’s been replaced and the heat of him filling me so completely is starting to feel… good.

   Releasing my death-grip on his arms, my fingers come away wet and sticky. Pulling them up toward my face I realize that my nails have drawn blood. Shame floods through me and I look up at Asmodeus.

   “I- I’m so s-sorry,” I stammer, still quaking from a mixture of pain and pleasure.

   The demon laughs, the movement sending shivers up my body where his meets mine. He wipes away my tears then slides a hand behind my head and lifts it up to meet his, pulling me in for a passionate kiss. It all feels so good, so right; his weight above me, his lips on mine and his luscious heat inside me.

   Once again, my hands bury themselves in his hair as his hips begin to move. He lowers my head down again, dipping his own so that our lips are still locked while slowly, slowly he moves inside me, pulling out a fraction of an inch then easing back in. Out one inch and in again, each time he pulls out further and plunges back in harder. With each push, electricity flows through me and soon I’m moaning softly against his lips.

   His lips break from mine as my breathing quickens. Planting them in a trail first along my jaw, then down my neck and along my chest; licking the voluptuous mounds of each breast. He settles on my right nipple, sucking on it hard while his tongue continues to lash it in his mouth.

   I moan again, longer and louder than before. The stimulation of my, oh-so-sensitive nipples coupled with his gentle thrusting has my orgasm building swiftly. With my fingers still tangled in his hair I tighten my fists and pull him back up to me. For once he follows my lead and brings his face to mine again.

   Still moving slowly he kisses me quickly then buries his face in my neck. I link my arms around his broad shoulders in return as he increases his pace ever-so-slightly. My breathing hitches and my body is coiled with pent up sexual frustration. My completion is close, my pleasure lifting me higher and higher with each new plunge from my lover.

   He lifts his head from my neck and kisses my chin.

   “Breathe, my pet,” he reminds me as he feels my body stiffen under his.

   The end is so close; I can feel it humming inside me. It takes all my effort to breathe in deeply and breathe out slowly, the tightness in my chest easing slightly, staving off my orgasm for the moment.

   Almost as soon as it falls though, I sense it rising again, stronger than before.

   My demon’s lips are back against my neck and he grunts as he slows his pace again. This frustrates me. I can feel a monster orgasm approaching but every time I get close to the peak, he refuses me. As my body begins to relax he pumps faster. This builds my pleasure again but before it can reach its peak, he slows down again.

   I groan loudly, letting out the breath I had been holding. This is torture! Letting me get so close then denying me my satisfaction is beyond cruel and he knows it. I can feel his rumbling laughter in his chest against mine.

   Again, he increases his pace, and again my body tenses. Higher and higher, closer to the edge than ever before, my breathing is ragged and shallow. All my mind can register is his steady propelling and the pure bliss it brings. I claw at his back as the pleasure intensifies; reaching a level that he hasn’t allowed it to thus far. Please don’t slow down now!

   “Please!” I gasp out loud, begging for my liberation.

   Thankfully, he speeds up this time rather than slowing down and I know I’ve finally reached the point of no return. A millisecond after I realize this, he nips at my neck with those sharp teeth of his and I’m thrown over the edge.

   I moan loudly as the mix of pleasure with just a dash of pain sends my body into overdrive. Again, my torso shoots up off the bed and my arms squeeze around my lover. My legs – which had wrapped around his hips – tighten their hold, pulling him closer, deeper inside me. Convulsions rack my body as I ride my perfect and seemingly endless orgasm. The pleasure is so great that I actually black out for a few seconds, the head rush making me dizzy.

   When I finally come down, legs twitching and lungs aching, my tense shoulders relax and I slump back against the velvet sheets, thoroughly satisfied. My arms fall down with me, landing on a soft curtain of my silky black hair. That was incredible.

   Still breathing hard I bring my hands down and run them down the muscled contours of his chest, past his abs and I feel the place where we are still connected. Asmodeus has stopped his thrusting, lifting his head and giving me a moment to breathe. I stroke the shaft of his member, near its base, where he isn’t buried in me and delight in the reaction this causes. The demon, so used to being in control, grits his teeth and tenses above me and my fingers rub his sensitive skin.

   I giggle at this and move my hands faster. He huffs with pleasure and suddenly grabs my wrists with one hand and pulls them away, trapping them above my head. Holding me down, he starts his thrusts again, moving faster than before. The over-stimulation makes me moan, this time with more pain than pleasure but he takes no notice. His teeth bared with the strain, he pounds me harder and faster, his body slapping audibly against mine. Each push produces shatteringly intense bursts of fresh pleasure within me. My legs shake uncontrollably and my vocalizations increase in pitch and volume.

   Another orgasm builds on the remnants of the last one. This time, Asmodeus does not try and stop it – he’s as eager for the plunge as I am. This pace increases again and he’s growling softly now as he comes close. His body stiffens on top of mine and he pulls out almost the whole way before slamming hard back in me. This last plough pulls us both into crashing orgasms, my toes curling at its power and I squirm with delight as his hot seed shoots deep within me. Each pulse of his manhood sends another jet of semen into my womb.

   When he pulls out, I shudder at the sudden change. It had felt so good having him in me, warming me up and loving me. Rolling off me and onto his bed properly, he drags me with him so that now I’m lying on top of him, the movement causing his seed to trickle down my thigh. Both of us are still panting hard and I rest my head on his broad chest, enjoying the feel of it rise and fall beneath me. I listen to his thunderous heart and it lulls my exhausted mind and body into a state of semi-consciousness.

   “Sleep well, my love.” These are the last words I hear before my eyes close and I drift into the wonderful darkness that is sleep – right there on his chest – with my head tucked under his chin and his arm still wrapped possessively around my waist.

   Continued in Part Three

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2. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:57 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 3

   When I wake, I am confused. This doesn’t feel like my bed. My body is sore and when I shift my legs slightly a spasm of pain rushes through me from my womb. My skin is chilled and feels odd, but I can’t yet place my discomfort. It doesn’t take me long to figure it out though. Why the fuck am I naked? My vision is blurred and my eyes feel itchy and painfully dry. Did I forget to remove my contacts last night? I make a move to rub my eyes. As soon as I lift my hand I feel something tighten around my waist. I freeze, horror halting even my breathing as I realize the thing holding me is an arm. The strong arm pulls me backwards while I lie helpless on my side. Soft, warm skin covering hard muscle presses into my back, using the arm to form a fleshy cage around my body; and all the while I am frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. It’s only when a firm thigh drapes over my legs and I feel something soft brush against my bottom that I begin to scream.

   Oh God, I’ve been raped! My screams tear through my throat and I fight hard to get away from the naked man behind me. When he tightens his grip even further I curl my body inwards and bite his forearm as hard as I can. A soft growl of pain echoes into my left ear but the man does not release me. The dry contact lenses continue to hinder my vision but I can still make out blurry shapes and colours. When I look at the arm still clamped onto me I see red blood seeping from black skin.

   Black skin? Even in my panicked state I find this odd.

   Still struggling, I start kicking my legs out and wriggling my body more violently. Bitter tears burn my eyes as they fall and my screaming has morphed into wails of despair. The man loosens his hold slightly as I sob and it takes me a while to realise that his other hand is softly stroking my hair, almost as if he is trying to soothe me. This, oddly, does soothe me and I calm down just enough to hear him speak my name.

   “Selena,” he whispers again, “do not be afraid my love. Calm yourself; for no harm shall befall you while I still breathe.”

   That voice… so deep and gentle; it makes me tremble with longing. I stop struggling and take a deep breath. My vision has cleared somewhat and I look down at his arm again. It isn’t black, but a mosaic of moving colours, swirling beneath red tattoos. I’ve seen this before… in a dream perhaps?

   Yes, last night in my dream of need, lust and passion. My body was taken by a demon, my lover, my King…

   Asmodeus.

   Suddenly everything comes flooding back. It wasn’t a dream, last night was real. I clasp my hands onto his injured arm, wiping away the blood from the wound I created and lean down to kiss it.

   “Asmodeus,” I beg, speaking into his arm, “forgive me.”

   I ask this not because I’m afraid of him but because I am genuinely mortified that I hurt him and worse, that I forgot him, if only for a moment.

   He stops stroking my hair and slips his arm under my body. Shifting his other arm lower, he hooks it behind my knees and pulls me toward him, cradling me like a baby. I lay my head in his chest, filled with shame, my tears leaking onto his bare torso. He releases my legs but brings his own thigh up to support me so that I am still curled up and close to him. Cupping my face with his free left hand, he turns it toward his and captures my mouth in a sweet kiss. His hand drops away from my face and slides smoothly along my body, stopping at my round rump. He gives it a sharp squeeze and the brief pain sends a jolt of pleasure racing through my heart. Our mouths move with frenzied excitement and I feel my arousal growing. I laugh against his lips as I feel his arousal as well, stiffening so very close to my centre of pleasure.

   Looking up at him I am amazed that this is really happening. Here I am, in the arms of a man who is not a man at all and we are in sync, in perfect harmony with each other. Not even twenty-four hours ago, I was in my own bed at home, cold and terribly lonely. Twenty doesn’t seem like an old age, but to me, without someone I could love and who would love me back, it has felt like a lifetime. I have watched the people around me fall in and out of love, laugh and cry in its name, and all the while I lamented the fact that I had never loved at all. There were so many times I would look at my life and despair, wondering if I would always be alone. Now, here, in his arms; my heart swells with joy and thuds sweetly against my lover’s. I feel an overwhelming rush of pure love for him – (ironically) this demon who abducted me in the night – and it brings tears to my eyes again.

   I press my lips hard against his once more, hoping I can convey everything I feel for him with it.

   “Thank you.” I say out loud.

   “For what, my Selena?” he purrs, his eyes burning so beautifully.

   “You know already, my King.”

   “I have shown you only the minimum of what you deserve and I assure you my dear, you deserve much more. Come with me now, my pet, I shall bestow upon you a few tokens of my affection.”

   He makes to move but I stop him.

   “Wait.” I say, placing a palm on his chest. “I don’t need any gifts. This, right here, is enough for me.

   “Although,” I consider, my cheeks burning, “I could do with some clothes.”

   He laughs that gorgeous laugh of his and I feel the heat radiating from my face; my blush has always been unusually red for my chocolate coloured skin. Thoroughly embarrassed, I slap his chest lightly and hide my steaming face there again.

   “Don’t laugh at me,” I protest playfully, looking up again, “I’m serious!”

   But I say it with a smile on my lips, so I don’t think he believes me.

   He pulls me in closer and pokes a finger into a deep dimple in my cheek.

   “Were it just I who would look upon you, I would have you bare before me always my sweet. Alas, others would see that which belongs to me and they shall not have the privilege of seeing all of you. Your body is for my pleasure and mine alone, which is fortunate for you. I will provide you with everything you require.”

   “Yay, lucky me, I get clothes.” It’s ridiculous to think that this tiny detail is even up for discussion. One with think that new clothes would be a given considering how my old ones were rendered useless. Then again, why should I expect anything from the demon who’s keeping me as his personal sex toy? I’m not angry though, quite on the contrary, I find his words strangely erotic.

   “Yes; lucky you indeed, my Selena.” He says, with a wicked glint in his eye.

   I don’t think he caught my sarcasm.

   “Come, I will procure your clothing.”

   He makes a move to get up again, dragging me with him like a ragdoll. I stop him again though, clearing my throat, remembering something he seems to have forgotten.

   “So,” I start casually, “you don’t want me to, er… take care of your… um, friend down here first?”

   I stretch my leg out slowly and rub my calf lightly against his… friend.

   He seizes my thigh swiftly in his large, strong hand and pulls me left a little so that I am centred on his chest. Taking this as my signal, I spread my legs wider to straddle his hips. As soon as I part my knees though, another sharp stab of pain races through my core. I hiss at the sting and stop moving. It seems that I am still a bit sore from last night. It saddens me that my body will not allow me to fulfil the promise I made with my actions and playful words.

   Suddenly, Asmodeus turns us over so that now he is on top of me, and I fret that he is going to just take what he wants. He doesn’t enter my still sensitive body though. Instead he slides down the bed quickly and stops with his face hovering over my sex, his hands clamped onto my thighs, tenderly pulling them apart.

   Ah, this looks familiar.

   Dipping his head down, he runs his tongue slowly over the soft folds of my opening. His sensuous soft tongue moves like deliciously hot water, flowing over and around my little nub. Whatever his mouth touches becomes wet with his fluids and mine. When he moves, a shiver expands through me from the place he last was, as the wet skin cools in the soft breeze that is his breathing. He laps up everything my body offers and my breathing speeds as my pleasure increases.

   His tongue is beginning its invasion into me now and I feel no pain. All I can register is the amazingly alien feel of his mouth on my sex and one of his hands sliding up to squeeze my ass. My hips jolt as I moan loud and long, trying to regulate my breathing; and failing. He’s just too damn good at this. It’s amazing how he knows just what to do and just where to- Ahhhh…..

   His tongue slips out of my body and his sharp teeth graze lightly against my clit. My gut tightens with pleasure and my chest constricts. Fuck that feels so good.

   His amazing mouth creates contrasting versions of pleasure within me, making my body weak and strong both. Soon, very soon, he has me mewling like a kitten and clawing at the sheets like a tigress, affording me so much pleasure that I can barely stand it. My legs shake even as they tighten around my lover and my mind does not know whether to shut down or revel in the intensity that is the pleasure he gives me. I feel as if I’m going to explode and, as he sucks hard on my clit one last time, I do.

   A small rush of warmth flows from me and onto his waiting lips as I climax hard, throwing my head back and arching my body off the bed. My legs clamp onto his broad shoulders and my scream of ecstasy echoes through the cavern. An uncontrollable shudder reverberates up from my toes to my shoulders and the sound of it rushes in my ears. When I slump back onto the bed I pant heavily and release my death-grip on the sheets. My clitoris throbs wonderfully and every little jolt sends more pleasure racing through my veins. Finally my breathing slows and all the exquisite tension of my release drains away from my body as I relax.

   Moaning with delight, I reach down for my King and pull at his shoulders until he moves back up and pulls me onto his hard body again. I swear I could remain like this forever, my lust satisfied and resting on the chest of my beloved.

   “You healed me, didn’t you?” I whisper, gingerly shifting my legs again, pleased that the pain is gone.
   “Would you like to finish what I started?”

   I am spent, exhausted from the superb treatment of my body but I cannot keep taking my gratification while he suffers without his. I move my hand down his chest, my touch slow and teasing. Trailing my fingers lower still, I reach out and gently stroke his magnificent tool.

   He pulls my hand away like he did last night, though gently this time, and holds it in his above his heart.

   I am hurt by this. Doesn’t he want me to please him?

   “Later, love. I want your body not your hands.”

   This time, when he moves, I don’t protest. My face is flushed with embarrassment from being rejected by the Demon of Lust himself. My throat closes and tears threaten to spill. When he lifts me up, cradling me close once more, I turn my head away, hoping he does not notice the wetness on my cheeks. What is wrong with me? My moods are all over the place and I feel like an over-emotional fool. I should not be crying over such a small and stupid thing.

   Asmodeus ignores me; he must have sensed my ridiculous insecurities and is allowing me time to work through them quietly. He stands still, holding me in his arms and breathing steadily into my hair. Another flood of warm love rushes through me for him and my tears dry up. What the hell was I just crying about anyway?

   To divert my thoughts I look up at my demon and ask about him; his long life, his brothers and God, whether or not He really exists.

   Sighing, Asmodeus starts walking. As he walks, with me staring up into his face from my perch in his arms, he begins to speak.

   “We do not call our parent god; that is a word you humans came up with to define the indefinable. No word can be accurately used to either name or explain your god. The most accurate human term would perhaps be the Creator. Crude as it is, the word can be used to label the being that created something out of nothing.”

   “So He exists then?” I ask, mesmerised by the wonderful storyteller timbre his voice has taken, as well; of course, by the epic story being told.

   “The Creator is neither a He nor a She and yet, is both. Order and Chaos combined, the Great One created time itself from the infinite void of nothingness. How, He|She came to be, is in and of itself a conundrum, for this Creator was borne of the cataclysm which also gave birth to time. This makes the Great One, His|Her own Mother and Father both, a feat that no other creature in this universe can boast.”

   Awestruck, I process his words slowly and he is patient, pausing what I know will be a long story so that I can follow it. Curious about his words a number of questions spring to mind.

   “Humans haven’t got it all wrong then, have we? Your explanation reminds me of a Greek myth; the one that explains the big bang.”

   “I am not familiar with human mythology.” He answers, sounding amused. “Enlighten me.”

   Annoyed, I give him the short version.

   “Basically, it talks about how the Mother Goddess Gaia made the Earth from the void,” I smile up at him, “from chaos.”

   He is unfazed and certainly not impressed.

   “The Great One has many names. I suppose Guy-ee-ah shall suffice also.”

   “Its Gaia, but enough about that; tell me about angels.” I request with relish. If demons exist then angels must too.

   Now, he looks annoyed but continues regardless.

   “From the Creator’s right hand, strong and just sprang forth His|Her Seven enforcers, the Archangels of Order. From His|Her left hand, dark and soulful the Princes of Destruction were born, surrendering to Chaos and her charms. Neither race was like their Mother|Father, but was likened each, to only one of the two sides which make up their Parent.”

   “When did He, I mean She-” I stop, trying hard to change twenty years of false conceptions concerning the divine. “How did the Creator, well… create humans? Are they closer to Order or Chaos?”

   “You humans say that your god created man in his image. This is truer than anything you will ever learn, for humans were borne of the Creator’s very heart. We, His|Her original children, Angels and Demons alike will never again experience His|Her touch; we will never kneel before Our Creator for we cannot ascend as humans can. We were not made in the Great One’s image and therefore are bound for eternity to either Order or Chaos.” His voice is all bitterness and grief.

   Eyes wide, rubbing soothing circles on his chest I ask gently, “What do you mean?”

   “The Creator’s gift to humanity, at the dawn of your creation, was the gift of choice. This choice enabled you to transcend the bonds of both sides and live short yet balanced lives in which Order and Chaos are One within you. This union gives you the opportunity to choose between right and wrong, and good and evil.

   “You love, hate and sin, as well as pray, fear and overcome while we, who were born immortal are shackled by the circumstances of our birth. For an Angel can neither love nor hate; while a Demon will never find detachment or peace. Neither side is good nor evil as you humans would believe. Creatures such as myself, trapped in either Order or Chaos become the embodiment of whichever Force they are attached to, making them nothing more and nothing less than vessels for Order and Chaos to work through so that a balance of sorts may be preserved.”

   “You’re a demon though, don’t evil humans get sent to you? Doesn’t that in turn make you evil?”

   “Is a human jailer evil just because those he guards are? Yes, I am a demon, who sends forth my sin to tempt humans towards the side of Chaos. I am however, just continuing the task appointed to me by my Mother|Father, at the moment the first human drew breath. Again, love, let me emphasize that I just tempt humans; it is their choice whether or not they follow. Chaos is a part of me; it allows me love and hate both.”

   I open my mouth to interrupt again, but he shushes me and continues.

   “No, before you ask, love and hate are not opposites but rather like two sides of a single coin. Both are chaotic in their own ways and by that characteristic, it is impossible for the Angels to feel either. Order makes them indifferent to everything and everyone but our Lord, though even He|She they cannot love. They want for nothing but need to be in the glorious presence of the Creator again, a goal they will never attain, no matter how much they pray.”

   “That is so sad.” I murmur, “What is the point in such a life? For Angels and Demons both I mean; it seems unfair that you have to live immortal half-lives. I am truly sorry.”

   I mean my words whole heartedly and if my Demon King’s words are true (I don’t see why he would lie) then it means that he will never find enlightenment. Now, I understand his little joke earlier. Nothing I or anyone else says will ever allow him to be whole or to meet his beloved Creator. He is stuck here forever, watching over the damned whose souls will all eventually “ascend” to meet the Great One, no matter what evil they have committed in the past.

   “Do not pity me human!” His words are harsh and menacing. “I am a demon, not some sniveling boy. You would be wise to remember so in the future.”

   Confused at his sudden change of tone, I cower as far as I possibly can in his arms and try to control my racing heart.

   “I- I’m sorry.” I stutter, unsure what else to say. I have seen him angry before, but never at me.

   His face softens a little and he rubs my arm reassuringly.

   “Do not be love. Never apologize for being what you are. Likewise, as much as my words seem to have upset you, I will not apologize for them either. I am what I am, as you are what you are. You are a human, with human emotion but I am a monster, a child of Chaos herself and I make no apologies. As such, I warn you now that I possess a horrendous temper, which flares at the best of times. Do not take my anger to heart for I shall not harm you. As I have revealed, demons can love as easily as they hate and can manage both faster than humans. I already love you, my Selena; do not fear me.”

   My trembling stops and I hug him close. Again I find myself wondering, what do I say to that?

   “Do not say the words unless you mean them my pet, I know that when one human professes their love, the other must do the same, but I am not human, so I do not need sweet lies to satisfy my ego. Your caution stems from the part of you which is allied with order. You are only human and should not feel ashamed.”

   Considering this carefully I answer.

   “I do feel… love for you, but I don’t think I am in love you just yet.” I wince, the words sound cruel.

   “Do not feel guilty my love. You have spoken the truth and that is all I ask.”

   He stops walking and gently places me onto the hard floor. I am unsteady on my feet for a few seconds and take a hold of his arm to right myself. Looking around I see that we are in yet another empty cave.

   “Are you sure you stopped at the right place? I don’t see any clothes.”

   He laughs and gestures into the empty space.

   “Are you sure you have searched properly? Look again.” That mischievous glint has returned to his eyes and my playful demon is back, all serious talk forgotten.

   Smiling, my eyes sweep the cave and again find nothing.

   “Nope,” I say, “I don’t see any-”

   Out of the corner of my eye something glints in the unnatural red light of the cavern. Whipping my head around, I see that it is a stone chest of sorts, with iron detailing. With an approving nod from Asmodeus, I take a hesitant step towards the mysterious new object.

   Turning back at my lover, frowning, I ask, “Where did that come from.”

   “Questions later love, I believe you requested clothing.” He inclines his head toward the chest and lifts a hand in its direction.

   I walk the remaining steps and stop in front of the chest, acutely aware of the hot-blooded demon at my back. The chest is large and looks heavy; I doubt I will even be able to lift the lid. I run my fingers over the beautiful metal-work set in the stone and am reminded of the gorgeous bed-frame in the main cavern. I notice also, that the chest seems to be attached to the floor beneath, almost as if it has grown from the stone there. Suddenly I realize how the chest and bed came to be.

   “You created this, didn’t you?” I ask in awe. “You made this with your power, the one you used to melt the walls.”

   “Yes, dear one, anything you see in my domain is my will. Here, everything is as I wish it to be and now, I have willed this chest into creation. Open it; I am sure you will find clothing in there to your taste.”

   I open it – the lid isn’t as heavy is it looks – and peek inside. Beautifully coloured shimmery material shines up at me; the chest is filled with silk dresses. I gently lift out the one nearest to the top. It’s navy blue with a plunging neckline, flared skirts and a lace back. Running my fingers along the intricate patterns which make up the lace I am astonished to find that is made of finely spun silver. How the silver is attached to the silk, I have no idea but the effect is breath-taking.

   “You made this?” Again I am astounded that something so utterly beautiful can come from the imagination of a demon.

   “Of course, love. Art is chaotic and beautifully so. As such, all demons are artistic; did you not notice the art on the walls of my throne room?”

   I shudder, thinking back to the bloody looking art on the walls.

   “I remember. This is nothing like that though. Your art is in a class of its own.”

   “It pleases me that the clothing suits your taste. Try on as many as you like, I will allow you some time. I have other business to attend; however, I will send a herald to deliver you to me in one hour.”

   With that he turns to leave. This causes me to panic slightly, I am afraid to be here alone.

   “Wait!” I cry, “Don’t leave me! Who will help me pick the right one? I can’t see how I look in them.”

   I add this seductively, swaying my hips toward him.

   In response, he simply raises a clawed hand, curling his fingers inward and on the wall next to the chest, a large iron frame begins to grow from the rock. Delicate cracking and wind-chime sounds signal the addition of a large glass pane, again, growing out of nothing. A thin sheet of silver forms behind it; polished and reflective. Eventually we’re left with a full length mirror set in an iron frame.

   Like everything he makes, this is also a gorgeous work of art.

   “This should suffice. Anything else you require shall present itself to you of its own accord.” He says this with a curious glint in his eyes, almost as if he is testing a theory.

   He leaves before I can protest again, sealing me in the new cave. When he is gone I feel cold; any happiness he brings me is slowly sapped away. Again I am trapped in a cave, alone and afraid.

   Just one hour, I remind myself so that I avoid a panic attack. I have never been claustrophobic but I think I may have recently acquired the acute fear of closed spaces. To further distract myself I head back over to the chest, lifting the silk gowns out one by one, holding them in front of my body and admiring them through the mirror. All the dresses are beautiful but I decide to stick with the blue one I picked out first.

   The back is tied together with silk ribbons and I undo them before stepping into the dress. As the silky material slides over my itchy legs, I suddenly have the immense urge to shower before wearing anything. I wouldn’t want to sully such finery with my unwashed body.

   Dropping the dress back into the chest I rest my hands on my naked hips, trying to think of a way to solve my dilemma. While I am thinking, visualizing a ravishing hot shower, I actually begin to hear the sound of running water, further into the cave, on my right.

   Following the sound with cautious hope, I eventually stop at a small waterfall, about six feet high, the perfect makeshift shower. Anything I require shall present itself aye? Not bad.

   The water is clear and falls gently in a small stream, just two feet wide. A small chasm has been formed underneath it to catch the water and a metal grated hole helps it drain away. The result is a rustic looking shower with surprisingly warm water cascading down from who knows where.

   I step into it with relish, soaking my hair and loving the heated caress of the waterfall massaging my shoulders wonderfully. As soon as I wish it, a bar of earthy-scented soap appears in a rocky alcove in the wall. I wash away all my fear and tension, my mind so clear, as always, during my shower. Even at home, shower time has always been a time for me to think and reflect. It’s hard to remember, given how content I am, that I am also essentially a prisoner in hell.

   In hell. Why am I okay with this?

   Even under the warm water, my body begins to shake. Goosebumps rise on my arms and a shiver creeps up my neck. Why am I here?

   My breathing is uneven and tears spill, hot and heavy from my eyes. I can’t stop the tears or the choking sobs which escape, speeding my breathing but not allowing me a full breath. My chest is tight, and my lungs scream for oxygen but try as I might to calm my hyper body down, my situation only gets worse. I swear it feels as if the ground itself is shaking. Hitching wails and stuttered breathing makes my body weak and I have to lower myself to the ground. Huddling in the corner of my unnatural shower, I tuck my legs in closer to my torso and stick my head between my knees.

   I understand now what has happened. Unable to fight against what is happening to me and trapped here against my will, my fight or flight reflex has been warring within me all this time, finally imploding and causing the mother of all panic attacks. If I don’t calm down soon, I know; I will black out.

   Breathe, Selena.

   My breath is still hitching slightly but eventually I manage to calm down. This doesn’t help my situation much though, I’m still trapped here and I want to go home.

   How could I not see this before? What was I thinking? Did I truly believe that I would stay here with a demon for the rest of my life? What about my family? My sister, my brother, my parents; were they waking up now to find me missing?

   As this fresh thought assaults me a river of tears flow freely over my cheeks; surging past my lips and dripping off my jaw line, until it mixes with the hellish water and is sucked with it into oblivion. Like the water and tears being drained away, I feel my emotions spiral out of control.

   Not for the first time I find myself wondering how I could have possibly been at ease with a demon all this time. The answer presents itself swiftly as I remember the power of Asmodeus’ heated stare. In my panic last night, it was his gaze alone which subdued me, crumbling my defences against his other power. It is his other power, his pure magnetism, which had actually led me to believe that I could love a beast. This attraction I feel for him is more dangerous than the mind control he first used on me. It is not that he’s actually forcing me to love him; it’s the irrevocable certainty of my attraction to him. Whether he is aware of this power or not is unclear to me but I do know now that just being near him makes me forget where I am.

   Here, away from his gaze and over-whelming presence, my mind feels clear and sharp. A question which has been shackled under his impenetrable aura breaks free and taunts me once more. How do I escape?

   Continued in Part Four

   Reply

3. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:57 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 4

   Get up! No use moping; crying will get you nowhere.

   I push myself off of the wet rock, slipping and scraping my arm as I struggle to control my shaking body. Focusing on the icy pain, I encase my heart with that same cold, feeling it harden and add steel to my reserve. It seems silly, but blaming Asmodeus for this latest injury makes it easier for me to envision hating him. He did this to me.

   While I haven’t quite managed hate just yet, I feel some satisfaction that my fear has – at least – turned into a soaring anger. I let it rage within me and my breathing speeds up. Curling my fists and squaring my shoulders, I resolve right now to return to my family as soon as possible.

   But how to do that? Think Selena.

   I know better that to hope I will find some magical, secret exit. If I ever want to leave this place I’ll have to be pretty fucking smart. I have to find a weakness of his somehow, something he’s said or done which will help me figure out a way to leave safely. Think, think! There must be something, a weak spot, an escape, a loophole; something. If I could find that one thing, I know I will be free.

   A loophole.

   As soon I realise his weakness, the loophole blares sharply in my mind and a plan forms under the idea. Suddenly, I have it, that one thing that will guarantee me safe passage home.

   Right, first things first; get dressed.

   If I have any hope of my plan working out, I have to let Asmodeus believe that I’m still under his spell. That means getting dressed in one of those ridiculously elaborate gowns and parading before him as if nothing is wrong. That is, until he slips. Then I’ll have my freedom, away from this wretched, volcanic prison and its gorgeous demonic warden.

   I bite my lip, berating myself for that last thought. I’ve known since its inception that my plan’s fatal flaw is me. There’s no telling what my pathetic heart will make me feel when I see him; or what my treacherous body will make me do.

   Best not to think about it. I’ll deal with those obstacles as they come.

   Deciding that this is the best course of action, I scrub my body thoroughly with the earthy soap and lather some of it into my hair, washing away dirt, sweat, blood and tears. When I’m done, I step out of my waterfall shower and stand shivering for a moment until I register the sound of air rushing through a gap somewhere. Following the sound to its source, I find a large vent opened up in the ceiling.

   Excitement courses through me. Could this be a way out?

   Clouds of dust swirl beneath the spot and I wait for it to clear before standing directly below. The air pressure is so great however, that I cannot even look up from underneath. My heart sinks as I realise that even if the airflow was slower, I wouldn’t have a way to reach the gap anyway – it’s just too high up. The air is warm though and steadily begins to dry me off. Letting out a resigned sigh, I relax as the vent dries my body and focus again on my original plan.

   As my hair dries, I wish for a comb to untangle the snarling mess. In the blink of an eye I notice a dressing table begin to rise from the stone floor. Slowly it ascends, finding a place next to the chest of dresses, the rock rumbling and scraping against the cave wall. After it has fully formed, a small stool of sorts rises before it and a crude box grows on top of it.

   Stepping away from the relentless blast of air, I walk over to inspect my new furniture. Stopping at the table I run a hand over the rough edges of everything I have just created. I know it’s my work because it isn’t as beautiful as Asmodeus’. Lifting the lid of the box (which looks like little more than a miniature mud hut) I find a curved, primitive looking – though slender – ivory coloured comb. With only five teeth, it will barely do the job but it’s better than nothing I suppose.

   I take the comb with me back over to the air vent and loosen the knots in my hair as it dries. The comb feels smooth and strong, and while I run it through my fine waist length hair, I find myself wondering what it is made out of. I’ve felt this texture before, I’m sure of it. Shrugging, I focus on combing out all the knots; I have to seem as if I still want to look good for my captor.

   When my hair is dry, I head back to the dresser, expecting to find a mirror behind it. Like the one in my room at home. My brow knits in sorrow and I fight hard against the lump in my throat. No time for that. I swallow my tears down and will a mirror to appear before me.

   Cracking and wind-chimes sound as iron grows out of the wall, framing the polished silver and glass mirror which obediently shows me my naked reflection. Sitting down and staring into the mirror, a chocolate coloured heart shaped face stares back. Rich brown eyes glint in the red glow of the cave; freckles pepper flushed cheeks and dot a button nose and full, well-shaped, dark pink lips are set in a frown of fierce determination while silky straight ebony hair frames it all.

   I look different. Beautiful… When did that happen?

   I know already though, it happened when he loved me. When he showed me what it felt like to be beautiful and what it meant. I couldn’t see it before, not on my own but I do now. Because he loved me, I can finally love myself.

   The sharp brown eyes soften, then freeze, hardening once more as I realise that I’m doing exactly what I feared I would. And I’m not even near him yet!

   I yank the comb roughly through my hair again, sharp, jagged strokes which rip out a few strands. Furious at myself, and at him and at this stupid comb I slam it against the stone dresser, breaking off a tooth. The sharp shard flies at my face and I duck just in time to avoid losing an eye. Sitting up again only when I hear the shard clatter harmlessly on the floor, I examine the damaged comb. The mysterious material of which the comb is made still bugs me and after I run a finger over the broken edge, I realise why. The comb is made from bone.

   It takes all of my effort not to scream as I fling the hideous object as far away as possible. Letting out instead a horrified gasp, I try in vain to convince myself that it was an animal bone. Somehow though, I just know its human and the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I take a deep breath and try not to think about where the bone could have come from; while an awful image of the bleached human skull from high school biology floats through my mind. This place is a nightmare come into reality.

   All the more reason to escape… And soon.

   Banishing my nausea, I push myself up from the little stone seat and pull out the navy silk dress from the chest Asmodeus made for me. Slipping into it, I shiver as the silver lace caresses my back. Struggling, I finally manage to tie up the ribbons at my lower back, only to find myself stumped as half the lace hangs unknotted, having previously been held up by yet more hidden ribbons.

   Unable to manoeuvre the crisscross pattern at the right side of my mid back, I throw my hands up in exasperation and admit defeat. My captor will just have to tie it up for me. Dropping back down at my dresser I huff in annoyance as the lace whips against the bare of my back.

   Something soft whispers against my ear and my heart races while I strain to hear over the roar of the air vent. When I wish it shut the noise stops instantly as the gap in the ceiling closes off. I listen intently to the delicate zipping sound of silk sliding through metal and when I feel my dress tighten comfortably, I know that it’s closing itself for me.

   Pleased, I rise again and study myself in the full length mirror that Asmodeus conjured for me.

   The navy blue dress complements my brown skin perfectly, affording me a sinister sort of beauty, bewitching but deadly. When I twist my body around, the lace radiates femininity, contrasting beautifully against my skin and showing off a taste of what is hidden beneath the silk and silver. The plunging neckline showcases just the right amount of cleavage, making my body ooze sensuality, the dark twin of Marilyn Monroe at her prime. I feel beautiful and sexy and dangerous all at once. This is the perfect outfit, the perfect armour against my captor, giving me strength before the dreaded war for my freedom.

   All that’s missing is a little battle paint…

   A clinking sound over at the dresser reminds me that my wish is the cave’s command. A small glass container sits next to a fine, short bristled paint brush. Taking a seat I open the little jar and lightly rub my finger over the thick black cream inside. As I expected, the black kohl sticks to my finger. Conjuring a small silk cloth I wipe my finger clean and pick up the brush, dipping it into the creamy liner.

   Its only animal hair, I tell myself as I brush the soft bristles onto the border of my bottom eye lid. The effect is instantaneous; a little eyeliner goes a long way, enhancing the dangerous gleam of my eyes. Looking at the woman in the mirror, I know she means business.

   I add a coat to the top lids as well, painting a line above each set of lashes. Wishing to add a little more colour to my face leads to a yield of even more containers, this time made of metal, each containing a loose mineral powder in differing shades. Wiping my liner brush clean, I shadow my eyes with black, silver and navy powder, creating a smoky look which also matches my dress. Finally, a small glass tub appears on the dresser, similar to the one which brought me the eyeliner. This time it’s filled with a rich mauve lipstick, which I apply lightly before heading over to the full length mirror again. Before I have the chance to examine my handy-work however, I feel the wall behind me begin to rumble.

   Whipping around, I watch with mounting fear as an opening appears, melting into existence from the solid rock wall. My heart pounds in my ears as the thought of seeing him again so soon sends me into a panic. I’m not ready! All the confidence I felt not two minutes ago fades with alarming speed as I realise too late that it takes more than a sexy dress and a little make-up for me to be his equal, for me to be able to stand up to him.

   When the entrance finally reveals itself, it isn’t Asmodeus who stands in the doorway. My relief is immediate and I let out a soft sigh as a demon strides through, clad only in a filthy cloth tied to his waist with a leather belt. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin up high as he strolls confidently towards me, practicing my new ‘femme fatale’ façade before I have to see the King again.

   Feigning indifference to his presence, I glance casually at my nails, as if the creature does not frighten me. He’s one of the less horrendous looking ones sure, but he’s still a demon. It doesn’t help either that at the sight of me; his prick begins to stiffen, straining against his loincloth. Guess I won’t have to check myself out in the mirror after all. Ignoring his state of arousal, I look up at his face as he moves ever closer.

   “Has it been an hour already?” I ask, in what I hope is a bored voice.

   “It has been half an hour. My master sent for me to retrieve you later but I thought I’d come early and have a little fun first.” A lecherous grin spreads over his face as he draws a sinister looking dagger from a sheath on his belt.

   My heart pounds painfully in my chest as I force a sneer at his words.

   “Don’t be an idiot, you can’t touch me,” I level my gaze with his, finding strength in the truth of my next words, “he’ll tear you apart.”

   Undeterred, the demon stalks toward me, knife poised in front of him, disgusting grin in place.

   “What Asmodeus doesn’t know can’t hurt me; and you won’t tell him will you bitch? I can do whatever I want with your body and you won’t tell a soul because if you do, I’ll gut you while you sleep; even if you happen to be sleeping in the King’s bed at the time.”

   I swallow painfully, slowly backing away from this monster, knowing that either way Asmodeus cannot help me now. Even if I tell him that this demon raped me, it won’t save me from being raped.

   The back of my heel slams against the rocky stool at my dresser an I’m cornered, unable to move away from the demon that stalks ever closer. Blind panic overrides my logic and I can’t think let alone move. I’m shaking from head to toe as he laughs, savouring the taste of my fear. His putrid breath washes over me as he presses his body close to mine. Slowly as if to caress me, his rough hands slide up my arms. Then one tightens like a vice, causing me to cry out as he spins me around and slams me into the wall.

   He forces me harder against the wall, the pain of being constricted adding to the ache of a bruised arm and the throb of my busted lip. His hips thrust toward mine and he uses them to hold me in place. His hands, now free, move in opposite directions, one squeezing my breasts painfully through my dress and the other pinching my bare inner thigh. A finger brushes against my most private place and I cry out in horror. Tired of playing with me, the bastard whips me around again wraps a hand around my throat while the other reaches for the belt of his loincloth. My body trembles so hard that it feels as if the earth itself is shaking.

   Only when the smile slips from my assailant’s face do I realise that the earth is shaking. My fear has literally caused the cave to quake.

   He launches himself away from me as chunks of rock rip free of the ceiling and crash deafeningly to the ground, cracking and crumbling. The terrified demon dodges them in a sick game of tag, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the large boulders or impaled by falling stalactites. All the while I have my body pressed against the wall next to my dresser, fighting to regain control of my body and end the bombardment of the cave.

   Cowering against the wall by my dresser, I watch as a smaller stalactite falls too quickly for the dodging demon to notice. It is only when the shard – as large as the pins which originally held me captive – fixes his foot into the red earth that he pays any attention to it. His scream of pain is deafening, even louder than the din created by the falling rocks. The sound of it yanks me away from my fear as I realise that he can do me no harm, trapped as he now is. The rumbling and shaking slows and eventually stops until the only sound I hear is the demon’s low moans and gasps of pain. I stride confidently toward him, my fear forgotten and replaced with a rage unlike anything I have ever experienced.

   Seething anger rolls off me as I stalk around the immobile, kneeling figure of the creature who would have raped me. My breathing is short and fast, air expelled in furious huffs and inhaled through flared nostrils. I feel as if I could breathe fire and I want to, if only to burn this worthless sack of shit to a crisp. I lick my torn lip, letting the burn add fuel to my rage, until I realise that I’ve healed myself. Interesting.

   When I stop in front of the demon, he begins to whimper. He knows that I caused the earthquake (and its subsequent rain of deadly rocks); he can see the power in my eyes. He begs for forgiveness.

   His cowardice forms a disgusted sneer on my lips. I lean forward and caress his cheek.

   “Aw, what’s the matter honey? You don’t want me anymore?” I mock, using a faux-sweet voice and laughing outright when he flinches at the touch of my hand.

   “Don’t tell me you’ve given up already! I thought we were only just getting started. Weren’t you telling me a few minutes ago that you wanted to ‘have a little funi’ with me? What’s the matter?” I taunt, “Can’t get it up?”

   Using my will, I force the spike into his foot further still and he howls while I laugh.

   “Please, my Queen, have mercy,” he croaks, panting hard and wheezing.

   “Oh, so now I’m your Queen? Silly me and here all this time, I thought I was your bitch. Boy, do we have communication issues! That won’t do. If I am to really be your Queen, I need to work on my communication with you lesser folk don’t I? Hmm?”

   “My Queen?” he asks uncertainly.

   “I need to send a message; one which clearly illustrates that I am not to be fucked with.” I pause, all sarcasm aside. “You’ll do nicely.”

   * * * * *

   After I’m finished with my ‘message’ I decide to leave him in the cavern to be found by his kin. A deadly calm has washed over me and I feel absolutely no remorse over what I have just done. In fact, I find the blood spattered cave chaotically beautiful. My dress has become more than just symbolic armour; it showcases fine smatterings of crimson death, painting me horrific. Nothing will stand in my way.

   Have I finally proven to myself and soon the entire hordes of hell that I am a force to be reckoned with? No-one would think to challenge me after they find the scene I left waiting for them in my chambers. Not that I intend to be here for very long, but still, it pays to be prepared.

   I open up the cave and leave it unsealed to make it easier for them to find my victim. With Asmodeus on my mind I walk the passage ways unhindered, as if they were leading me directly to him. Indeed, it isn’t long before I stop at the entrance of a large dining room.

   Opulent as is possible in such a grungy setting, the room is as well decorated as a rich housewife’s would be. A large candle chandelier drips hot wax onto the massive stone table, forming a ring of miniature red stalagmites around the centrepiece; a metalwork sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure. The detail is exquisite.

   The naked figure is kneeling; her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth is opened in an eternally silent scream of ecstasy. One delicate hand caresses a silver breast while the other is pressed firmly against her mound. Two fingers disappear into the life-like metal folds. As I examine her, I feel as if I am a goddess, watching over little humans and witnessing a real event, frozen in time. The image is so realistic and erotic that my clit twitches and a small shudder rolls through me.

   “Do you like it, my love?” Asmodeus’ voice startles me. “My thoughts were on you as I created it.”

   My heart races as I meet his gaze and my breasts heave as excitement tickles my belly. He is waiting at the end of the huge table, as beautiful as ever, leaning against an iron dining chair. Even more startling than his voice, is his state of dress. Instead of his usual, stark nakedness, I am pleasantly surprised to see that my demon King has decided to play dress up with me. He’s wearing a black suit and dress shirt, with a red tie tucked into a vest with silver trimmings. He looks mouth-wateringly delicious.

   All thoughts of defiance or escape flee my mind. Without hesitation, I cross the room in a few brisk strides and wrap myself around his hard body. Running my hand down his side and feeling bold, I reach down and squeeze his perfect ass through the soft material of his pants, while my body begins to heat up in anticipation.

   “Well this is unexpected; I believe I have just been sexually assaulted.” His laugh is masculine and sexy beyond all reason.

   Chuckling, my King lowers his head down to mine and pulls me in for an enthralling kiss. When we break apart, I am drunk from it, giddy and aroused. Before I can jump him again, he pushes me back gently and eyes me appreciatively from head to toe.

   “This dress is quite becoming on you, dear one. I see you have made good use of your recently acquired power. The make-up is a charming touch… As is the blood.” His tone is amused; clearly he doesn’t care that I’ve just slaughtered one of his minions.

   “Thank you,” I reply, as casually as he had spoken, “You don’t look so bad yourself. Would you like to know why I murdered one of your kin?”

   “Please, do confess my pet. I am sure the tale is quite fascinating.”

   “That it is. The little fucker tried to rape me.” I wait for this to sink in.

   His smile drops quickly and his eyes spark. His playfulness is replaced by a scorching anger, so hot it would wilt a desert flower. The very ground we stand on rumbles and cracks and his fury unleashes his tremendous power. Anticipating this reaction, I step closer to him and place my palm against his chest, rubbing it soothingly and standing on tip-toes to whisper reassuring words into his neck.

   “Don’t panic my King; I can handle myself.”

   He reigns in his fury long enough to regain his composure and stop the quaking he’s subjected the cavern to. Releasing a gruff, ragged breath, the demon’s eyes soften as he gazes down at me and pulls me into a tighter embrace. Drawing back, with a hand on my shoulder he caresses my face and watches me with an expression of such pure love that I almost can’t stand it.

   “If anything were to happen to you, my love… Or to…”

   He breaks off in mid sentence, turning away from me.

   Heart-broken at seeing my lover looking so dejected, I draw closer to him, running my fingers firmly down his muscular back.

   “I’m fine, really. Look at me.” I push his arm gently, knowing that I could never use brute strength to get him to turn around.

   Persuasion works though, and he turns back toward me.

   “See? Not even a scratch.”

   “And I suppose your new healing abilities had nothing to do with that?” he asks, anger only barely concealed.

   “That helped of course, but to be honest the only thing bothering me physically at the moment are these stupid dry contact lenses.” I rub my burning eyes as I say this.

   “Allow me,” he replies, cupping my face in his hands.

   Pleased to be getting a reaction out of him, I smile and lift my face up to his.

   “Close your eyes.”

   Confused, I do. Soft lips press tenderly onto my eye-lids, one at a time. When I feel him drawback, I open my eyes again, only to find much to my disappointment, that the contacts are as painful and hindering as ever. Even worse, they’ve made my vision even blurrier.

   “Um, I don’t think that worked,” I whine, rubbing my eyes hard.

   “Remove those infernal lenses.”

   Carefully, I do as he commands and am astonished to find that without my contacts I can see perfectly! Cursed with short sighted vision ever since I was thirteen, this is the first time in years that I can see clearly unassisted. Only people with surgically corrected vision would understand how truly liberating this is. Without hesitation I flick the soft plastic – which I had relied on so heavily these past years – from my fingers and marvel at the beautiful clarity in which I now see the world.

   “Thank you,” I whisper as I meet my demon’s gaze again.

   “Anything, my love,” He swears as he strokes my hair lightly.

   Anything? Could it really be that simple?

   “Let me go home?” I ask in a small voice.

   “Anything but that; I cannot let you leave.” His voice is hard and sharp.

   Damn, I should have known. Silly me, stupid hope. More stinging and blurriness hinder my vision but this time it has nothing to do with contact lenses.

   Sighing softly, Asmodeus wipes my tears away.

   “Come now,” he chastises gently, “You must be hungry.”

   Wow, now that was a subtle subject shift. Sniffling once, I remember my steel reserve and embody my earlier calm. Now is not the time to lose it; back to my original plan.

   “I’m not hungry,” I lie, “Why don’t we skip straight to dessert?”

   I reach for his leather belt.

   It doesn’t take much persuasion on my part to convince my lover to take us back to his throne room. Along the way we leave a trail of clothing – mostly his – strewn on the hard earth, as I rip off each piece with relish. I’m not going to lie; although phase one of my plan involves seducing the demon of lust himself, that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying myself a little. Tearing away at each other’s clothing is a fun little chore as we head over to the bed.

   When we finally reach it, I admit that I am hungry, but for something a little more bestial than food. I devour his lips and drink in his lust, no longer the helpless virgin from the night before. I’m a stone-cold killer, a real femme fatale and I need a strong man to keep up with me. I push him forcefully toward the soft mattress and bless him, he lets himself flop down. A greedy smile plays on my lips as I take him in, in all his glory, lying spread-eagle across the bed, his erection at attention.

   Mine. The thought flits through my mind and begins a hostile take-over, infecting every other belief I hold dear. Nothing else is important while he uses my lust against me and maddeningly, all that I care about right now is that the demon king is mine and mine alone.

   I jump onto the bed without fear and climb over his taunt body, my hips straddling his. Slowly I position my entrance over his engorged penis and lean forward until my breasts brush against his chest. I lower my head further still and bite his lips in my eagerness. I want to take control tonight.

   As my tongue lashes his, I impale myself slowly with his member. That wonderful heat and feeling of fullness makes me sigh with utter bliss. I ride him slow at first, then grind my hips forcefully against his, tossing my head back with delight; moaning and squeezing my eyes shut as I feel every rub of his sensitive flesh against mine. I curl my back, dipping my face down to meet his again and all the while I don’t lose the beat, making sweet music with my body strumming his.

   Strong hands grip my ass from both sides, kneading them hard before they move up to my waist. I gasp as he thrusts his hips up suddenly, his hands on my waist pulling me down. I cry out helplessly as the pleasure smothers and burns me at the same time. The blazing heat of his shaft spreads through me as a hard thrust batters the raw nerves within me. Dizzy in my climbing ecstasy, I let him take control again, possessing the strength to do nothing other than to brace my arms against his shoulders as an earth-shattering orgasm consumes me. My cry of passion sounds through the room like a Valkyrie’s call to battle and once again, the cave shivers against my power.

   Asmodeus turns us over swiftly, covering my shuddering frame with his solid body. I slap his chest with unconcealed displease at having been denied my chance to dominate him for once. I’m about to demand my rightful place astride him when the first boulder slams into his back, sending shockwaves through us both. Fuck.

   “I’m sorry!” I cry into his ear as more and more of the cave’s ceiling assails my lover.

   “Do not worry, my love, it was but an accident.” He grunts as a large chunk of heavy rock slams into his shoulder blade.

   Horrified, I bring my hand out from under the shield that is his bulk; if I could start such a hailstorm of boulders then I must certainly be able to stop it. I take a deep breath and focus what is left of my energy, willing the deadly shower to an end. When it stops, my lover continues his vigorous propelling as if suffering a stoning is a normal occurrence during sex. My concern is forgotten in a matter of seconds as my lust builds again. This time, instead of playing with me, Asmodeus keeps up his superb pace and climax again with ease.

   Spent, with my tireless lover still pounding away at my pleasantly aching body, I drift into a state of semi-consciousness, staring at the beautiful demon through heavy lidded eyes and gripping his arms weakly, letting the sensations wash over me. I reach another peak before Asmodeus is done and finally slump beneath him in relief. He eases down beside me, his movements stiff and his back rigid.

   Struggling out of my after-sex haze, I turn to him and gasp when I take in the ghastly sight of large purple bruising, standing out sickeningly well against his dark skin. I rub over them gently, whipping my hand back when he winces.

   “I’m so sorry, Asmodeus. I didn’t mean to-“

   “Do not dwell on your mistakes; for they are easily mended,” he interrupts, “these will disappear as I sleep. Moreover, my pet, I consider these love marks.”

   He laughs so heartily that I can’t help but join in.

   I quit laughing abruptly however when a sharp pain assaults my lower abdomen. The pressure is so sudden and so strong that I curl into myself, tears stinging my eyes and bile burning my throat. Asmodeus’s large warm hands are on my back and shoulder, soothing me as hurt increases. I feel as if I’m being sawn in half from the inside. Sobs of utter hopelessness stick in my throat, as every tiny movement increases the horror within me. Even sitting deathly still does nothing to alleviate my suffering. I moan my lovers name and feel him stroke my hair in response.

   Why isn’t he helping me?

   The agony lasts for hours, I know, as I feel every excruciating second. In all that time, kicked, screamed, swore, paced around the bed and lay writhing on the hard floor while the demon king watched. I think I truly hated him then.

   Finally, after all my suffering I crawl back onto the bed, lying on top of the covers, drenched in sweat and too exhausted to do anything other than sleep.

   * * * * *

   When I wake, the pain is gone and Asmodeus is still beside me, rubbing pacifying circles over my tummy. Irritated, I shove his hand away and launch off the bed. He sits up and shoots me a look of resigned weariness, as if he knows exactly what is to come.

   Too fucking right he should know.

   “How could you just lie there and watch?!” I scream, seething at the man who confessed his love to me then watched me suffer.

   “There was nothing I could do,” he replies evenly, rising from the bed to stand before me.

   “Nothing? There was nothing you could DO?! I have seen the extent of your power my King,” I spit the words at him, “And I know that if anyone could have helped me, it could have fucking been you!”

   “Yours is an ailment only time will mend.”

   “Oh, so you know what’s wrong and you still did nothing? You disgust me.” I turn away from him, unable to bear the sight of him so calm; it physically sickens me.

   “There was nothing to be done, my Selena. This is your burden for the next nine days.”

   “Days?!” I whirl around and face him again, desperately gripping his arms and wishing he’d take back the words, “I won’t survive nine days of this! What’s wrong with me?!”

   He cups my cheek with his palm and the gesture is so calming that I can’t help leaning into his touch. He kisses my tear-stained face quickly but instead on answering my question, he asks one of his own.

   “When you first used my power, love, did you wonder why it worked for you?”

   “What does this have to-” I begin, scared, angry and confused.

   “Answer the question,” he commands.

   “I didn’t really think about it. Didn’t you somehow gift them to me?”

   He flashes an infuriating little smile.

   “That would be an accurate assumption.”

   “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?!” I yell, tired of his stupid games.

   “Everything, my dear,” as usual, his answer is frustratingly vague.

   Resisting the urge to crack a boulder over his head, I release a strained breath.

   “Elaborate, please,” I plead through gritted teeth.

   “It is really very simple my sweet, only those possessing my blood may possess my power.”

   “So what? Because I bit you, I’ve got powers all of a sudden? What’s that got to do with the pain?”

   “It takes more that the consumption of blood to grant the drinker permanent or strong magic – although, that does give one limited and temporary use of my power.”

   “Quit with the mind games! Can’t you just speak plainly to me? I’m freaking out and I do not need this right now,” my voice breaks on the last word.

   His gaze softens and he watches me with an expression of mild sympathy.

   “Have you forgotten already, my love, why I stole you away? My power only channels strongly through those of my blood – or those carrying it within.”

   He presses a hand over my womb; gently, possessively, as realization finally dawns on me. My throat closes with sorrow and shock, but I swallow it down. Really, how could I not have seen this coming? A voice at the back of my mind answers for me; of course I expected it, just not this soon…

   I’m pregnant. This is not part of the plan.

   Continued in Part Five

   Reply

4. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:57 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 5

   Memories of the past day filter through my dazed mind like evidence at a court hearing. All day I’ve experienced irrational emotions; jealousy, betrayal, sorrow and anger, all leading to uncontrollable tears and how could I forget the bouts of nausea? I should have known, the evidence was there, but how could I have guessed? I’m sure women don’t usually feel the effects of pregnancy the day after conception… Right?

   I step away from my lover, then run a hand over the soft flesh of my abdomen and am startled to feel a small hardness underneath. Even with my non-existent knowledge of pregnancy, I know that it’s way too early me to have a little bump already!

   “How is this possible?” I whisper more to myself than to Asmodeus.

   But of course, that is like asking how it’s possible for demons to exist. As I struggle to digest yet another impossibility proven entirely viable, I remember that Asmodeus mentioned something about nine days. He said that I would have to endure mind-numbing pain everyday for nine days, but my question is what happens after?

   Surely not what I’m thinking now, right?

   The demon king answers for me, his words shattering my last glimmer of desperate hope.

   “The child will be born in nine days time. Regrettably, until that day is upon us you will have to endure the… discomfort associated with his growth, for he will grow quickly.”

   Born in nine days?! I release a guttural scream of anguish and fall to my knees as my last scrap of fighting spirit escapes. Raw and unrelenting sobs choke me as I cradle my head in my arms and dread the days to come.

   The nausea which has been plaguing me finally rears its ugly head, triggering violent heaving and retching; my stomach already too empty to expel anything. Asmodeus is kneeling by my side in a flash, supporting my convulsing body and pulling my hair back as bile scorches my throat on its way out.

   As soon as I have gained a little more control over my raging body, I use what little strength I have left to scramble away from him.

   “Get away from me,” I croak, “please, just… leave me alone.”

   I stagger to the bed and sink down onto it as pure exhaustion drags me further into my suffocating depression. The demon leaves like I asked him to, not even bothering to seal the exit. If I could leave, now would be the perfect opportunity.

   But how can I, with this thing growing inside me? Where would I go? How would I explain when the time came, the birth of a creature with a pointed tail and red eyes?

   I couldn’t.

   No one would believe me anyway, even with the evidence right there in front of them. They would pass it off as a freak of nature, maybe study it for a time; try to fix the problem. And all the while the creature would grow, becoming more like its father with each passing day.

   What havoc with such a beast inflict on the world? How would I live with myself knowing that I’d unleashed the spawn of a monster on mankind?

   Speak of the devil and Asmodeus is back, interrupting my dark thoughts. He is not alone though, and is followed closely by a slender demoness with rich burgundy skin, dark hair and yellow eyes. Her long tail is tucked between her legs in fear of her master; the end curled around her ankle. Although she wears nothing more than coarse breast bindings and a short skirt, I am suddenly painfully aware of my own nakedness, which hadn’t bothered me as much when I was alone with my lover but now has me self-conscious and embarrassed.

   Pulling a satin sheet free and wrapping it around my aching body, I lift myself off the bed, gripping one of the iron posts and ignoring my screaming muscles. Wearily, I take a step towards them, too tired to be properly pissed off. Darkness creeps into the corners of my vision and when I rub my eyes, phantom black spots dance across my line of sight. A high pitched whine echoes in my ears from all directions and does not ease up, no matter which way I turn my head. Asmodeus says something, but I can’t hear him over the never-ending nails on a chalkboard squeal in my head.

   “I thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone.” I slur back, and hear a gasp from the bitch he brought with him.

   This makes me laugh, feverishly and without restraint until I feel the world tilt and see the earth rush up at me. Hot, strong arms catch me before the ground breaks me and I feel them tighten around my limp form. I’ve lost all control of my motor functions. My head lolls to one side and feels as if it has been stuffed full of cotton; I can’t even muster up any panic, let alone figure out what’s wrong with me.

   I lose track of time and in my delirium, one minute seems to stretch an eternity. Vaguely I’m aware that a cool liquid is being poured into my parched mouth. I gulp it down greedily. The water revitalises me somewhat and I lift my arms up in fierce desperation, gripping the bowl tightly and attempting to pour my salvation faster down my throat. I choke in my haste, wheezing the liquid out of my lungs as the bowl is ripped away from me. No matter, I’ve had enough for now and let the comforting numbness of oblivion claim me.

   I sleep like the dead, revived only by the start of that familiar ache in my womb. Oh, great God why can’t I just sleep through this part?

   I moan in frustrated despair, as the agony assaults me again and I thrash on the bed I’ve been placed on. Biting into a pillow I scream my hatred and suffering at no one, because Asmodeus isn’t here. I cry until I have nothing left and wait, forever it seems for this soul wrenching horror to end.

   When it is finally over, I realise that I am not truly alone. The demoness who came in earlier with Asmodeus is still here, standing by the foot of the bed. When she sees that I’m in control again she rushes toward me with another bowl of water. Panting hard and still gripping the pillow tightly, I glare up at her, too shattered to speak.

   She slips a small, strong hand behind my head and tilts it up before pressing the rim of the bowl to my lips for me. When I’m finished, she lowers my head back down gently and covers my fevered body with a soft, light sheet. Unable to fight off the immense strength of my fatigue, I fall into a deep sleep yet again.

   * * * * *

   The demoness is still hovering over me when I finally open my eyes. She offers me more water which I accept and down quickly, still lying down with my head supported again. After I have had my fill, I gingerly lift myself up into sitting position, waving away the creature’s attempts at assistance. Panting with the exertion, I let my head fall heavily against the headboard and fight to steady my ragged breathing. The handmaid offers me more water, which I decline by turning my head away. I can’t stand being weak before a creature as gloriously strong and beautiful as she. I can see the strength in her long limbs and shapely body. She looks lovely and healthy, while I am a shadow of the woman I was just the day before. I feel frumpy and frail in comparison, not at all like a Queen of Demons.

   Maybe I’m not, maybe I’m just the King’s breeder bitch and this is the real Queen. Maybe she will be, after the monster inside me sucks away all that I have, my life and then my soul.

   Maybe I should let it.

   No, I shouldn’t. I’ve always felt that giving up is the easy way out. I will not let this situation get the best of me. I have to fight.

   Demon-bitch tries to coax me into having more water but again I resist, tucking my head further away from her and swiping blindly at the bowl in her hands. She fumbles with it for a second but cannot keep a good grip and I hear the satisfying crash of clay breaking against stone. A small victory, the first of many to come, I hope.

   “Please, my lady, you are very weak; you must drink.” Her voice is husky and as beautiful as she is, but it’s also fragile and fearful, not at all what I expected.

   The bitch is afraid of me.

   The thought angers me. How can she – a demon no less – who is fit and healthy; be afraid of a bed-ridden invalid of a human woman who can barely sit up, let alone cause harm? It seems the message I left in my chambers has reached its intended audience.

   Maybe this demon isn’t the Queen after all? Is the real queen still a part of me, lying dormant and broken in the darkest corner of my heart? Can I muster up the strength to become her once more? The thought makes me smile cruelly.

   “I’m weak?” I ask softly, more to myself than her, before twisting to face her from the bed. “I’m weak? Your voice trembles with fear as you speak and you call me weak?”

   “I – my lady, that is not… my lady?” she struggles to form the words, her body as shaky and stuttering as her voice; and I watch with malicious glee as the colour drains from her body, when I lift myself off the bed, using the nearest bedpost as a brace and a sheet as a toga.

   “Do I look weak now, servant?” I hiss, releasing my grip on the post and taking a menacing step toward her. “Do I?”

   “No, your majesty!”

   Oh yes. It seems I still possess the power after all.

   “I beseech you, my lady! Forgive me my insolence, I did not wish to slight you, I was merely stating-”

   “Don’t you dare apologise and then try to justify your statement!” I scream and she jumps. I know that I’m being harsh, but frankly I don’t give a shit. I am drained, starved and beaten; and this bitch is grating my nerves.

   “Forgive me-”

   “You will learn to shut the fuck up when I am speaking, or I will have to teach you the hard way.”

   Her face is ashen with pure terror but her mouth stays closed.

   “Good. Now tell me; what is your name?”

   Her eyes widen but she says nothing.

   “When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Speak!”

   “Th- they c-call me Ida, majesty.”

   “And I am assuming that Asmodeus has assigned you as my handmaid. Am I correct, Ida?”

   “Yes, my lady S-Selena. I am to aid you in your time of need, providing food and water, as well as assisting you during bathing and other necessities.” The words come out quickly and breathlessly as if she is afraid that I will punish her should she take too long to answer.

   As she should be.

   Her head is dipped in a bow of submission and her tail is curled tightly around her leg. She’s my bitch; and she knows it.

   “Well then, Ida, ” I say, as she seems uncomfortable with my use of her name, “you can draw me a bath. Asmodeus gave you some of his power?”

   “Yes, my Queen,” she replies, bowing her head down in compliance. As she summons a large, claw-footed metal tub from the earth, I drop onto the bed again, waiting for it to be filled. When it is, through another conveniently warm waterfall, I stumble toward it, shedding the sheet and climbing clumsily into the steaming water. I soak away the tension from my body, ordering Ida to bring me a bar of soap, a scouring sponge and a toothbrush. When I have scrubbed the sweat from my body and brushed away the furriness coating my teeth, I take Ida’s hand and let her haul me out of the tub.

   I dry off using another vent and clothe myself once more with a fresh sheet. I’ve barely covered up before Ida is in my face again, this time offering to bring me food. My stomach growls at the thought, but I ignore it as I remember a myth about Persephone, Goddess of the Underworld and the consequences of eating a single morsel in the bowels of hell.

   “No, that will not be necessary; I have no further need of you.”

   “My lady, I have been order-” she begins, foolishly protesting against my dismissal.

   The ground beneath her feet rumbles ominously and she crouches in horror, palms flat against the cave floor; attempting to steady herself. I tower above her, feeling the power coursing through my veins, thickening the very air I breathe and influencing the cave so formidably.

   “Argue with me again,” I warn, in my most disquieting tone, “and you will suffer greatly for it.”

   She kneels before me, bowing her head low at my feet, her whole frame quivering at the threat.

   “Now leave me alone,” I order, “LEAVE!”

   She bolts for the exit, scrambling and stumbling in her haste.

   When she is gone, I feel my energy drain away as quickly as it came. My shoulders slump and my body sags, swaying slightly as my vision darkens. My Queen-Bitch routine took more out of me than I expected.

   I drag myself back toward the bed but I don’t sit on it. I know if I do, that the darkness will claim me and I’ll miss my chance. I’m so tired it hurts to keep my eyes open but there’s something I have to do before I can let myself pass out.

   Holding onto the bedpost again, I regret that I smashed the bowl of water. Really though, for me to properly regain my energy I would have to eat something, but thought repulses me.

   Instead of conjuring up food or even water, I use the dregs of my dwindling power to summon a short stone pillar from the earth by my feet. So simple, yet so essential, this three foot column could be the key to my freedom.

   I stand as close to it as I can, bracing myself for what I must do next. I take in a deep breath, trying to loosen the sudden tension in my body. Releasing the air does nothing to soothe me however and I feel an overwhelming panic begin to blossom in my chest. Once I do this, it cannot be undone. My breathing races and my heart thumps madly as I grip the smooth pillar, holding onto it as if it were a lifeline.

   More like a tombstone.

   The thought flits through my mind before I can stop it and I fall to my knees in grief.

   I don’t think I can do this!

   I sob uncontrollably, clinging onto the cold and unforgiving stone like a child to her mother’s skirt.

   A child. It’s just a baby. How could I even think about…

   But it’s not a norma baby. I have to end this, save the world from suffering, even to the cost of my own. I wipe away my tears with my forearms, rubbing my cheeks raw. Be strong Selena, I tell myself and pull my body up again. Keeping one foot placed firmly at the base of the pillar and stepping back with the other I brace once again. Gripping the stone tightly, I practice the movement slowly, thrusting my midsection forward. My womb makes gentle but threatening contact with the column; the height is just right. All I need now is the force.

   I bite my lip hard to keep from crying again as I move back to the starting position. This will scar me, I know it will; not physically maybe, but psychologically… I will remember this until the day I die. And I will never forgive myself. But sacrifices must be made and maybe, when he finds out what I will have done, he’ll kill me before the guilt does.

   I draw my waist as far back as my body will allow and align my swollen womb with the harsh rock. My heart thumps painfully in my ears as I start the mental countdown.

   Three… My forearms ache with the tension as I grasp the stone.

   Two… My breathing is laboured and shaky.

   One… I scream in horror and launch my body forward.

   Time slows down as my body shoots toward the pillar of pain and death. As soon as I set this plan into motion, two disturbances cause me to regret my actions. The first is a roar of grief and fury; Asmodeus has caught me in the act. I’m sure he’s sprinting with all his strength in an attempt to stop me but he’s too far away; only I can stop this and he’s not enough of a reason to. Unfortunately, the second disturbance is. The baby, my baby has chosen this moment to remind me that he is indeed a life and that denying him the right that life, just because I am afraid of what he might become is the worst of all sins. Yes, my demon child chooses this moment to make his presence known.

   At the last possible second I veer off to my left, narrowly avoiding my originally intended full frontal collision with the column. My hip smashes into it instead and time catches up with me, until I’m sprawled out on the hard floor before I can fully comprehend what has happened. Luckily, although my hip hurts like a fucking bitch, the impact caused my body to turn somewhat as I fell so that I landed on my side rather than my belly.

   I lie on my side and forget the world as I stroke the small bump that is my baby. His movements are slight, but I already feel him. How could I bear to hurt him now that he has suddenly become more than just a blind threat, more than just an idea? He’s become something tangible, something real and the thought that he almost wasn’t; and that I would have been the one responsible, is absolutely heart-crushing. At this very moment he is nothing more and nothing less than a small person, a little part of me and all I can process is the utter need to keep him safe from harm.

   I curl into a protective ball around my baby and croon sweet nonsense, reassuring him that I would rather die myself than ever attempt to hurt him again. Asmodeus brings me back to the world outside the safety bubble I’ve created, grabbing me under my arms and hauling me to my feet. His very touch sends a bolt of energy shooting through me; I feel awake again in his hands. He rips away the clothing I’ve fashioned and frantically probes my belly with his rough hands. Is body visibly sags in relief before he releases a strained breath – and me – to stand tall once more. His face is an iron mask of impassivity.

   I watch him jadedly, wondering when his self-proclaimed “horrendous temper” will make its appearance. I know it’s coming, how could it not? It’s not as if I had been a naughty child, being berated by her father. No, of course this is a million times worse, I almost killed our baby! Yet he still stands there, staring at me with those garnet eyes; there’s no fire, no spark in them at all; only the cutting cold of betrayal. And it cuts me deeply, his stare, it’s almost my undoing. Anything would be better than the ice in his eyes, I’d rather he raged at me.

   Of course I would. This is my punishment, I realise. This simple look which conveys so much; the stare which increases my shame a hundred-fold. It’s this look that proclaims me the villain when it was he who did this to me! It was his actions which led us to this point; his choices which made him a kidnapping coercer and me his murderous whore! How dare he accuse me with his eyes of being evil when it was he who made me what I am?! The thought banishes my crushing guilt for the moment and allows my energy to focus my rage. Let’s see how he handles his temper. Let’s see who the real bad guy is.

   Will he rise to the bait?

   “What, Asmodeus? Nothing to say? I almost destroy your… bastard” the word hurts coming out, “of a child and all you can do is stand there and stare at me like a simpleton?”

   Of course, he doesn’t look like a simpleton at all. He is the epitome of regality; his spine straight, head held high and so far, his temper in check. Of course I need to prove that this is a façade, if only to feel less wretched about myself. A little more niggling on my behalf should do the trick.

   “What’s the matter? Is the all powerful Demon of Lust feeling a little impotent today?” I jeer at him, willing him to react.

   He ignores my taunting, still watching me with his ‘you wound me deeply’ look and damn him, refusing to snap. I can’t let him pretend that he’s the better person. He’s a fucking demon! Furious tears well up in my eyes. If a demon can best me in the morals department, then what the fuck does that say about me?

   “Say something! Say something, you fucking coward!” I scream and shove him as hard as I can. He isn’t fazed in the slightest, it’s as if I’m hitting a brick wall; my arms ache in defeat against his unshakable frame. Asmodeus’s silence is crushing and it tortures me, turning my intention to do good into something hideous. This is breaking me, making me doubt myself and my own actions.

   “I’ll try again,” I whisper the lie, in a last-ditch attempt to bring his majesty down to my level.

   A spark finally ignites in his eyes.

   “That’s right you son-of-a-bitch, I’ve got the power; it’s my body-”

   I stop abruptly, when he grabs my arm firmly and shakes me.

   “You will do no such thing,” the words are ground out into a feral snarl and his eyes blaze with a passionate wrath.

   Ah… Finally, the King falls.

   I smile as he drags me across the room, to the exit and I’m sure, a punishment which will prove that he is just as cruel as I am.

   * * * * *

   Tied down, arms stretched above my head, aching in their relentless restraint. I’m in a large cave, the walls made of black volcanic rock. Rivulets of lava seep down through numerous cracks, cooling and hardening, adding to the texture of the cave.

   The heat makes me sweat uncontrollably, beads of it roll down my face. My tongue is a desert, every swallow painful. The air is acrid, stinking of sulphur and smoke. Every breath is torture in my lungs, making them burn with an evil intensity. The platform I’m lying on is made of the same rock as the walls, hard and lumpy, digging into my back.

   Rusted iron shackles encircle my wrists and ankles, pinned into the rock with nails as thick as my forearm. This time, I don’t panic as I take in my surroundings. I don’t bother trying to break free; I know I just got lucky the first time. I know I haven’t been brought here to be sacrificed by some ancient deluded tribe or lazy serial killer. I would laugh, if my throat wasn’t so raw.

   When I look upon my captor, I don’t cringe or hide. I smile too widely up at his stony face, feeling my lip split again and relishing his displeasure. If this is how he wants to play then bring it on.

   “Aw, how romantic baby, you wanna recreate our first date?” My voice drips amused sarcasm. “You know they say that after couple has been together long enough, romance just flies out the window. But just look at us! We sure proved them wro-”

   “Silence! I have had enough of your impudence woman! Do not test me; my patience concerning you is beginning to wear thin.” His voice rumbles like thunder.

   He lifts a clawed hand toward me and the tablet I’m pinned to builds up further. As it grows, the top tilts forward while the sinks further into the ground. Eventually, the stone table becomes a free-standing wall. My arms are still stretched above my head, placing even more strain on them as gravity drags them toward the ground but at least now I’m able to stand up on my own.

   “Alright, so now that you have me tied up again, what do you intend to do with me?”

   I gyrate my hips toward him mockingly, showing off my naked flesh and delighting in the reaction this causes. It seems that no matter how pissed off he is at me, the Demon of Lust is always ready to go. He doesn’t give in though, choosing instead to show me exactly how he intends to punish me. Using his power again he conjures up a large dining table, similar to the one in the other room. On it appears food; a large selection of fruit, meat and cheeses. Needless to say, I am less than pleased.

   “What now? You gonna feed me to death?” I jest, trying to hide the tremor in my voice.

   “You require sustenance,” is his only reply.

   “No, I don’t,” I argue tersely, “I’m not hungry.”

   “Tell me my love, why is it that I sense in you an aversion to nourishment?”

   “I am not averse to eating, Asmodeus, I’m just not hungry.” I reply, all amusement vaporizing as agitation replaces it.

   “I do not believe you. A human cannot go three nights without appetite. You will eat, of your own accord. I would be loath to force-feed you.”

   The idea chills me to the bone. Of course I’m hungry, starving it seems but I would rather rot than eat anything here. I will not be Persephone, shackled to the underworld for eating a single pomegranate seed.

   “You can try,” I hiss, outraged that he would think it.

   And try he does, sighing as if the whole world is conspiring against him. He chooses cut fruit from the table, carrying with him a small bowl full until he stands before me again. I clamp my mouth shut and watch him with a furious glare as he brings a fragrant segment of persimmon to my lips. It smells so ripe and delicious that I hold my breath to stop myself from biting into it as my stomach growls. It’s no pomegranate but I’m sure the effect is the same.

   Frustrated at my defiance, the demon mashes the cool fruit against my lips with his fingers and I taste a little sweet juice on my tongue as the pulp slides off my chin and trickles between my breasts. Terrified, I spit frantically, trying to get every trace of it out of my mouth. I wince when I realise that I’ve done so directly onto his chest.

   Wiping the juice off himself – and licking it off me – Asmodeus walks back to the table. I fear what he might try next; maybe bring back some awful metal tool to keep my mouth open. Instead, he sets the bowl down and returns with a clay cup, similar to the one Ida used to give me water. I let out a tense breath. I can deal with water.

   “Perhaps I have been too harsh with you my dear. This should compel you to be more complacent.”

   Compel me? I don’t like the sound of that.

   He dips his fingers into the cup of something that is clearly not water. When he brings them out they’re coated in a thick colourless gel. Before I even have time to process this, his fingers come down and he smears the gel over my sex.

   “Wha- Ooohh.. .”

   The protest is stopped short on my lips as a delicious tingling sensation begins in my nether regions. I can feel the path he traces on my folds as the gel warms up, sending terrific pulses of heat flashing through me. His fingers slip over my clit and I moan as an inferno builds within me, a burning which swells through my heart and spreads. My eyes squeeze shut against a never-ending bonfire which has every nerve under my skin screaming for release. My throat closes as a lump of coal from this eternal inner flame lodges itself there. I am a fire Goddess, trapped in an immortal moment of pure bliss.

   Bliss soon turns to desperation though as the pleasure crescendos then freezes so that I am locked in the single instant before liberation. I simply can’t climax, but the pressure is maintained as if by some cruel magic. I thrash against my bonds, driven mad with lust and an insatiable hunger for its pinnacle. My hips buck wildly against thin air, looking for something, anything, that will gift me my gratification.

   Suddenly my torturous pleasure increases tenfold as I feel my nipples harden almost excruciatingly. My muddled brain takes forever to process why. The fucking beast has rubbed the gel into my breasts as well.

   It is I who sounds like a beast though, my calls primal and deep. I clench my thighs together, hoping to create even a miniscule amount of friction to no avail. All I need is a single touch and I know my torment will finally end. I consider begging for it, just one little touch, but the idea revolts me and I stand my ground… so to speak.

   My knees have weakened to the point where they no longer support my body but shake uselessly as my arms hold my weight. The pain in my arms must be agonizing, although I can’t feel it under my sweet suffering.

   I slump as far down as my chained arms will allow, breathing haggard and body still convulsing against my undying almost climax. It seems like forever before the pressure subsides a little.

   That isn’t to say, however, that my torture has ended – far from it, my entire frame still quakes against its power. It has been muted somewhat, the bonfire reduced to smouldering red-hot embers. Finally I open my eyes again.

   I lift myself up into standing, fighting hard to support my body on wobbly knees. My breathing hitches with every movement, but none are strong enough to free me from this exquisite torture. My gaze reaches for that of my tormenter; ironically also the only one who can liberate me.

   But I didn’t beg at my weakest, so I will not beg now.

   “Mmmnn, you… ugh… assho-” I groan, struggling to form a coherent thought, let alone a proper sentence.

   “Yes, my proud Selena?” His voice is smug and enraging.

   My vision slips in and out of focus and along with my lolling head, make it difficult to get a lock on him. My whole body trembles against the power of the demon’s magic serum and my brain shuts out everything but the sensations it creates. It is only his cruel and hypnotic voice which tethers me to the realm of sanity; a single silver thread in the void which intimidates my fragile mind. Without his voice, I would succumb to the madness; choosing to hide deep within myself rather than face this remorseless pleasuring.

   His dark and beautiful voice… it beckons me.

   With my eyes half closed, I finally find his face. I close my parched mouth and notice a defeated moaning only when it stops. Was that me? My body shivers of its own accord and I haven’t the strength to control it. I pull in a shaky breath and try to focus on what he is saying to me.

   “Why do you insist on challenging me? Do you not realise the simplicity of your choice? All you need do is obey me and I shall grant your every desire.” His words sound so appealing.

   Yes, Asmodeus my love, I will do anything.

   I am about to tell him so when the defiant Selena in me rebels.

   No! You can’t let him win! She screams in my mind. The weak-willed part of me battles against her and loses. So I shut my mouth and endure.

   Asmodeus senses my resolution and his anger boils over.

   “Stop fighting me!” he slams a hand into the wall by my head but I’m too out of it to flinch. “Do you not realise that with every second you spend defying me, our child starves ever further, dying for your wretched pride?!”

   Before I have a chance to respond, the truth of his words ring through me as my baby’s growing pains begin once more. The pain is masked by the pleasurable effects of the gel and strangely, instead of debilitating me, it allows me a moment of clarity as the opposing forces clash and neutralise each other. Reason hits me like a truck.

   I’m killing my baby.

   By choosing not to eat, I am going against my word to keep him safe from harm. In my desperation to be free, I chose my life over his, no matter how unintentionally. I didn’t think about the consequences of my starvation. Once again, I have forgotten about the life my body protects and how precious it is.

   Precious, the word feels ill-used. It would probably benefit the human race, if I let my baby die. But I know I can’t.

   Submissive Selena and Defiant Selena both make way for the New Mother Selena as the reality finally sets in. No more selfishness, from now on I need to think about my baby first.

   I look up at Asmodeus and command that he release me. I refuse to be held like a criminal and fed like a child now that I have decided to cooperate. He looks reluctant to oblige.

   “Come on! Look, I said I’ll eat and I mean it, now unchain me.”

   Now that I have remembered what is at stake I am agitated and eager to eat something as quickly as possible. The way see it; at the rate my baby is growing, it will take a large amount of food to keep him healthy. And that also probably means that too little food could be a serious threat to his life. Already, as it stands, it has been two nights since his conception – three if I count tonight – and I haven’t eaten a single thing. I would like to get some food down before either the pain stops and the pleasure shackles me again; or the serum wears off and the pain cripples me.

   “You’re wasting time!” I fight against my bonds desperately, hoping he will see that I am earnest.

   He deliberates one agonising moment longer before waving a hand and causing all my cuffs to click open simultaneously. My weakened body crumples the moment it is no longer supported but Asmodeus catches me and carries me over to the banquet. Summoning a throne-like seat at the head of the table, he sits upon it gracefully, still cradling me against his chest. The cave cools considerably and the stink of sulphur disperses. Is this a reward from the demon for obeying him? The pleasure and pain still war within me, focused on each other, still allowing me my moment of peace.

   I manoeuvre myself into a sitting position, on the demon’s wide lap. I feel his hot breath in my hair and against my neck as he leans over, watching me intently. Nervous, I eye out the spread apprehensively, still reluctant to be Persephone.

   It’s a little too late, don’t you think? The voice of Mother Selena is brutally honest.

   I reach out into the selection of food, feeling the demon’s eyes watch my every move. Choosing a pomegranate (oh the irony), I rip into the leathery carmine coloured flesh and bring a piece up for closer inspection. Blood red seeds spill out and I catch them with my other hand. Loosing even more seeds with my thumb I gather a small cache of them in my palm as if they were precious rubies.

   My stomach churns at the thought of eating but I have already decided to be selfless for my baby. I toss the seeds into my mouth as if they were an overdose of medicine. Certainly it feels as if I am using them to throw my life away. With only a moments lingering panic, I bite down, crunching through the seeds and enjoying the burst of delicious juice that accompanies it.

   So that’s it, I’m trapped here forever.

   Strangely, this thought doesn’t fill me with panic. Have I finally accepted my fate?

   I eat the rest of the pomegranate as well as a slab of roasted lamb on rye bread, washing it down with more water. Before I have had my fill however, the pain ends and the pleasure returns. I lose myself to it again.

   I start to shiver against Asmodeus’ solid frame, raking at his bare thighs beneath mine until I realise – frustratingly late – that my hands are free to end my anguish. They shoot toward my weeping sex as well as the promise of a long-awaited release, only to be stopped by the dark clutches of my lover. He grabs both my wrists in his huge hands and easily pulls them back up to my sides, pinning them there. My moan of aggravation is drawn out and noisy.

   “I did what you asked!” I scream, panting and groaning; fighting against his hold.

   “Of course, my love and you shall be rewarded for it.”

   His pointed tail slithers up between my thighs, brushing oh-so-close to my centre. I shudder exquisitely, my hands curling into tight fists, knuckles whitening. I crane my neck back, unable to deal with the agonising wait and Asmodeus brings his lips down to my neck. His masculinity assaults my senses; his luscious scent alone heightening my desire ever still. His teeth graze the soft skin beneath the hard line of my jaw, while his wicked slippery tail ventures ever further toward my opening. It brushes gently across my folds and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The arrowed tip of his extra limb probes the area around my smouldering clit and finally, finally rubs against it.

   The climax is earth-shattering, launching my wound up body into a seizure of orgasmic spasms. A nova blast of heat lights up my entire being, spreading like ripples through a pond from my sex to every crevice of my anatomy. My very blood sings with the pure and dazzling strength of it. Once again, the cave bears the brunt of my untamed power as my control slips and it is unleashed like a relentless animal; a creature which only knows destruction. The din is deafening. Asmodeus seems ready though, and must be protecting us. I’m still too lost in my own universal bliss to know for sure, but I haven’t felt anything fall near me.

   When the pleasure finally begins to wane, I notice that the demon’s tail is still rubbing against my sensitive flesh. The sensations are wonderful, burning currents of delight laced with cold cuts of hurt. My clit is already over-stimulated.

   I move my hand and he lets go of my wrists, allowing me to pull his appendage away. I caress it with my other hand and he curls it lovingly around my wrist. It no longer feels wrong to desire him the way I do, now that I’ve made my choice and sealed my fate. Why fight it anymore?

   “I want your body, not your tail,” I whisper mischievously and release a surprised scream when he suddenly lifts me up, turns me around and props me back down on this lap, so that now we are facing each other.

   I grab his face in my hands and pull him in for a passionate kiss, linking my arms behind his neck as his hands slide down my waist and come to rest at my hips. He elevates the lower half of my figure and impales me swiftly with his pulsating member.

   I break away from his lips as my breathing hitches, sitting up straighter and holding onto his broad shoulders for support. His is gentle with me, his body moving leisurely beneath mine. I mirror his speed, rolling my hips against his; groaning his name under the steady rise of another climax. When I come this time it isn’t an intense burst of pleasure like before but rather a sweet lingering, I quiet moment between my lover and I. We revel in the bliss we create for one another.

   I pull in closer to him, in desperate need to be held but something gets in our way.

   My belly has grown quite considerably in such a short space of time and is now a noticeable little protrusion. It pales in comparison to my breasts however, which seem to have magically almost doubled in size. Asmodeus chuckles and tenderly dips his head down to press his lips lingeringly against my belly.

   I grip his hair tightly as tears form in my eyes. Eventually he comes up to stare at me with those gorgeously intense eyes and holds my face in his giant hand.

   “I didn’t mean it when I called our baby a bastard,” I whimper, needing to get out the words and hoping he will catch the hidden meaning in them.

   I don’t apologise for trying to hurt the baby; how can I ever atone for that? I don’t tell him that I lied when I said I would try to hurt the baby again. I don’t say that in my selfishness, I forgot about the safety of our child.

   I don’t say these things because I am ashamed. I hope that he hears the pain in my voice and that he understands.

   “I know, love.” Is his only reply and he carries me away from the cavern, back to his throne room.

   We lie in each other’s arms for an age, wrapped comfortably in a mutual silence; my head rested on his chest and his hands on my womb and in my hair. Have we finally come to an understanding? Have we finally found something worth agreeing on?

   I break the silence reluctantly.

   “Asmodeus?” I inquire softly.

   “Hmm?” his voice is a deep, sexy rumble.

   “I’m still hungry.”

   Continued in Part Six

   Reply

5. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:58 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 6

   The next morning I wake up in Asmodeus’ arms again and nestle myself closer to his wonderfully warm chest. I tilt my face up and watch him sleep, letting my breathing mingle with his. He looks so lovely; his face peaceful and exquisite as an obsidian angel’s. I lean in and press my lips against his. When I draw back, twin rubies reveal themselves; framed by silver lashes. They are filled with only warmth and love for me while pearlescent white teeth flash fiendishly, hinting at something a little less innocent. My King has awoken.

   I smile back at him, a genuine and sweet smile; one only he has seen as this is the first time I’ve ever had reason to show it. It speaks of a heart soaring beyond the sky and into the stars themselves. It sings hymns to the Gods and the Fates who have brought me here and allowed me to feel this way. It unearths the beginning of an ageless passion, too old and powerful for me to fully understand. This ardour is like a deep breath of clean air, it revitalises every cell in my body.

   Now that I have decided to stay here for my baby, am I willing to admit that I feel more than passion or lust toward his father?

   Maybe…

   No. Humans don’t love as demons do. How can I possibly love someone after only four nights with him?

   It doesn’t matter.

   I’m here, nothing will change that. Whether I love him or not; I’m here with him. Whether I like it or not, I’m here. For the sake of my baby, I’m here; and for the schemes of a demon. And I may or may not love him, but God do I want him. He is after all, passionate and intoxicating, and he has been kind to me. Maybe love will follow.

   Maybe…

   I pry my subconscious away from thoughts of unrequited love as Asmodeus’ hands snake down my abdomen to rub the smooth, stretched skin of my small protruding belly. The warmth of his skin on mine feels heavenly but a part of me protests, a little uncomfortable at being touched on such sacred a place. I had felt absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever when he touched me before, in the most intimate ways a woman can be touched.

   But somehow, this feels different; I can’t place my finger on it. It feels like some archaic instinct, imbedded deep within every expectant mother, the irrevocable need to protect my baby from anything that could break through the thin layer of defence which is all I have to offer. But it isn’t only that, it’s a feeling I can’t explain, something which makes me angry and jealous and heart-sick all at once. I don’t know what it is, but I do know that whatever the reason, I can’t stand him touching my womb.

   Irrational?
   Of course.

   Do I care?
   Hell fucking no.

   I squirm away from him.

   He pulls me in closer, running his hand down my side, over the curve of my butt.

   Ahh… now that’s more like it.

   I’m fine with this kind of touching of course, and happy just to lie here and revel in his caress. That is, until his hand wanders back over to my abdomen.

   Annoyed, I push uncomfortably against his hand, a whiney groan rising from my throat.

   “Stop, Asmodeus, you’re creeping me out.”

   All the glowing contentedness I’d been feeling only moments before vanishes into thin air as my irrational annoyance grows. I know he’s being loving and gentle but all I see is an almost maniacal possessiveness, and I don’t like it.

   “What troubles you my Selena?” he inquires, although I wouldn’t be surprised if the question was just a formality. He seems to know me better than I know myself.

   Still I hesitate, feeling ridiculous.

   “I just…” I huff in frustration, “I don’t like you… touching me there.”

   “And why would that be love?” he asks, sliding his fucking hand over my belly again.

   I grind my teeth together, my anger rising. Why must he insist on pissing me off? Yanking at his arm proves useless, so I slip off the bed and away from his touch.

   “I just don’t alright!” I raise my voice. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

   His eyes dance with amusement and the corners of his firm lips curl up into a frustrating little smile. He’s still lying on the bed where I left him, in all his bare glory, with an elbow propping him up and a hand disappearing into his tousled silver hair.

   “As a matter of fact my love, there exists nothing that I would consider better than basking in the pleasure of your company.” He purrs, ignoring my heated stare. “There is however, the less appealing chore of managing my slice of the underworld. I shall leave you if that is your wish.”

   He hauls himself off the bed when I say nothing, his muscles rippling with the movement.

   “I will summon Ida in my stead, to watch over you while I am occupied,” he says, walking towards me.

   He presses his body close to mine, combing the fingers of one hand through my hair while the other wonders lower, brushing against my thigh. I shudder delicately, a spike of pleasure slicing through my heart, and a part of me cursing my innate need to fight with the one person who has ever made me feel this way. Then his lowered hand brushes not-so-subtly against my abdomen again, and I remember precisely why he makes me so mad.

   I shove his arm away and march back over to the bed, hunkering down angrily.

   Chuckling he walks leisurely toward the exit.

   When he parts the bumpy wall, Ida is waiting already. Instinctively I grab a bed sheet again and cover myself as she walks in nervously, dipping her head in a bow past Asmodeus. No words are exchanged between them yet Ida seems to know her job already. Does she have some freaky telepathic link with her master?

   “Play nice ladies,” Asmodeus calls as he exits, walking through the archway and closing the cave behind him.

   When the grinding din at the doorway finally stops, silence as heavy as winter snow falls between the demoness and me. As with the day before, her tail is wrapped tightly around her leg, physically betraying her fear of me.

   Well I can’t say I blame her, after the way I treated her.

   Regret hits me suddenly, and for the first time since our ill-fated meeting, I realise the impact of my behaviour. Sure, I’d been jealous, in pain and afraid but I shouldn’t have taken it out on Ida. She did take care of me after all.

   The silence lengthens as she waits for an order, her head bowed and hands clasped against the rough material of her skirt. I struggle to form my apology, guilt lodging the words in my throat. She shifts her weight like a skittish little bird, looking so pitiful that my heart goes out to her. I call her toward me. She watches me warily, untrusting of my intentions.

   “Come on,” I call again, “I won’t bite.”

   “Begging your pardon, majesty, but I fear you will do much worse.” She winces as she says the words, as if they escaped without her consent. She is quick to take them back.

   “Please my Lady! Forgive my rash words.”

   Poor woman, looks like she’s about to pass out with the fear. Tears start to roll down her face before I can respond.

   “No it’s okay,” I try and assure her, rushing off the bed toward her.

   I reach out to pat her shoulder but she cringes away from my hand. Yanking it back, I retreat a step as she covers her face with her hands and sinks to her knees. I lower myself into an awkward crouch, by body still barely covered by the sheet. I keep my distance, afraid that one false move on my part will plunge her into hysterics.

   “Ida.” I say, trying to coax her out of her broken despair.

   She mumbles feebly in response and folds tighter within herself.

   “Ida, look at me,” I command.

   She shakes her head, her face still hidden behind delicate hands.

   Losing my patience, I scuttle forward and pry them out of the way. Her tear streaked cheeks are stained dark with heat and fear.

   “Spare me, your majesty. I wish to live.”

   This stuns me for a moment as I try incredulously to process the motivation for her words. Why on Earth would she think I’m going to kill her? Surely I wasn’t that harsh the night before?

   I stare into her distraught face for a second, watching fear and revulsion take turns distorting it, before I finally remember why she and every other lesser demon here has reason to fear me.

   Of course, why wouldn’t she think me capable of murder? I, who behaved like a rotten, spoilt child last night and threatened her when all she did was care for me. I, who left the broken body of my attacker in my room as a warning against all like her.

   “Ida, I’m not going to kill you. I’m sorry for the way I treated you yesterday,” I say, rising and offering my hand down to her.

   She looks up at it, still dubious and unwilling to trust me.

   “Look, I know you have no reason to believe me but I really am sorry for my behaviour. I know there’s no excuse but I wasn’t thinking clearly alright? I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you. Please forgive me.”

   She tilts her head up to look at my face, flinching under my gaze.

   “You killed Corbin,” she says accusingly, “You left him in your chambers for us to find.”

   “Corbin?” I ask, anger sparking, “That creature had a name?”

   She eyes me reproachfully; I’m sure this is not the response she was waiting for.

   “Will you get off the ground please? I swear I’m not going to hurt you so why don’t you sit with me on the bed and I’ll tell you why I killed… Corbin.”

   “Fine!” I huff, when I realise she has no intention of moving, “If you don’t want to listen to me then you can just sit there on the floor. Mourn the passing of a rapist! But don’t expect me to feel remorse for what I did, I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

   I turn my heel and stalk back to the bed, gripping the bedpost tightly and trying to quash my fury.

   There is silence for a time as I fight to get my anger under control.

   How can she side with that pig over me?! Ida, of all people who I remember now to be the same demoness from my first night here; the same woman who was raped in this very room. Has she really been here so long? That she is somehow desensitised to the nauseating reality that is rape? That she would consider a rapist, like the creature that violated her, to be her kin? The ideas both repulse and depress me.

   I feel sorry for her, this shattered creature who, with all her physical strength is weaker than I have ever and will ever be. My utter refusal to back down from a seemingly hopeless situation has been seen by many in my past to be a sign of weakness but I’ve always seen it as a strength. Ida has proven me right, for I would rather fight – even kill or be killed – than lie on my back and spread my legs for a rapist. I know first-hand the fear that infects a rape victim, the fear that can either cripple or strengthen its host. It could have gone the other way for me also, but in those desperate moments, completely at the mercy of a sadistic predator, I found my strength.

   I need to teach her this. I need to ignite in her a spark of defiance, stoke the fire and help her forge her own steel reserve, so that she can fight back.

   But first I need to test her.

   “I remember you now,” I say, turning back to face her. “Yes, I remember you. You were that whiney little bitch from my first day here.”

   She snaps her gaze back toward me at my harsh words.

   “Yes, I saw what that filth did to you.” Her eyes brim with tears again at the memory. “What? Do you expect sympathy? You’ll get none from me. You just laid there and cried like a child. You let him take you.”

   Her eyes widen with shock.

   “You didn’t even fight back. You let him fuck you.”

   The amber globes harden with fury, all tears drying up.

   I’m getting good at this provocation thing, I think pensively, focusing on the next step.

   “You were weak. You let him rape you.”

   “No!” she screams and I jump at the abruptness of it. Before I even know what has happened, she is on her feet, body rigid and tail lashing furiously.

   That’s it girl, let me hear you roar.

   “No what, Ida?! What? No, you didn’t let him rape you? No, you’re not weak?” I scream right back at her, “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been letting men piss on you your entire life! Seems like dying hasn’t made you any tougher. Can it even be considered rape, if you don’t fight back?! You are weak!”

   “NO!” This shriek is louder and her fingers ball into shaking fists of rage. She’s almost there; she just needs one little push.

   “Then show me! Show me how strong you are. You can’t, can you?” I snarl, watching her teeth bare and nostrils flare, as I egg her on. “You can’t do anything, because you’ll always be the victim. You will always be we-”

   A solid blow to the jaw shuts me right up.

   I stumble; the strike has me bewildered and surprised. Of course, I’d been expecting Ida to take a swing at me – hoping for it, in fact – but that didn’t prepare me for the actual physical sensation of being punched in the face. The pain is sharp and deep, boring through my jaw like a drill. Having never been in a fight before, the sheer ferocity of it stuns me.

   When I finally gain my bearings – after an embarrassingly long time moaning and clutching my jaw – I find Ida staring at me as if I’ve grown an extra head, holding her fist to her chest like a broken wing. I wipe the back of my hand against a warm trickle at the corner of my lips, bringing the hand back down and finding it smeared with blood.

   “Nice hit,” I grimace, wiping my hand clean on my make-shift dress.

   She looks at me with a stunned silence, tears forming once again. I’m not angry that she hit me, but if I have to see her cry again, I’ll probably have to hit something.

   “No! Don’t you dare fucking start that shit again!” My voice makes her jump. “Don’t you dare start crying when you’ve finally grown a backbone. Own up to it! Let this be the day that you finally stand up for yourself! You enjoyed that didn’t you?”

   Slowly, uncertainly, she shakes her head.

   “Don’t lie to me, and for fucks sake stop lying to yourself. Admit that you liked taking control and making me pay for what I said. I’m not going to retaliate, if that’s what you’re worried about. Did it feel good when you hit me?”

   This time she releases the tiniest squeak of assent.

   “Speak up! Did you feel powerful?”

   “Y-yes, my lady.”

   “That’s good. Do you wish now that you could have fought back?

   “Yes.”

   “Do you still feel like hitting something?”

   “Yes, my Queen, I do.” I finally hear the power in her voice; for the first time since we met, she sounds like a demon.

   “Alright then,” I say, a smile slowly spreading across my face, “Follow me.”

   She hesitates briefly, as if still afraid this is some elaborate trap, before eventually following me back to my chambers.

   We enter the cavern which I claimed as mine, kept in exactly the state I left it, minus the body of the monster named Corbin. A stained patch of earth is all that remains as proof of his existence, the only reminder of what I’d done to him. Given her reaction to his death, I expect that Ida will be uncomfortable being back here. When she enters the room however, a surprising coldness hardens her face as to looks down at the earth where Corbin lay. Sheer fury clouds her face for a split second and she spits on the spot before turning to face me.

   Banishing my shock at her sudden change in attitude, it doesn’t take me long to figure out the motivation for her actions. She may have been horrified at Corbin’s death (most likely because she feared that she would go the same way), but she hated him, of that I have no doubt now. He must have been one of her tormenters. And judging by the way he treated me, I fear that he would have been especially cruel to her.

   Just the thought has my fury mirroring hers. But the difference is that I have taken my revenge, while she still needs a way to vent; now that she has been denied her own vengeance.

   Using my power, I create a life-sized leather dummy, filled with sand. I give it a tail and clothe it in a filthy looking loincloth. I make it anatomically correct.

   Excited rage sparks in Ida’s eyes as she realises what I’ve created for her. She seems eager to start; her tail whips the air and her knuckles crack. Had I known nothing else of Corbin’s nature, Ida’s fervent need to hammer away at his likeness would be enough to tell me all I needed. And the picture it paints of him is hardly what one would call tasteful. Malicious, more like. Revolting, malevolent, cruel and just plain evil.

   “Have at it,” I say and she doesn’t need telling twice.

   She launches a running attack against the figure of her torture, smashing her fist against its face with a satisfying smack. I watch her with a mixture of heartbreak and satisfaction; devastated at the thought of what was done to her but immeasurably proud that she is finally fighting back. My only regret is that she has to enact her revenge on a dummy instead of the real thing.

   I leave her alone when her rage boils over and she begins aiming her attack against the combat doll’s groin. I retreat further into my cavern and take a long time going through my hygiene ritual. After I have relieved myself on a make-shift toilet, had a shower and brushed my teeth, I pick out a loose fitting red dress from my stone chest, slip it on and make my way back to Ida. By this point her furious screams and grunts have been replaced by small sobs, and I no longer hear the slap of her fists against the leather. It seems that she has finally been placated.

   When I reach her, I find her crumpled on the ground, sobbing into bleeding hands. The dummy is a misshapen mass of leather, loincloth discarded. The material lies next to a growing pile of sand, pouring onto the ground like time through an hourglass, from a gaping hole in the crotch. I follow a trail of the white sand with my eyes, and locate the dummy penis about fifteen feet away. Ida’s so far gone that she doesn’t even flinch when I sit down beside her and take her into my arms.

   “I’m so sorry for what they did to you,” I whisper, and she moans in response, burrowing her face in my neck.

   I let the demoness seek comfort in my arms a moment longer before helping her to her feet. I walk her toward my supernatural bathroom and lead her to the shower. I turn around as she obediently removes her meagre clothing but realise that I’ll have to help her bathe. It’s a good thing I turn back just in time, Ida is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she sways under the warmth of the falls.

   I catch her before she faints, getting soaked in the process and finding it difficult to hold her dead weight. I sink to the ground with her in my arms, just out of the shower. Scooping up a handful of water, I splash some on her face and I’m stroking her hair when her yellow eyes finally open.

   Wordlessly, she sits up and covers her bare breasts with her palms. Watching her, I’m reminded of how damaged her hands are; the knuckles raw and bleeding still. I reach toward her with my own hands, offering silent aid. She hesitates one second longer before finally surrendering her hands to me. But this simple act holds even more significance, for I sense that she is also surrendering herself to me – and not in a way which dictates she should fear me. Have I made a friend?

   Grimacing at the metallic taste, I run my tongue over her knuckles and watch with utter satisfaction as her wounds close. Then she lets me help her up once again and I lead her back to the shower. When I’m satisfied that she won’t faint, I leave her to it and hurry over to my chest of dresses once more. Summoning my air vent, I dry off, get dressed and head back to the shower, another dress in hand. Ida doesn’t notice my return.

   She has her eyes closed and her face turned up into the warm stream, an expression of pure delight making her look impossibly more beautiful. I marvel at her long, graceful legs and taut belly which contrasts wonderfully against a shapely ass and firm breasts. Although straight as an arrow, I am an admirer of beauty and the female form has always fascinated me.

   She catches me staring and I avert my gaze with an embarrassed cough. Head turned away I offer her the dress I’m holding when I hear the sound of wet footsteps grow closer.

   “I cannot accept such fine a gift, my lady,” her voice is raw but firm.

   I turn back toward her just as she steps under the air vent in all her feral beauty.

   “And why not?” I ask, although I believe I already know the answer.

   She folds a forearm across the plains of her breasts and uses her other arm to point toward her crude bindings.

   “Those are mine. They are a mark of my servitude to the King,” she explains before her turning her gaze toward the dress in my hand, “To wear such finery would be… heresy.”

   “You are my servant now, are you not?” I ask forcefully, before softening my voice and adding, “You are my friend, are you not?”

   Gobsmacked, she does not reply.

   “Think of it however you wish,” I say, “As a uniform or a gift but either way, I’m burning those bindings of yours.”

   I say this with a smile and hand her the dress. Reluctantly, she takes it.

   “What of the King, my lady?”

   “You let me handle Asmodeus; he can rage at me all he wants but I won’t have you dressed or treated like a slave. And please, Ida, call me Selena.”

   Shock once again prevents her from replying so I use the opportunity to grab her old clothes and walk away before she has a chance to wear them again.

   “Come on, after you’ve dressed we’ll eat, I’m fucking starving.”

   After much reluctance on her part, I finally get Ida to sit at the dining cavern and eat with me. She looks lovely in the forest green dress I picked out for her, even though her figure makes any dress of mine look shorter and looser fitting.

   After we’ve finished eating, we enjoy each other’s near silent company for what seems like hours. I’ve learnt by this point that forcing a conversation with Ida isn’t the right way to get her talking. For now it seems I’ll have to be content with her unspeaking trust, which I know is far more than I deserve. I know better than to expect her to suddenly open up, regardless of our budding friendship.

   I hope in time though, that she will trust me enough to tell me her entire story and that one day I can share mine with her.

   In the meantime, I’ll settle for looking after her and making sure that she is never hurt again. Of course, as soon as I think this, my baby kicks me through my ever-expanding belly and triggers another awful wave of growing pains. Here we go again.

   I almost fall off my seat at the unbearable assault and Ida, my nurse and my ward, is at my side in a flash. She half-carries me to Asmodeus’ throne room and leads my convulsing body toward the bed. During that short but excruciating trip I think I threw up once or twice. My body is all agony; my brain a scrambled mess. All I register is the blaring screech of my pain, pounding like bass, each thump bursting into fresh lashes of torture. I swear, each time this happens it hurts more and lasts longer than the last.

   I’m tired of screaming, sick of crying and I don’t think I’ll survive another dry heave. Every time my stomach revolts, it feels as if I’ve been kicked in the gut and punched behind my eyes.

   Ida frets over me, unsure of how to help while I choke and moan in my endless misery, wanting nothing more than for this to end. The pain radiates through my entire body, pulsing from my abdomen and raking across every nerve I possess.

   “Tell me! Tell me what I must do, my Queen!” she shrieks and I know that this time is worse, for she has seen me experience the pain but never like this it seems.

   Ironically, her panic calms me. I’m never more useful than when I am needed by someone else.

   “Shhh…” My whisper turns into groan as a fresh wave of nausea rolls over me. I breathe in deeply, hoping it will elevate the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, drowning out Ida’s shrill words with my utter concentration.

   “Tell me how to help you Selena!”

   The urgency in her voice breaks me away from the swirling revulsion I’d been trying to quash, giving me a moment of respite and the answer clicks into place.

   “The-” I swallow down the sickness which seems determined to rise, “The gel.”

   The pain hits me again just as Ida pleads for an explanation. She doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

   “Pleasure and pain!” I scream, “Fight pain with pleasure!”

   And I’m sucked into the bitterness of my pain, a horror which slices and stabs me with ice so cold that I burn.

   * * * * *

   I’m still burning in the cold when Ida returns. Funny, I hadn’t even noticed that she’d left.

   She doesn’t come back to my side like I expect her to, but disappears from my field of vision. I’m too exhausted to even turn my head and locate her. I am still trying to find the strength to ask her what she is doing when I feel warmth spread through me, rippling like a soothing wave. The first wave is bitter-sweet, frost-bitten skin under hot water. But with each subsequent radiation of heat, my breathing slows its frantic pace and the burning tension in my muscles lifts free.

   Pleasure and pain, the opposing forces neutralise each other. Ida figured it out! Thank God.

   “Thank you,” I croak, to Ida, God or both I’m not sure.

   I have some difficulty sitting up, partly because I’m so tired but mostly because the bump that is my baby has grown again. I wonder dryly, why the sight of it still has me surprised after all this time, until I remember that I’ve only been here five days. It feels like I’ve lived an entire lifetime.

   I’ve been through so much already; soul-stealing fear, breath-taking lust, life-altering trauma and crippling pain. I would feel sorry for myself if I didn’t begrudgingly realise that not all my experiences here have been terrible. Just this morning, my heart was flying free and I’ve discovered a love for the child growing in my womb the likes of which I could never have dreamed, a love which mere words cannot even begin to describe. I would go through every second of the pain again if only to hold him once.

   And how could forget Ida, my new friend, who is somehow more damaged than I am and yet is holding me right now, brushing sweat-matted hair away from my face and bringing a cool cup of water to my lips.

   She is my saviour and I am hers.

   I grip her hand tightly with mine, in silent gratitude while the water flows like the sweetest nectar down my raw throat.

   Ida leaves me for a moment but returns shortly after with some dry bread and another drink. When she offers me the food and mango juice though, I refuse, the lingering bitterness of bile still coating my mouth.

   “You really should eat something,” she admonishes quietly.

   “I know,” I sigh, “But I need to clean out my mouth first.”

   When she looks as if she’s about to protest, I interrupt her tiredly.

   “Look, we can argue about this until the pain ends and I lose my mind to the pleasure or you can just draw me a bath and bring me a toothbrush like last time. Whether I eat now or later is entirely up to you.”

   Without another word she summons a waterfall with Asmodeus’ borrowed power and refills the claw-footed tub from yesterday. I sink blissfully into the tub and giggle when I notice the tip of my belly button poking out of the warm water. I rub the soft skin over the firm bump and a rush of uncompromising love floods through me as I enjoy this moment of peace.

   Ida’s hand, offering me a toothbrush, reminds me that I don’t have time to dawdle. It takes three brushings before my tongue finally feels clean and after bathing quickly, I slip out of the tub and into the fresh sheet swaddled arms of Ida. I no longer feel embarrassed to be naked around her, having realised that she would have had to hitch up my dress and apply the gel to my sex in order to free me from my pain.

   Leaving my sweat-soaked dress on the floor by the tub, I plonk myself onto the bed and nibble on the bread Ida brought me, waiting now for my break from both pleasure and pain to end. The mango juice is a refreshing change to my taste-buds and its sweetness grants me a shot of unadulterated energy. I pat the space next to me on the bed and Ida is finally comfortable enough to sit by me as we wait.

   Before long, I am shivering, the immortal flame of delight coursing through me, burning away every last trace of the ice in my veins. My heart beats painfully fast and an intense pressure builds in my chest, solid marble blocks stacked one on top of the other, the weight of them so great that I can barely breathe. I close my eyes and moan into the musty air, my head a dead weight on my shoulders. Vertigo stuns me as I feel my head bounce on the mattress; I had no idea I was falling.

   My core is on fire! Delicious flames lick torturously at my soul but do not release it. Warm fire keeps it from experiencing the glorious freedom of a miniature death, that one moment when everything else falls away and the soul briefly escapes the body. Those precious seconds which last for a lifetime yet end far too quickly; I need them now!

   My hand moves of its own accord, slapping against the moist skin of my slit. I grope around frantically, looking for the pearl hidden behind a fleshy, slippery sheath. When I find it, I rub against it desperately, hoping to relieve myself of this terrible need before my head explodes.

   I groan my frustrated impatience, fumbling with shaky fingers to hit the right spot. When I think I’ve found it, I squeeze it almost painfully and rub it with reckless abandon. Each stroke of my fingers sends a jolt of sharp energy through my being, the feeling registering as pain in my delirious mind. But no matter how hard I press and rub, my torturous pleasuring does not end. I’m still stuck between a rock and a hard place, trying frantically to free myself from this feeling that is simply too much to handle.

   Why isn’t this working?!! The thought blares through my mind anxiously, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why the gel is still driving me crazy. All it took was a single touch from Asmodeus and I had experienced the most intense orgasm of my life. Now, when I try to free myself, all I’m doing is clawing at the delicate skin of my sex with desperate fingers, hoping for some reprieve.

   “Ida!” I moan, “Help me!”

   Without hesitation, she sends her tail darting toward my contracting clit. As soon as it brushes against me I’m thrown over the edge, my middle lifted off the bed as if by a puppet master. I stay like this during the endless seconds of my monster climax. My muscles scream at me while I scream at the cave walls, cracking them with my power. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy hits me and suddenly I feel like Ida’s punching bag. But its more than just pain, it’s the pure glowing exhaustion which can only be felt after experiencing something exquisite but taxing at the same time.

   Like being hit by real waves as a child, refreshing, crashing rolls of water, carrying sand with it and attempting to pull me into the depths it came from. Waves which leave my skin raw and my body spent, but which also leave me with a satisfying radiance which can only be achieved by enjoying a moment that was truly worth living. And the release of my frozen muscles as I slump back onto the bed brings with it a dog-tired satisfaction which darkens my vision.

   I smile as I close my eyes, drifting for what seems like another lifetime, awoken seconds later by my saviour. Her face is so close to mine that I feel her breath warming my cheek. I’m euphoric, having accepted my place in this strange new life, anticipating the arrival of a baby I already love and finding friendship through an unlikely source.

   Without thinking, I lift myself into sitting position, catching Ida by surprise. I cup her face in my hands and kiss her full on the lips. It is rash and impulsive, my weird way of showing gratitude for the support she has given me. Her lips part against mine, accepting my offering and responding to my movements. I groan in appreciation as her hands slide behind the nape of my neck. Before I even realise what I’m doing, my tongue darts out and traces curve of her upper lip.

   She breaks away from me, her eyes round as plates and her expression like that of a startled doe. She looks at me with utter horror and I feel a rush of embarrassment colour my face and burn my ears.

   What the fuck was that?

   “Ida-” I begin, but do not finish as I watch her edge further away with every second that passes.

   And then she’s gone, flitting away from my touch, racing toward the exit, hand on her lips.

   What the fuck have I just done?

   Continued in Part Seven

   Reply

6. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:58 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 7

   My bed is much too hot, burning my skin through the soft material of my pyjama bottoms and making my feet sweat. I kick at the covers and free my tortured legs, allowing them to dangle off the side of the bed. Fresh air caresses my feet, but the relief isn’t enough to cool my bothered flesh. Huffing with frustration but reluctant to open my eyes, I kick at the flannel pants and manage to get them off.

   Sighing with sleepy content, I snuggle into the covers further, my feet still sticking out from under the duvet. Just as the irresistible weight of sleep settles over my eyes again, something wet and rough scratches against my big toe. The sensation is so unusual that I jolt awake only to find the golden eyes of Nala, my tabby cat, staring back innocently, as she is caught in the act of licking me. With a soft purr, she jumps onto the bed, kneading her claws into the duvet. I feel the pressure of her paws on my thigh beneath the covers and, startled, I sit up so quickly that she bolts, flying off the bed and through a white door.

   A strangled gasp escapes my tense lungs and my heart races as I take in the beautiful familiarity of my bedroom. I feel as if I have been on a perilous odyssey, journeying to lands afar, for years unknown. This room should be forgotten, yet it is exactly as I remember it, with my bookshelf in the corner, stuffed full of romance and fantasy novels. How I’d wished to be a part of those worlds. The DVD rack stands beside it, displaying rows of blockbusters and TV shows. Empty canvases lie beside a wooden easel, just waiting for me to breathe life into them. Completed works colour the walls, claiming this space theirs, claiming it mine.

   I’m home!

   I spring out of bed, tugging my pants back on, then chase my skittish cat down the hall and scoop her up into my arms. I give her a little squeeze, hugging her tightly but mindful that I do not hurt her. When she voices a muffled meow of protest I laugh delightedly and drop her onto the soft carpet.

   No more hard earth and falling rocks! No rapists or demons! No magic or power! Just the wonderful regularity of the human world. Boring, predicable and safe.

   I shriek my joy!

   It isn’t long before the lights flicker on and my father steps out from his bedroom, tattered baseball bat held tightly, my mother clutching his arm in her fear. I’m so ridiculously happy that I pounce on them, hugging them both as if they’d disappear the moment I let go. The bat thumps softly against the carpet floor and my dad pushes at my vice-like grip, trying to look at my face.

   When I finally give in and let him hold me at arm’s length, he stares at me with a concerned expression, reading my face.

   “Selena?” he asks, looking slightly alarmed.

   “I’m back,” I croak, the words rushing out with a river of tears.

   Mum steps past the protective shoulders of her husband and pulls me into her embrace, holding me the way she used to when I was a child. The nostalgic comfort this brings me only increases my tears.

   “What’s wrong Lena?” she asks desperately and I hear tears thicken her own voice, “Tell us what’s wrong so we can help you my baby.”

   I don’t understand her reaction. I’d expected relieved sobs and frantic questions regarding my disappearance, not puzzled looks and reassuring hugs. My confusion crescendos when mum asks me if I’m feeling sick. Unsure how to respond, my tongue locks and I look back at her stupidly, grasping for an explanation for this bizarre encounter. Surely they would have noticed that I was gone for five days?

   My father seems to have gathered his wits by this point and he pulls my mother away.

   “What do you mean you’re ‘back’?” he asks, looking as confused as I feel.

   Realisation dawns on me as I process the implications of such a question. My parents have absolutely no knowledge of my disappearance. Could it be true? Could it all have been a dream?

   “A dream,” I whisper.

   “What was that babe?” my dad asks, suspicion colours his tone.

   “I’m so sorry dad; it was just a dream.”

   “Then why were you crying?”

   “It was an awful nightmare, I’m sorry I woke you two up.”

   “What are you doing?” a male voice whines at my back.

   “What’s with all the noise?” calls another, female this time.

   I twist my body toward them slightly, throwing a quick glance at the fatigued figures of my older sister and younger brother.

   “It’s nothing,” I tell them, “Go back to sleep.”

   I hear a gasp from my mother and turn back to her horrified face. My father’s face has drained of colour but as I watch it surges back, an angry purple flooding his cheeks as his eyes harden. His hand strikes out and clamps onto my arm, squeezing so tight that my eyes water.

   “Ow, dad! What are you doing?! Let go!”

   “Shut up!” he roars, “Who have you been seeing?!”

   My mother cries silently behind him, eyes wide and jaw slack.

   “What are you talking about?!” I scream back, frightened at how quickly this situation has changed.

   “You know damn well what I mean! Stop acting stupid and answer the question!”

   “Dad, I really don’t know what you’re talking about! I woke you up because of a nightmare, I swear!”

   But he isn’t listening, he’s still firing questions at me; where have I been? Who was I with? How long have I known? They all blur together and my mind reels from the assault.

   A few questions slip through the haze though and I catch them from the endless stream.

   “Who have you been seeing?” he asks again, “Who’s the father?”

   The father? The question falls like a stone to the pit of my stomach. Of their own accord, my hands drift toward my belly. I press them down, hoping to feel a soft, yet flat abdomen but begin to realise with a sinking certainly, that hope is not always fulfilled. I run my hands gently over the bump there and fall to my knees before the eyes of my family, sorrow closing my throat.

   My father is still questioning me but I tune him out again and rake my nails against the threads of the carpet, needing to feel something, anything, to awaken me from this hollowness which grows as I think my next thought.

   It wasn’t a dream.

   * * * * *

   My own sobbing wakes me and the tears burn my cheeks. I am enveloped by strong arms, pressed against the hot body behind mine but this brings me little comfort. I want to feel the warmth of my father’s hugs, not the heat of my lover’s. Just when I think that I have finally accepted my place here, a single, crushingly vivid dream crashes through my fragile tolerance and I feel my heart ache to be safe and sound at home. I cling to Asmodeus’ steely forearm, needing to be held, even if it is by the wrong person.

   “I want to go home!” I moan, burying my face into his shoulder.

   “You cannot, my Selena,” is his impassive response.

   “Why?!” I shriek, shoving at his arm, hopping off the bed and turning to glare at him furiously, “Why not?! Why did you choose me?!”

   He is silent while I continue my rant.

   “Why, out of the billions you could have picked, did you choose me? What the fuck have I done with my life that could possibly warrant such an honour?” I snarl, disgusted.

   My fury escalates as he watches my agitated pacing silently.

   “Well, since you’re not sharing, why don’t we play a game? I’ll try to guess a reason and you tell me if I’m getting warm.” My palms feel hot and itchy, I rub them against the dress I slept in.

   “Hmm, let’s see, did you choose me because I was a virgin?” I ask, but I’m not really looking for an answer from him. My anger has boiled out of control and I couldn’t care less what he has to say in this moment.

   “No, that can’t be right, there are still millions you could have chosen from. It must be because you think I’m pretty, right? Let’s have a look shall we?”

   I face the nearest wall and curl my fingers inwards, drawing a mirror out of it to the sound of cracking and wind-chimes. I stalk closer and scrutinise my face and body in its surface. My fury shatters the glass before I turn back to the demon, who now stands beside the bed.

   “Nope, that’s not it, I see nothing special there.” I watch as he grits his teeth at that comment. Like he should care what I say about myself, I mean nothing to him. I’m just his breeding bitch.

   “I know what it is!” I exclaim suddenly, “It has to be the fact that I’m the most pathetic human being you could find. All alone at twenty with no future partner in sight, you thought you were doing me a favour right? Let’s save poor, fat, worthless Selena from a life of misery.”

   “Enough,” his low, hard voice resonates authority and he closes the space between us.

   “Well guess what lover, you failed.” I continue, poking his chest with my finger for emphasis, “You’ve taken me away from the only people who have ever cared about me and forced me to become, what? Your whore? Your wife?” I scoff with derision.

   “Yes Selena, my wife!” His outburst is as sudden as mine but ten times more shocking. “Why is it so unfathomable for me to possibly love you?! Do you really think so poorly of yourself?”

   I’m so stunned to see the fierce passion in his eyes that my mouth gapes open and my mind is too slow in allowing a response.

   “You think that I carried you here out of some misguided attempt to save you? From what? A lifetime of misery? Is that truly how you see your future? What are you fighting to return to then, if all you have left is loneliness and self-pity? Is it truly inconceivable that I chose you because of who you are and not out of mercy?”

   His voice softens a little and his gaze breaks away from mine. He looks ashamed almost, bowing is head in uncharacteristic defeat.

   “I have done you a great disservice, Selena,” he whispers, before turning his blazing eyes back toward mine, “Not because I have saved you from your life, but because I have stolen you from it.”

   There is a bitter sorrow which weighs down his entire frame and I can’t help but be sympathetic.

   “You know as well as I that you were destined for a noble life on Earth. You would have helped others, as is your beautiful nature. You would have found yourself a human husband who would have loved you, I know that. You would have had human children. And I have taken it all away.”

   More tears blur my vision and my voice is raw.

   “Then why, Asmodeus? Why did you bring me here?” I beseech him, reaching up and holding his face in my hands.

   Anger clouds his features and I take a step back, hugging my arms close.

   “I was weak! I was selfish! I brought you here not by my choice. I stole you because I simply had to have you; I saw her light in you. Selena, my soul met yours at the birth of humankind. A true testament of my adoration would have seen you living on Earth still, content in your new body and with no knowledge of my existence,” he chokes on the next words, “But I am weak and I have loved you always, my Elysia.”

   Elysia?

   “Have you not wondered why you never found a human mate? Did you merely cast if off as fastidiousness on your part? No, my love, there has been no other because your soul craves only mine, just as surely as mine hungers after yours. We were mated once, when you were known as Elysia.”

   His eyes are tender, swirling pools of lava, somehow expressing more emotion than anything he has said thus far. But I am numb to it and this realisation constricts my chest.

   Why don’t I feel anything?

   “No, that isn’t possible, you’ve got the wrong girl.” I protest against this latest disclosure half-heartedly, voice hollow. Am I disbelieving just because it is expected of me? I can’t honestly say that this new information shocks me and the thought that I have become so accepting of my fate is terrifying.

   “I would find your soul in deepest pit of hell my love, I know you are the woman I crave.”

   “Woman?!” I laugh humourlessly, “I’m just a child to you! Six days ago, I’d never been touched by a man and now I’m carrying your baby! What makes you think that I’m ready to deal with that, let alone your revelation that I’m supposedly your lover from another lifetime. You robbed me of this life.”

   He closes his eyes as if in physical pain.

   “Of that I will be eternally remorseful, but my choice cannot be undone. I swear by everything in my power that I will keep you safe from pain and sorrow.”

   “How Asmodeus? Everything you do causes me sorrow and pain. Did you think that chaining me to a rock would make me love you? Or using me as a bitch for your offspring would make me feel important? Did you think I would melt in your arms when you told me that I am your lover incarnate? How can you truly love me, Selena, when all you think about is her? I don’t know or care if we share the same soul but I am not your Elysia.”

   I suddenly realise why the feel of him touching my swollen belly made me so angry and dejected. Heat pricks the corners of my eyes.

   “If you love me so much, how could you treat me as if I were nothing but a vessel for whatever you have planned for our baby? How could you make me care for you and then act as if all that mattered was the fact that you’d gotten me pregnant? You broke my heart just when I was beginning to think that I could trust you; when I was beginning to think I could love yo-”

   He cuts me off with a kiss, his warm lips moving desperately against mine. It’s as if he wants to prove his love, showing me where words fail, exactly what I mean to him. He pulls me in close and just like that first night, my heart jumps at the feel of his fingers pressing into the soft skin of my waist. I should be mad at him, but I’m tired of being angry and he makes it so damn difficult to stay that way. Then again, he also makes it easy for me to get mad in the first place.

   But right now, I feel only heart-pounding excitement as I mould my body against his. Could he be telling me the truth about Elysia? Had I really loved this demon in a past life? It would explain my affection for him now, when by all rights I should hate him with everything I possess.

   When we break apart, he smiles his wicked smile but his eyes are soft. When his hand slides down to my belly though, the smile vanishes and his eyes darken with unconcealed pain.

   “You bore me a son once, as Elysia. It was my proudest moment and we lived together in peace for one human lifetime. It may seem like a long time to you my young bride, but to the immortal it was but a moment.”

   “What happened?” I whisper, uneasy with the way this conversation is headed, yet compelled to hear the rest. I rub the gooseflesh from my arms and feel the hair at the back of my neck prickle as he continues.

   “You were both murdered,” he moans, “stolen from me in a wave of jealousy and greed. A demoness, who was my betrothed, became vengeful that I had taken you as my bride rather than her. She killed you to spite me and while I mourned your loss she hunted our son. He was on Earth when she slaughtered him, performing the task for which he was born.

   “I took my revenge, but ending her brought me no peace. I was alone and I believed that I always would be, until I felt her soul spark in you at your conception, and I knew then, before you were even born that I had to have you. I waited until you were physically and mentally mature. Twenty years is naturally but a blink to me yet I remember every agonising second from the moment you were conceived until the night I brought you here. That is the extent of my desire for you.”

   “Elysia,” I insist, trying not to think about the fact that my fate was decided before I was even born, “You love her, not me.”

   “You are her and you are not. You are the joining of two halves. I did not love her for her body nor her mind – although both were as beautiful in her as they are in you; I saw in her a light which bathed my own soul and transformed me from a bitter, arrogant creature into a being capable of great love. She made me feel as if I could defy my fate and ascend into the glory of Creation. And you Selena, I feel this when I am near you. I sunk into the cavernous depths of depravity when she was killed and I know that I would not survive losing you. Is that not enough of a reason to believe that I love you, for being you? You are Elysia just as surely as you are Selena, it would be impossible for me to love one without the other.”

   He sounds so earnest, as if he is genuinely trying to make me understand.

   “So you’re saying that you love me, not because you think I’m your Elysia but because you love our shared soul? You’re not expecting me to be her, but you know that no matter how different our personalities, we’re both manifestations of a singular spirit – one which you’re crazy about? Is that the gist of it?”

   He smirks at the impatience in my voice.

   “Yes, my eternal love, that is the ‘gist’ of it.”

   “Right,” I say, dazed under the enormity of it all. That is, until another thought occurs to me.

   “You speak of this undying love for me, yet you hold me here against my will,” I say, tilting my head to the side, curiously watching his reaction to my words, “If you love me as much as you say, then it wouldn’t be a question of whether you are strong enough to let me go; you simply would.”

   He says nothing, just closes his eyes and scrubs a palm down his face, as if he’s been awake for an age, longing to let sleep claim him.

   “So what is it then, Asmodeus?” I ask, hand on hip and eyebrow cocked, “Do you truly love me as much as you claim?”

   His eyes open and fix on me with a heat that melts my insides. His gaze is fierce but when he speaks he sounds tired and pained.

   “Of course I do Selena. After the child is born, you may leave if that is your wish.”

   A prickle starts at the back of my neck and shudders through my entire frame. This is not the way I expected the conversation to turn. I asked him this not because I truly expected him to listen but rather as a way to prove to both of us that he doesn’t love me as much as he thinks he does. Given his response every other time the subject has been broached, I find it difficult to believe that he’s suddenly had a change of heart. There’s no way he’s telling the truth!

   He can’t be, after all the time he spent waiting for me, all the trouble I’ve caused him, every effort on his part to make me feel as if I had no other choice; he can’t seriously be giving me a get out of jail free card.

   No way.

   But when I search his eyes, I do not find a lie, only a steely determination which barely covers the pinched look of loss.

   He’s being deadly serious; he’s really giving me the choice and he seems sure which one I will make.

   Two thoughts flit through my mind at this realisation. The first is ridiculous and pathetically warm; he really loves me. The second is smarter, calculating and triumphant; this is my chance! I can leave!

   But why does the thought fill me with dread?

   “Alright,” I whisper, and I hear the hollowness in my own voice because I don’t know what else to say.

   “Alright,” I repeat, louder this time, deciding what I want as the word forms against my teeth. I need some time alone and I tell him this.

   He does as I request, with only a lingering look back at me as he leaves, showing his reluctance. I understand, to some extent, his desire to stay with me after all that has been said and I’m pleased that he pushes it aside for the moment, allowing me a brief respite.

   When he leaves, silence swallows me up like a giant chasm. But it is one that I willingly fall into, craving it’s comfort after bearing the weight of so many words. Rather than using it to contemplate this new meaning to my existence, I banish all questions and thoughts and emotions from my mind.

   It feels so good to be numb and I stare into the red earth without really looking at it. My mind doesn’t just wander, it leaves me, if only for a little while; and I sway on my feet, so thoroughly exhausted after… What?

   I find it hard to distinguish between the good memories and the bad. It’s as if my entire life has been a struggle in one way or another and this new life; I fear it. I fear the power it has over me, the ability to change me into someone I no longer recognize. Damn him for giving me the choice; what if I make the wrong one?

   This world could be a new home, an escape from the only life I’ve ever known; the life of mine which I am privileged to have led. After all, I’ve had everything that a person needs to survive; a roof over my head, love in my heart, knowledge at hand and food in my belly.

   Except… There was always something missing; something which erected an invisible barrier between me and the people I love. Why is it that I pushed them all away? My family, my friends, my chance at happiness?

   Did I want to be alone?

   No. I wanted more than anything to be with them, to be a part of them. But something always pushed me back. Was it because they didn’t understand me? Or because I couldn’t understand them? I was always looking for something more, as if I was placed on Earth to find one absolute truth. And the life that I’ve lived, as content as it should have been, was simply not enough to satisfy me.

   This is why, I know, I fear the choices I have been given. What have I become if I cannot appreciate the privileges I’ve been afforded? What kind of person rejects a life which has the potential to be rich and rewarding? Yes, I fear my own choices, not because I have no clue what comes next but because the ease at which I find myself wanting to be here is unsettling. What kind of person willingly discards her old life and all those within it to be with a stranger? To become a stranger?

   Only a desperate one. A person who was born trapped and suddenly finds a way out. Would such a person find the strength to push past fears of change and the unknown toward the possibility of freedom? Or is the idea of such change and uncertainty too daunting to risk leaving their prison?

   I have made my choice. I need a moment to let go of the other option though, so that I can put it to rest and immerse myself into the life that I have chosen without regret.

   I have made my choice. I choose freedom.

   * * * * *

   I stand in the sunlight after what seems like a century, letting its soothing warmth wash over me. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed it.

   This isn’t a dream. I truly stand above ground with the sun shining red through my closed eyelids and glinting off my teeth which are exposed in a grin of pure delight. I curl my toes around the soft coolness of the grass before digging them deeper into the earth, past roots and fibres until I feel the rich brown soil beneath.

   I’m standing in front of my home, savouring the feel of the summer breeze as it sings through my hair. This is it. I’m only a few steps away.

   I open my eyes and step forward, toward the stone and tile archway which shelters the double door entrance of the house. A pin-pad is attached above a handle on one of the doors and I reach for it without thinking, the sequence familiar to my fingertips. I stop at the last second, realising that it would be quite a shock to those inside if I suddenly come barging in. I give the door a sharp rap with my knuckles instead, before pulling my hand away.

   As I wait for an answer, my leg jumps disobediently and I chew my bottom lip as both anticipation and dread fill me.

   My father opens the door and I forget to breathe.

   We stare at each other for a second and I take in just how tired he looks. He seems to have aged a decade over the past few days; darkness shadows his eyes, his thinning hair looks un-kept and his usually clean shaven face is speckled with salt and pepper stubble.

   And then the spell is broken. His mouth moves but before he says anything, I cut across him.

   I try to sound as sympathetic as possible, letting a touch of the true sorrow I feel at the sight of him, colour my voice.

   “Mr Sastri,” I say, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

   Instead of replying, he stares at me for a second, his gaze hardening, then he shuts the door in my face!

   After I get over my shock, I knock once more, knowing he will answer.

   He opens the door again, fury visible in the lines of his face and I’m quick to apologise, realising the insensitivity of my words.

   “I’m a friend of Selena’s, Sir,” I say, tripping over the lie, “I’m so sorry that I phrased it as if…”

   Of course, he’s not the kind of man who would give up his daughter for dead; not unless he sees the body. I keep forgetting just how short my time away has been.

   He looks like he’s about to shut the door again.

   “Please Sir, I know I have no right to ask this of you, but can I come in? Selena… She was- she is like a sister to me.”

   He huffs with unconcealed displeasure, looking at me but not truly seeing my face under the glamour. I know that he sees a young woman standing before him with pleading eyes, but she isn’t the daughter that he’s lost.

   “Funny,” he says in a voice that suggests the complete opposite, “My daughter never mentioned you before. All her close friends have already been to visit; they’re still helping us look for her, but you, I don’t even know who you are. I’ve never seen you before and you’re wasting my time.”

   He moves to close the door again.

   I shoot my arms out and push against door before he touches it.

   “Please! Please Sir, I only found out yesterday! Please let me pay my respects. I love Selena, I really do. Please believe me.” I’m desperate to go in, to spend time with my family and it shows on my borrowed face, in my stranger’s eyes. My throat constricts and the tears fall.

   His eyes soften a little. My father may be a hard man, but he’s neither cold nor cruel. What I wouldn’t give to hug him right now, to feel safe in the way that only a loving father can provide.

   “Make it quick,” he says, stepping aside and it might as well be a hug from him. I am quick to comply, stumbling through the doorway in my haste.

   “Be careful,” he says, catching my arm to steady me before looking outside again and calling, “You can come in too.”

   He says this to the man who stood behind me at the doorway. The man towers a massive foot and a half over my father, opposite from him in every way possible.

   Where my dad is short and stocky, he is tall and well-built. His skin is pale compared to dad’s and his hair shockingly ash-blonde, kept just a little too long for contemporary tastes. Black tribal tattoos creep across his forearms peeking out from beneath rolled up sleeves; my father hates tattoos. Ice-blue eyes pierce the deep brown pair which sharpen with suspicion once more.

   “I never got your name,” he says turning back to me as my companion walks over the threshold.

   “Sorry,” I amend hastily; I know that one false move on my part will give dad his excuse to kick us out, “I’m Rowan, Selena’s friend from university.”

   I chose I name that I could have possibly mentioned to my family before; Rowan was an old friend from high school but I’m hoping that they only notice the familiarity of the name, not where it came from.

   “And this is my partner, Ash.”

   My father shakes my lover’s hand and even though he doesn’t know who we are, I feel the tension spike. The muscles on his forearm flex and I see that he’s testing the stranger before him, searching for weakness.

   He finds none. When they break contact, his hand twitches a little and a small shudder rolls through him. He walks through to the lounge as if the pain means nothing. Typical cop bravado.

   Furious, I elbow ‘Ash’ in the side as hard as I can. All this accomplishes is the bruising of my elbow. I glare at him, rubbing my arm and he shrugs, a gesture that looks so odd I can’t help but smile.

   Nonetheless, I take this brief opportunity alone to chastise him for his behaviour.

   “No more macho bullshit!” I hiss, so that only he can hear.

   “My apologies,” he replies, not bothering to lower his voice.

   I groan, slapping a hand against my forehead. This is going to be a long day.

   Eventually, we settle on the overstuffed canvas couches in my parents’ living room, silent as a graveyard. It’s broken by the awkward dance between hosts and uninvited guests. My mother asks if I’d like anything to drink.

   I long to speak with my parents as a daughter; see warmth and love in their gazes in the place of suspicion and sorrow. My sister, always so in tune with my thoughts avoids my strange eyes while my usually jovial brother sits silent and red-eyed, staring at his hands.

   My mother speaks again, but it’s with forced politeness and a tight smile. She asks questions about my relationship with her daughter, how we met and so forth, questions which I am able to answer easily.

   “Rowan, is it? Yes I’m pretty sure I’ve heard Selena mention you. What are you studying?”

   “A Bachelor of the Arts, majoring in English with a minor in Theology, I met Selena in an English lecture.” I reply, heartbroken to hear the false chirp in her voice.

   Fingers clench and eyes tighten at the mention of my name. I can’t believe just how much my disappearance has altered their behaviour. My mother is quick to change the subject, eyeing Ash with seemingly genuine interest.

   “You two look so sweet, how long have you been together?”

   “Forever,” I reply, when a fake time period refuses to materialise in my mind. At least I’m not lying.

   While my mother and I discuss my love life, my parents sit together rather stiffly, as if twenty-four years of marriage were not enough to make them comfortable with one another. Their eyes never meet. Has my disappearance caused the strain?

   Was I really such an essential part of their lives, that they are irreversibly changed by my absence? I hope it isn’t so, not only because it’ll make it harder for me to willingly leave them but also because I can’t bear the thought of them suffering for my decisions. It sounds selfish, but the hope that they will one day move beyond my disappearance is comforting. At least that way I can begin my new life with a clean slate and without guilt weighing me down.

   “How far along are you?”

   I nearly choke on my glass of water.

   “Er… Five um…”

   “Months,” supplies Ash, taking my hand in his.

   “Yes, five months,” I say.

   My mother smiles a little while my father eyes Ash with distaste.

   My parents were never overly affectionate in public, true, but as one of their children, I’ve seen a tenderness reserved only for each other shine through on more than one occasion. Enough to believe that they still love each other as they have since they were teenagers.

   Or maybe I just saw what I wanted to see?

   The idyllic relationship between two people who decide they love each other enough to be together until the ultimate end. It might have been a naive notion but it was a beautiful one to grow up believing. Of course, I learnt the hard way that love isn’t all that easy to find. And when you finally do, it isn’t all longing stares and blissful sighs.

   After a short time – I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed – sitting with my family and partaking in the forced formalities, the conversation ceases. I use the opportunity to excuse myself.

   My mum directs me to the bathroom across my bedroom and as soon as I turn a corner out of sight, I duck into my room. It is almost exactly as I left it, although with a neat emptiness which I’ve never associated with my personal space. The normally messy room has been tidied somewhat, the bed dressed and the clothes which would have been on the floor have been picked up, folded and piled carefully at the edge of my bed. It’s like my mother hoped that by preserving the imprinted memory of me within this room, I would suddenly walk out of it, as if I’d been hiding in the cupboard the entire time.

   I skim my fingers across the varnished wood surface of my dresser and rub a smudge from the mirror behind it. I treat everything I touch with absolute reverence, like it’s all part of an ancient tomb, the prized possessions of a departed soul. Oh, I know that I am still Selena; but I’m a different version of her, reborn from the ashes of this old life. Freedom beckons while the chains of my past sing sweetly to me, attempting to entice me back into their iron hold. Their fingers of nostalgia grip tight my throat and I can barely breathe. I love my family but this existence has stifled me all these years. I want to be free! But still a terrified part of me wants to be imprisoned, here where it’s safe.

   My hand brushes against a thin knotted rope, lying in the dust coating my dressing table. I lift up the black leather necklace and rub my thumb over the silver pendant that is attached to it. It’s a two inch long ankh, the Egyptian symbol of eternal life. Next to it lies another, longer necklace with a gemstone looped through it. It’s carved into the shape of an angel and is made out of a stripy brown stone called tiger’s eye.

   I used to wear both these pendants every day, only ever removing them to polish them. The ankh’s necklace can be adjusted to fit snugly against my throat while the strap which holds the angel is long enough so that it disappears between my cleavage. I study the pendants for a time and am struck by the startling relevancy of them both. The tiger’s eye stone which symbolises grounding and protection; is my Asmodeus, a strong, dark angel of the earth. Even the ankh has a parallel; as farfetched as immortality seems, it’s been confirmed by lover. My soul is as ageless as his body.

   Is this yet more proof that I am destined to be with him?

   As I’ve done countless times before, I slip both necklaces on, adjusting the ties on the ankh’s cord so that it tightens around my neck and leaving the angel hanging low on its cord. The pain in my throat lessens somewhat at the familiar weight of them on my neck. Perhaps there are some things that need not be discarded from my old life. I have a great many possessions – most of them material or sentimental – but only three which I prize above anything else. Two of them hang on my neck at this very moment, while the third dangles above my pillow.

   It’s the dream-catcher which has guarded my dreams since I was ten, from nightmares which used to showcase not goblins nor ghosts but killers with knives, intent on pursuing me to the ends of the earth just so that they could end me. Were those glimpses of my other life? Bitter reflections of my own death?

   I shudder, climbing onto my bed, needing to run my fingers over the wind-chimes dangling off the dream-catcher and to hear their delicate clinking. The sound is as reassuring as ever, enough to banish cold thoughts and waking nightmares. I want to take it with me, just as I intend to keep the necklaces, but I resist; the loss of such a trinket would be noticed by my parents. Unlike the pendants, it was my father who bought the dream-net for me, after childhood gave way to youth and I was too old to still be disturbing by parents after every nightmare.

   “What,” A voice at the door stops my heart, “Are you doing?” My father is neither cold nor cruel but my fiery temper was inherited from him.

   I step off the bed, moving slowly, a frightened child backing away from a snarling beast. He’s caught me encroaching his territory and he is fuming beyond measure.

   “I think it’s time for you to leave.” Each word is clipped short and sting like lashes of a whip. I wish in this moment that I can tell him the truth, just so that his anger can turn into relief. But I have made my choice.

   “I didn’t mean to offend you Sir, I just wanted to feel close to home,” I explain, as best I can under the circumstances, “Selena is the only family I have and I feel… lost now that she’s gone.”

   “Go home to your parents.”

   “They are gone too Sir, have been for a long time. When Selena spoke of you to me, I liked to pretend that we were sisters and that you were my parents too.”

   I’m making him uncomfortable, I know. I need him to see though, that I mean no harm. I need him to look at me with something other than a guarded annoyance.

   “I think it’s time for you and your boyfriend to leave.”

   He eyes my belly – which I tried to hide somewhat with a flowing top – with deep disapproval and waits by the door, insistent on following me out.

   Releasing a choked breath, I file past him, trying to quash the sobs that attempt to escape.

   Back at the lounge, I can’t say I’m all that surprised to see that ‘Ash’ has already charmed my mother and sister with his good looks and infallible grace. My brother, on the other hand, looks ready to throw a punch.

   Ash is laughing at something I must have missed while being ushered out of my own bedroom by my father. His laugh is subtle yet honest, his eyes crinkle at the corners on his borrowed face. The glamour he wears makes him appear younger than he looks in his true form but the sharpness in his eyes hints at a wisdom beyond that of face so young.

   I believe that this is what makes my mother like him so, but it’s also what has my father on edge. If we don’t leave soon, I worry that he or my brother will snap and the last thing I want is either of them getting hurt trying to wrestle a demon.

   “Thank you for your hospitality Mrs. Sastri,” I say to my mum before dad can ask me to leave again.

   “Oh you don’t have to leave so soon sweetheart, we’ve only just met you! Selena would have wanted you to stay longer.”

   The others cringe when she says my name. It’s all still too raw, too frank. But my mother believes that I’ll be back soon, that I’ve run away. She’s in a different stage of denial than my father. He believes that I need to be found before my captor kills me.

   I insist that we go, watching my father shoot us daggers as Ash and I walk towards the door. It’s time to leave them forever, but I can’t bear the thought of ending it like this. The problem is, I don’t know how to fix it.

   Ash’s hands twitch beside me, his back turned away from my dad. Something glints in the light but I miss seeing what he holds as he turns back toward my family.

   “Mr. Sastri, I know this may seem inappropriate, however it was our intention to present this to you and your family upon our visit. It seems that Rowan has forgotten to mention this. You may not know us very well, though I assure you Selena does and it would mean everything to Rowan if you would be so kind as to attend our wedding in her stead tomorrow.”

   We all stand speechless as Ash hands my father a thin tablet of sorts. It’s made out of a deep purple-blue stone – which I recognise as a star sunstone – with specks of sliver dotted throughout. It’s as if he sliced a piece from the night sky and made it solid, carving words onto it to turn it into something unexpected.

   “No.” Dad answers, skimming over the words quickly before thrusting the invitation into my hands.

   I look down at the thin stone slab and run my fingers over its face, smooth all over except where the words have been beautifully carved. It’s addressed to ‘Selena and Family’, announcing the union of ‘Ash and Rowan’ and indeed boasting tomorrow’s date. A surge of anger rolls through me. A fake wedding! This is not the way to extend my time with my family. It is cruel and deceitful; I’ve lied to my family enough already and I would rather not bastardise the sanctity of marriage just to steal a few more hours with them.

   Ash pulls the invite from my shaking hands and offers it to my mother instead. She takes it without hesitation.

   “We’re not going!” My father says, his voice hard and menacing. This is the final straw for him.

   Ash ignores him and addresses my mum instead.

   “Please consider it at least, Mrs. Sastri, I know Selena would have attended.”

   My mother nods just as my father snaps.

   “GET OUT!” He shouts.

   I don’t wait to be told twice.

   * * * * *

   When we finally leave my parents’ house, I’m horrified by the encounter. This was not the way I wanted to end things with them. I turn my back on Ash and ball my hands into fists. This is all his fault! He set my father on edge from the very beginning with his too firm handshake and unnatural allure. Then he drove the hammer home with all his ridiculous talk of weddings and what ‘Selena’ would have wanted. Did he ever take the time out to ask me what I want?

   A car pulls up in front of us before can voice my protests. It’s fairly non-descript, not too flashy though shiny and new. A thin man hops out, dressed in a chauffer’s suit and runs around the car to open the back door. Then he waits, head bowed.

   I look at Asmodeus, cocking an eyebrow. He tilts his head in confirmation and holds his arm out in an ‘after you’ gesture.

   Sliding into the car is a little difficult. I hoist my heavier body onto the leather seats and drag myself over, making room for Asmodeus, he ducks in gracefully, then makes a fuss over my seatbelt, attempting to buckle me in himself.

   “I know how to do it!” I hiss, slapping his hands away, “You sort out you own belt.”

   He settles into his own seat as soon as he hears the click of my buckle and the driver pulls away from the house. I wind down my window and avoid his gaze, feeling conflicted about today’s turn of events.

   After I took the time to think about what I wanted, I decided to give myself wholly and willingly to the Demon King. My conditions were that his original promise never to hurt me must be kept and that I be given a chance to say goodbye to my old life. Small requests, I realised, considering the severity of my sacrifice and Asmodeus knew it too. He’d agreed immediately, forming the plan in which we both wore glamour to visit the human world.

   He took me to a corner of his cavern which I’d never noticed was there. It led to another, smaller room, filled with unfinished art, sinister looking weapons and a pool of bubbling clay. I eyed the weapons suspiciously while he went straight to the pit. Scooping up some of the – no doubt scalding – clay with his hand, he rubbed it into the skin of one of his arms. I watched with fascinated disbelief as the area coated with clay changed its colour. The ancient magic of his shifting, swirling skin pigmentation was cloaked by the alchemy of the clay. When he rubbed some of it on me, I was surprised at how cool it was, hardening against my skin and changing me also.

   I’d never seen the appeal to mud-wrestling, but smearing it over the firm shoulders and taut ass of my lover had me twitching in anticipation. And of course being lathered so thoroughly by him was beyond delicious. His large, rough hands felt the same as they always had but they looked foreign against my breasts. The pleasure they elicited within me though was so delightfully familiar that any unease I felt about our changing appearances dissolved without a fuss. The slippery mud worked wonders, the silky texture of it aiding and caressing us as we explored each other. We ended up on the floor before he entered me. I was giddy with pleasure and wound so tight with orgasmic energy that every touch and movement reverberated through me with the power of stars imploding. I could feel every pulsing inch of him under my skin and hear the sweet sound of three heartbeats pounding in my ears, two fierce and thunderous, the other quick and fragile. Our lovemaking wasn’t wild or desperate; it needn’t be for the strength of our desires. It was steady and intimate; all slow thrusts, clinging limbs and hitching gasps, and all the more beautiful for it. When we’d finally reached our mutual climaxes, we did so as Ash and Rowan.

   Dark skin turned light for both of us and a little clay rubbed onto our eyelids even changed the colours of our eyes. Asmodeus’ rubies bled away into sapphires while my mocha globes froze and transformed into glittering emeralds.

   We were different people, akin to our other bodies only in stature. The clay changed me into a Caucasian woman with more delicate features, tawny hair and green eyes. My lover had transfomed even more significantly, the aggressive plains of his face filled out more so that he looked less rigid than before, more approachable and less intimidating. While still exceedingly tall and largely built, the lightening of his skin and almost boyish glamour on his face made him look less severe. Certainly, he could pass for a human, albeit one whom most would think a professional athlete.

   I coordinated our clothing, instructing Asmodeus until he was able to create clothes for us both which would be casual enough to let us pass through relatively unnoticed. When we were both dressed and unrecognisable, it was time to go. Asmodeus, now Ash, picked me up as if I weighed nothing and the air seemed to shimmer around us. The reds and browns I’d grown so accustomed to over the past few days, melted away and were replaced by the shocking greens and yellows of flora. We’d appeared impossibly in a secluded corner of the nature reserve across my parents’ house. Birds took off, startled by our sudden arrival, but we were otherwise unseen.

   I’d assumed we’d travel back the way we came after our visit, but the arrival of the car was an unexpected surprise. What more does he have planned for us here?

   Down the road from my parents’ house lives one of my best friends. When we stop in front of her house, Asmodeus wills another invitation into existence. I raise an eyebrow, how does he know where my friends live? He gets out of the car, slips it in the mailbox and slides back in before I have time to figure out what I should be doing.

   “This is the home of a friend of yours, is it not? Bailey Stilo?”

   “Yes,” I sigh, “Though I don’t know what you’re expecting of her.”

   “I expect her to attend our wedding, of course.”

   He smiles as if he is plotting something elaborate and I roll my eyes. The memory of our sweet lovemaking fresh in my mind is enough to sooth my anger for the moment, though I still do not approve of his wedding plan. Why can’t anything ever be simple with him?

   I protest as the car pulls away from Bailey’s house; I didn’t even get to see her! How am I supposed to convince her to attend my sham wedding – at such short notice too – if I can’t see her? Asmodeus, vague as ever, says that we will convince them all tonight.

   He drops off one more invitation, at Rochelle Sindhal’s house, the other of two friends I would trust with my life. As with Bailey, we leave before I have a chance to see her.

   When we leave Rochelle’s house, I think that we’ll be heading back to Asmodeus’ realm. We keep driving though, eventually turning onto the motorway. We head toward the city centre using the route I take to University. The driver seems to know exactly where he’s going and needs no instruction from me or Asmodeus. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall Asmodeus speaking to him at all. How did he know to visit my friends? He must be one of the Demon’s lackeys.

   A rich ripping sound diverts my attention to the demon sitting next to me. He grips the seat with uncharacteristic tension, his eyes closed and body rigid. He’s actually torn clean through the thick leather.

   “Asmodeus?”

   He releases a strained breath and cracks open an ice coloured eye. Then the car jolts slightly and it squeezes shut again.

   I stare at him, dumbfounded, then burst out laughing!

   “Oh my god! You’re afraid of being in the car aren’t you?”

   “If one were meant to travel at such speed, one would have developed the power,” he grinds out, eyes still shut.

   “We’re only at one hundred kilometres an hour!” I laugh, “You mean to say that teleportation is fine but a car isn’t?”

   “As I stated, the only modes of transportation with which I am comfortable, are those which I am capable of achieving with my body alone.”

   The car begins to slow down as we take an exit and Asmodeus relaxes a little.

   “Then why didn’t we teleport?”

   “The travel link only exists between the human realm and mine. I cannot flit from one human location to another, only from the demon realm, here and back again.”

   We stop a little while away from the city, at the entrance of a large botanical garden. I’ve been here before, years ago with my family; I remember spraining my ankle after tripping over a tree root on one of the trails. It’s still one of my favourite places though, surrounded by the beauty of nature, tamed though it may be. I follow Asmodeus through the reception building and into the gardens themselves.

   The weather is glorious and it’s unsurprising that the park is packed with visitors; families sitting on picnic blankets, children feeding ducks at the pond, teens tossing frisbees and couples strolling amongst the roses. Asmodeus takes my hand in his and we walk a quieter trail, within the sights of others but out of earshot. I wonder idly why we’re here but my mind is still teeming with questions from the car ride.

   “If you hate cars so much then why didn’t we just travel back and flit here from there?”

   “It is exhausting scattering ones atoms and making them whole again. I would not have the energy for a return trip.”

   “You scattered our atoms?” I breathe in wonder, remembering a feeling of weightlessness for the split second after the cave disappeared.

   “I was granted the ability so that I may visit the human world whenever I so see fit. I remember a time when one could walk between points of interest without the need for chariots. Why in the Great One’s name do humans insist on traversing great distances?”

   “Expansion is a natural part of a developing civilisation. As a population grows, so does the space it inhabits. By your logic, even riding a horse is unnatural and humans have been riding for millennia! Yours is old fashioned thinking,” I admonish.

   A smile spreads on his face and he looks at me with an arrogance which belies his next words.

   “You forget my love, that I am the epitome of old age. I remember a time when humans were yet too young to walk on two legs let alone break a horse. I am over three million years old.”

   I stop in my tracks. Three million?! It is an amount of time that I cannot even begin to fathom. Three thousand is ancient in my view, the times of Achilles and Agamemnon. Then I remember that he said he was born before the first humans and shudder to think of enduring such a lifespan. No wonder he considers a human lifetime ‘but a moment’. To him it would probably seem as if the first car was invented mere seconds ago; after all, what is two and a half centuries when you have lived over three mega annum?

   I suddenly feel extremely small in the grand scheme of things. Not for the first time I find myself wondering whether I have made the right choice. I am so utterly insignificant compared with the immortal who stands beside me, yet here I am, thrust into his enthralling world.

   I can’t believe that-

   “Cease.” His voice is commanding, humour gone. He places his large hands on my shoulders, holding me firmly within his sight. His eyes are hard and flash with annoyance.

   I shoot him a questioning glare.

   “You know what I speak of. I will not have you doubting yourself. Our ages mean nothing. I am no more superior simply because I have lived longer. You should consider yourself fortunate that you have not lived to suffer as long as I have without you.”

   His eyes soften and he combs his fingers through my hair.

   “I love you Selena, now and for all eternity. I wish for you to know this always. You, my young love, you mean more to me than you will ever possibly fathom. I wish to be with you until the end of time. I wish to marry you, not as a ploy to allow you more time with your family, but because I want you bound to me just as surely as I am bound to you. You deserve everything you will ever desire and I intend to begin affording you these desires when we wed tomorrow, in these very gardens. Will you honour me by becoming my bride?”

   He drops to one knee while I stare, stunned, and produces a gorgeous platinum engagement ring. The band curves into a sharp V point at the top and is adorned with a large red diamond. Smaller, black diamonds glitter on either side of the red one, trailing along the V, and the effect is breathtaking.

   My throat closes and I nod mutely as tears drip off my chin. Distantly, I hear cheers and hoots as strangers watch my lover take my hand in his and slip the ring onto the third finger of my left hand. The V points up toward my wrist as if it is an arrowhead enchanted by Eros aimed straight for my heart.

   I pull my lover up and into my arms for a fierce kiss, ignoring the wolf-whistles and cat calls from our audience. It doesn’t matter that we wear unfamiliar faces because I see my King in his ice blue eyes when we break apart.

   He was right of course; ever since he’d offered my parents the wedding invitation, I did think getting married to my demon was just a ploy of his to secure me more time with my loved ones. It had hurt me more than I was willing to admit. Just as I’d felt like I was a breeder to him before, a means to an end, to be used cheaply; I felt that the marriage he had sprung on me earlier was a mere convenience, a way to ensure that I stayed with him. Now I believe that he’d planned this all along and the thought fills me with such love for him that I can’t stand it.

   How will we convince my invited guests to attend though? Now that I know the wedding is not just for show, I am eager for them to be present.

   ‘We will convince them tonight’, he said, and while I have no idea what that could mean, I have faith in my fiancé.

   Continued in Part 8

   Reply

7. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:58 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 8

   We stroll through the gardens, soaking in the light of the setting sun and holding onto each other with utter reverence. I am content beyond words, feeling adored and daydreaming about my wedding. My love assured me that he would take care of everything and I made no protest, curious to see what he has planned for us. My new ring has a deliciously foreign feel to it, hugging the usually barren finger snugly. We head across the road to a quaint little inn as the sky darkens ever more.

   Flowers decorate the cosy reception room, attempting to borrow some of the charm exuded by the gardens. While it fails, it doesn’t do so too considerably. The room certainly possesses a loved quality and promises the same from its suites.

   The desk clerk is old and worn ragged. His clothes are of good taste but look a little shabby. He perks up when we walk toward him, plastering a strained smile on his wrinkled face.

   “Welcome to the Cattleya Inn,” he chirps with false cheer. It’s obvious that he is anything but cheerful, although I hear something else in his voice; pride. “How can I help you today?”

   He’s the owner, he has to be. It explains his forlorn demeanour; old-fashioned keys cover the wall behind him, every holder occupied. Pride alone isn’t enough to keep a business afloat, and business isn’t exactly booming.

   “We require a room,” Asmodeus replies.

   “Of course,” he says, eyeing us wearily when he takes in our appearances. Even though Ash is huge and I’m visibly pregnant, I know how this looks. He thinks we’re both too young to be paying customers. Frankly, I’m with him when it comes to the payment part. I certainly don’t have any money and I doubt Asmodeus keeps a credit card with him. The clerk and I watch expectantly as he reaches into his jacket pocket.

   The owner stares with utter disbelief when Ash pays for our room with a handful of small, clear gemstones. I can barely mask my look of surprise as I register the stones to be uncut diamonds.

   “Uh, we’re not from here,” I say, thickening my already foreign accent, “Our credit cards haven’t been delivered yet and my fiancé comes from a prosperous South African diamond mining family. I’m sure this will cover any expense?”

   I try to keep my voice strong but it becomes lilting and I tend to stutter when I lie. The owner is torn between eyeing us suspiciously and staring greedily at the diamonds. Even to my untrained eye, I, like him, just know they’re real.

   “He doesn’t sound South African,” the man says, “And neither of you look it.”

   He tears his gaze away from the diamonds to stare at us accusingly.

   “And you’re the expert are you? Have you ever been there?” I ask hotly.

   I don’t like arrogant or know-it-all people, especially when they think they know everything about the country of my birth.

   “I didn’t think so,” I say when he doesn’t answer.

   “How do I know these aren’t stolen?”

   At that Asmodeus growls softly next to me and I squeeze his hand in mine.

   “You don’t,” I reply, “You have only our word that they aren’t and if that’s not enough for you then we’ll take our business elsewhere.”

   When I move to retrieve the diamonds, the owner clamps a hand over them and slides them closer toward him.

   “Wait! I’m sure you wouldn’t lie to me. You two don’t look like criminals. Well, you don’t anyway,” he looks at me, and then eyes Asmodeus doubtfully.

   “You can call me Mr. Carrington,” he says, picking out a key from the wall with quaking fingers, before turning back to stare at us with cloudy eyes, “Well, what are you waiting for? Follow me.” I take it back; I think I like this man after all.

   I like him even more when he leads us to his best room. It isn’t the best because of its size or luxury; like the reception building, it has an air about it which makes it feel revered. Every piece of furniture looks lovingly handpicked, chosen for longevity and comfort rather than flashiness or style. No, they were definitely not picked for style. Mismatched couches sit in front of an ancient box-set television with an old fashioned rug thrown on the floor between them for good measure. The head of the bed is pushed against the opposite wall, its duvet and pillows ochre coloured and printed with purple wildflowers. Mr. Carrington opens a door on the left wall and I catch a glimpse of the bathroom. He leaves a basket of miniature bath products on the vanity, having grabbed it from a supply closet as he led us to the room. I can see the corner of a marble hand basin, complete with a brass faucet and I love this room all the more.

   Asmodeus shuts Mr. Carrington out as I take in the wonderful simplicity of the room. It completely lacks the intricacy and dark beauty of Asmodeus’ creations; it’s old, mismatched and maybe a little tacky, but just standing here makes me feel so utterly human. How ironic that we constantly dream of beautiful things until we receive them and begin then to dream of simpler times. I resolve right now to make the most of my visit to the human realm.

   I jump onto the bed and delight at the creak of the ancient springs within the mattress. God, I need to stop using that metaphor. It hardly applies now that I’ve acquired a fiancé as old as the human race. The thought makes me laugh aloud and I bounce again to hear these decade old bedsprings. Asmodeus gives a whole new meaning to the word ancient.

   I stretch out like a sun-bathing cat then curl into myself, snuggling against the deliciously rough cotton of the duvet. The pillow at my head is starchy but smells wonderful. It’s a chemically clean scent, laced with artificial lavender, nothing like the earthy musk permeating everything in Asmodeus’ world.

   But that earthy scent is taking over again, because I’ve brought the source with me. Ash lies on the bed beside me and I breathe in one last lungful of the wonderfully normal lavender soap smell before I turn to face him. I don’t know how to behave around him now, in these unreservedly ordinary surroundings. Here, my lust for him seems like a greasy, filthy thing; with none of the inevitability associated with sex. It’s as if we’ve come out of the safety of darkness and I feel vulnerable, open to scrutiny even behind closed doors. Here, sex is cheap and nasty, something to be hidden. It’s shameful to want it and to enjoy it; it’s unheard of as being good and beautiful.

   It’s strange to look at him while he wears his glamour. He’s still exquisite, though he wears his features in an innocently boyish way. His hair is still pale, strewn across his pillow but it has dulled from polished platinum to a tarnished, faded gold. His eyes though, even under his disguise, I see my King in his eyes. Even so drastically changed, they still burn with the passion of his fire-lit eyes. It’s a frostbitten warmth, slicing yet strangely soothing. These two pairs of eyes say all that’s worth telling about my lover. They show every side of him, this fiery yet passionate demon with his sharp yet gentle nature. They are everything I love about him.

   It’s hard to believe that such an extraordinary being can be hidden beneath a layer of mud. Surely such radiance should shine through, its heat baking the clay until it flakes off and is carried away in the wind. But it holds stubbornly, hiding my King’s terrible beauty behind a handsome façade. I wonder who our baby will look like?

   Will he or she possess my plain features with his unnatural allure? Or his sinister good looks with my raging temper and bull-headedness? Will his skin be brown like mine or a vortex of dark colours like his father’s? Will he have my rich chocolate eyes or Asmodeus’ molten lava pair? I can’t wait to hold this enigma in my arms but the very thought has me absolutely terrified. So, for a little reassurance, I stroke my lover’s face and break our easy silence.

   “You’ve done all this before with Elysia,” I say. It’s a statement, not a question so he waits silently for me to continue, “Why? What will you do with him when he’s born?”

   “The child will be placed here, in the realm of man upon maturity and walk amongst the humans as a living temptation. He will become my link to this world, enticing humans to practice my sin. He will be, like the kin of angels and demons before him, nothing more or less than a choice, a fantasy which the decider may willingly choose. This decision will sway the scales and influence the ultimate fate of the soul. For what is life but an assortment of choices which define the soul making them?”

   “So he’ll be an incubus? Or a succubus if we have a girl?” I ask, breath catching as I pull my hands back. I draw them close to me, suddenly wishing that I hadn’t asked.

   “Yes my love, this will be his purpose.”

   “Purpose? You speak about him as if he’s an appliance not a child. Who are you to decide his purpose?”

   “I am his progenitor and his King. He will do as I command.” His words aren’t hard or cold, they simply are; as if there is no questioning their authority and that makes them all the worse.

   I sit up, anger rising with me and I face his gaze unflinchingly.

   “You will not make a womaniser of my son, or a whore of my daughter.”

   He laughs, sitting up and reaching for me. He rests his hands on my hips and draws closer to me.

   “My warrior Queen, I do not wish to battle with you today. I yield love, spare your King his miserable hide.” His voice is teasing and playful, his false eyes twinkling.

   “Don’t play with me Asmodeus, I’m serious. I don’t care about your desire for a link to the human world. People are lustful enough as it is, they don’t need my children to seduce them. They’ve done well enough without incubi and succubi all this time; they don’t need any help now.”

   His gaze is unwavering and I catch a hard truth in his eyes.

   Of course, how could I have been so stupid, so naive? To think that after three million years, the baby growing within me is only his second son.

   “How many?” I ask, tight-lipped. My gaze has fallen; I find that I can barely stand to look at him now.

   “Does it matter?”

   “Yes.”

   “Are you certain you wish to know?” He pinches my chin gently and lifts my face up to his.

   “Yes,” I say, then, “No. But you’re going to tell me anyway.”

   “I have fathered fifteen thousand sons and thirteen thousand daughters, none living who are trueborn heirs to my throne.”

   My heart thunders so painfully that the unrelenting beat sickens me. This roiling and churning in my gut has the back of my throat constricting. It takes everything I have to keep the nausea contained so that it cannot morph the foul smelling beast it craves to be. The baby kicks me in protest, no doubt disturbed in his slumber by the pounding in my chest. So he isn’t as unique as I thought. Not the only one of his kind, but one of twenty-eight thousand; just another soldier in Asmodeus’ army of offspring.

   “Fuck, Asmodeus!” I shout and jump off the bed. “What the fuck?!”

   I half-run to the bathroom and slam the door behind me. He doesn’t try to stop me or open the door or even speak through it; he just leaves me to digest what I’ve learnt.

   Oh well, I think, I wanted to know.

   I sink to the floor with my back against the door, pulling my knees up as far as my baby allows. The tears flow freely when my anger fades. The tiles are cold under my bum and the door hard against my back. Cold and hard, like this life, no matter where I am.

   As if to belie this observation, my baby’s growing pains kick into gear while I lean against the door. I moan quietly, cursing whatever deity is responsible for my misery. The pain seems less severe than I’ve previously experienced though, and for that at least, I am grateful. I am able to keep from throwing up or crying out and even when Asmodeus knocks softly on the door, I am strong enough to turn him away without screaming. He withdraws when he finally realises that I want to suffer alone.

   * * * * *
   When I emerge from the bathroom, tear-streaked and sweat-soaked, I’m itching to run back in. If the dread I feel at the thought of seeing my baby’s father isn’t enough of a reason to lock myself in again; then certainly my neglected body is. Sitting on the hard floor and crying for hours hardly does wonders in the personal hygiene department. I push aside my revulsion for the moment though and take a deep breath, squeezing my eyelids shut. When I release the air slowly and open my eyes, Asmodeus is standing a foot away from me.

   When I look up at him I feel my face crumple again. These damned tears that I thought I’d quashed spill free once more and my throat closes. I can’t find the words; I forget everything I wanted to say, every word that I’d rehearsed in my mind after my heartbroken tears had dried up. God, how he’s changed me. Loud-mouthed Selena, always so quick to talk back is finally rendered speechless.

   He wraps me up into a tight embrace and it is so unbelievably comforting that I cry harder, squeezing back as hard as I can. I love the way he makes me feel about myself and as much as he’s hurt me, I can’t stay mad at him. I can’t push him away from me anymore. I can’t pick a fight even where it exists because hurting him hurts me more than anything he could possibly reveal. So what if he’s got a fuck tonne of kids? He’s as old as humanity itself, so I can’t fault him, not really. I could drag this out until the cows come home and whine until my throat is raw but it wouldn’t change anything. He would still have an army of children and I would still love him. Because this is the only reality I care about and if I’m being honest with myself – truly honest – I can say this with absolute certainty. I admit it to myself, finally, finally. My stomach shrivels at the thought of losing him and my heart pounds; this must be love. I don’t think I realised how much he means to me – even when I decided to stay – until just now.

   Only now, after words of betrayal and farewell stick in my throat, I admit that I love him. Of course I can’t say goodbye; how was I ever foolish enough to think that I could intentionally walk away? All this time I had taken his company for granted because I refused to take responsibility for my situation. It was always his fault that I was with him, his will that I stayed and his magnetism that kept me. Even when I decided to stay, it was for me, so that I could be free – or so I told myself. In my selfishness, I couldn’t see just how much I cared for him. I was able to lie so thoroughly to myself that I was actually convinced I didn’t love him; that I’d stayed because of the baby and my freedom only.

   “I love you,” I whisper as soon as my throat clears a little. My voice is breathless; the words, escaping ghosts.

   I pull back, dragging a forearm across my face, my other hand gripping his shirt desperately. His eyes are glassy and the look he gives me as he reaches out to stroke my hair makes my heart sing.

   “I love you, My King,” I repeat, my voice stronger, “I give up; I don’t want to fight you anymore. I am yours.”

   “As I am yours Selena,” he replies, dipping his head and pulling me close for a kiss.

   My lips taste his hungrily and I am animal, starving for him. One hand curls around the nape of his neck and the other claws at his back. The kiss is deep and desperate; I want to show him my love for him. I press my lips so firmly against his that my teeth ache but still I want more. What is it about kisses that are so enchanting? How is it that the simple act of mouths colliding and moving together can convey so much? My eyes are pressed together so tightly that every other sense is magnified. I savour them all; the taste of him, the smell and feel of him. Even the sound of our frenzied breathing and the wet smack of our lips summons a moan from me. Asmodeus picks me up and when we finally break contact he carries me to our lavender-scented bed.

   “No,” I wriggle in his arms and he stops.

   I lean into him, as if to tell him a deep, dark secret. Planting a trail of kisses along his neck, I whisper into his ear.

   “I need a shower.”

   The last word morphs into a snort and suddenly we’re both laughing. The laughter to humour ratio is significantly unbalanced, yet we laugh as if we’d just heard the world’s funniest joke. When you’re with someone you love, I realise; you can truly laugh about anything. The only other person I’ve experienced this with was my sister. The thought of her is sobering and I look to my lover pleadingly.

   “How will we convince my family to come tomorrow?” I ask, “I need them there Asmodeus.”

   “Patience love, we will convince them tonight; as I promised. First, your bath,” he replies, aiming a beautiful half-smile at me and carrying me to the bathroom.

   My eyes itch from my earlier tears and I rub at them relentlessly when Asmodeus sets me down. When he pulls my hands away gently, I catch my reflection in the huge wall mirror and gasp in horror. My face is a mottled mess, unnaturally hued. The cream coloured mask of my new face has been partially smeared away, revealing my true complexion beneath. Streaks of freckled, brown skin are visible in the tear stains and the areas surrounding my eyes. One iris is still green while the other has reverted to my natural dark brown. Accenting it all are flaming cheeks and flecks of black hair peppered through my borrowed tawny mane. Needless to say, my disguise has failed.

   “What happened?!” I ask, mortified.

   I can’t take my eyes off the spectacle in the mirror. I look like an unfinished painting of a demented panda.

   “The clay dissolves with salt,” he explains, as if that answers everything.

   Salt? Touching my face, I trace a stripe of dark skin which runs from the corner of my eye down to my lip.

   Right. Tears.

   “What are we going to do? Did you bring more clay? I can’t get married like this!”

   “Be calm, Selena. Of course I will acquire more clay before tomorrow. For now, a salt bath will remove the remaining clay.”

   “And where are we going to get the salt for this bath? We can’t exactly take a walk to the corner shop and pay for a container full with a diamond now, can we?”

   “That will not be necessary, Selena. The good Mr. Carrington has provided for us already,” he says, plucking up a small mesh bag of pink bath salts from our complimentary basket of toiletries.

   It isn’t long before I’ve filled up the porcelain tub with steaming water and dumped the crystals in unceremoniously. I swill them around a little, watching them shrink as the water eats away at them. They reek of roses, the scent thickening the weight of the humid atmosphere of the bathroom. Moisture clings to me and I am relieved to strip off my stifling clothes. I slip into the tub and groan in utter bliss as the heat envelops my body. The dissolving salt is silken against my skin and I slide my hands up my legs, loving the luxurious feel of it. Asmodeus watches me approvingly, tossing me a small sponge. I catch it gratefully and use it to wash away the peaches and cream coloured skin of my disguise. I slide further into the tub and submerge my head, scrubbing at my face with the sponge and running my fingers through my hair. When I emerge, I find that Asmodeus has stripped down and is walking towards the tub. Certainly the thing is big enough – just barely – to fit us both, and I want to have him in here just as surely as he wants to jump in, but I stop him nonetheless, placing a hand firmly against his chest.

   “Wait,” I say, “One of us has to keep up our disguise. What if we need to interact with Mr Carrington again? I can’t exactly tell him that I’ve dyed my hair and worked on my tan since he last saw us.”

   My hand leaves a dark print on his skin where the salt removes the clay of his disguise. I like the thought of leaving a mark on my King, a symbol of my claim over him. The mark is only temporary of course, and will disappear when he eventually washes his disguise away, but my handprint is rendered faithfully out of his real skin, almost as if it is physical evidence of our connection.

   For once, he listens to me and with a heavy sigh, steps away from the tub. He doesn’t replace his clothing however; he just leans against the vanity in all his masculine glory and watches me bathe. I want to relax and lie in the tub for a while longer but I find that I cannot while he stands there. My cheeks heat under his gaze and I redouble my efforts to get out quickly. I’m not uncomfortable per se, just so conscious of his all encompassing presence in the small heated room. I wonder, vaguely, if conversation would make this better or worse. Asmodeus does not throw words around haphazardly; he means everything he says. He seems to understand the power in words – their indelible nature – and he chooses them wisely. As a person who has always said spoken her mind, often regardless of the consequences, I find the change as unsettlingly beautiful as an exotic animal. And, for a woman who usually talks a lot, I find that the silences between us tend to be surprisingly lovely.

   The salt water bath was just what I needed; my skin is so clean it tingles and I’m pleasantly sleepy. It feels great be myself again, though strange also, with the alabaster-skinned stranger in bed beside me. I’ve never been with this disguised Asmodeus in my own skin before. It’s almost as if he’s still playing dress-up where I have taken off my own costume. His heat radiates through me from the point where his arm rests against mine, reminding me where his mask conceals that he is still my Demon King. I roll onto my side to face him and smile at how relaxed he is. In a way it’s also as if he has become his disguise, and will own the personality to match for however long he wears it.

   “You know, most couples wouldn’t do this,” I tell him.

   “Do what, Selena?”

   I love the absolute attention he gives me; hanging on every word, no matter how mundane.

   “Be together the night before their wedding,” I reply, running a hand down his beautifully sculpted body, “Its bad luck, you know.”

   “We are not most couples,” he chuckles, gripping my thigh possessively.

   “No we’re not,” I agree, my heart pounding yet again. God, he is so fucking sexy.

   “What should a bride do on the night before her wedding?” he asks, his voice light and teasing.

   “Fret about her big day and sleep alone,” I say and regret it instantly. “But I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

   “As am I, my love. I would never be so foolish as to leave your side for the sake of human superstition.”

   “Good,” I reply as I snuggle closer to him and close my eyes, “Because I want you to keep me warm tonight… After you show me exactly how you intend on convincing my family and friends to show up tomorrow.”

   “You must sleep, it is late.”

   He smiles, kissing my forehead like I’m a child he is saying goodnight to and I want to punch him. As soon as he tells me to sleep, I find that I cannot. It is late though; the full moon shines bright outside, her light slicing through a gap between the curtains of a large window adjacent to the bed. I’m not sleepy anymore; I want to rip the curtains down and bathe in that light. I want to dance naked under the silvery eye of the beautiful goddess I was named after. I’m too wired to simply sleep, yet Asmodeus suggests it as if it is the simplest thing in the world.

   “You never answered my question,” I say, sitting up. I won’t sleep just because he tells me to and I can’t sleep before he explains how he’s going to convince my family to attend the wedding. I’m assuming it involves some sort of demonic compulsion, but without a definite answer, I know my musings will just drive me crazy.

   “I believe I just have,” he replies factually.

   “Wait, what? No you didn’t!” I say, punching him lightly on the arm.

   He laughs at that but says nothing. I know he’s waiting for me to figure it out for myself.

   “All you said was that I need to sleep –” I start, then groan, “Shit, do I have to be asleep for this master plan of yours to work?”

   “Yes.”

   “Fuck! I wanted to be a part of it.”

   I want to be the one to convince them; I want them to want to come for me and not because Asmodeus has coerced them. I don’t know how I would have pulled that off, but it’s what I want.

   “Oh, you will Selena. Your involvement is essential.”

   My heart jumps with excitement.

   “How?” I ask, bouncing on my knees a little. The bed springs groan in protest and Asmodeus watches me with amusement lightening his features. He sits up and pulls close to me, meeting my gaze.

   “Through their dreams, my love. We will speak to them while they sleep.”

   I’m speechless for a moment; staring at the breathtaking sight which fills my entire field of vision. He looks so normal but the gift he offers is nothing short of extraordinary and his beautiful eyes are so sincere, so selfless that I feel unworthy of their intensity. In this moment, I truly believe that he is incapable of being evil. Cruel? Maybe. Passionate? Definitely. But never evil. His expression is so utterly unique that I know I will never see it in another human; we’re all just too selfish. I look away and release a shaky laugh.

   “Well why didn’t you say so?” My voice wavers a little, but I keep my composure, “Let’s do this.”

   I lay down again, squeezing my eyes shut.

   I take a deep breath and dive into the darkness behind my eyelids, willing the images I find there into dreams. But they remain shadows and my eyes flicker restlessly as an uncomfortable weight presses against them. I’m clearly not sleepy; this is the problem. I find the very effort it takes to attempt sleep is what has me subconsciously scowling. This isn’t working. I open my eyes and turn towards Asmodeus, unsurprised to find him watching me.

   “Sleep, Selena,” he says, stroking my hair.

   “I can’t,” I whine back, leaning into his touch with a heavy sigh.

   He moves his hand from my hair onto my face and brushes my lids closed. With my vision darkened, my other senses become hyper aware of him again. My heart races as I feel the heat of his skin against mine and hear his soft breathing. This is definitely not conducive to a quick sleep.

   “Breathe deep, my love,” he instructs, placing a hand over my heart as if willing it to stop racing.

   His touch is electrifying but his voice is wonderfully relaxing. I could quite happily drown under that voice. He uses it to tell me a story.

   “I have gone by uncountable names over the span of my life and taken innumerable shapes. I have been both male and female; a slave to the beliefs of humans.”

   More than a little shocked at that, I open my eyes and mouth to ask him the first question that springs to my lips.

   “Close your eyes.”

   I do, saying nothing and willing the tension out of my shoulders with the release of a long-held breath.

   “The beliefs of the many often over-shadow the beliefs of the few. The power of the human collective truly is a remarkable thing. The immortals shift and change according to whims of humans. We become anything they need us to be, reflecting their virtues and desires through forms of their choosing. Early humans gave me no name, but worshipped me in forms which changed over time. I have been men, women, animals and a multitude of shapes which combined the three. Hinduism gave me my first name, Kamadeva, at the dawn of what is known as the Kali Yuga. After the rise of Egyptian culture, I became known as Bes. The Chinese called me Baimei Shen, the Aztec named me Xochiphilli and the Nords named me Freyr. When Christianity rose following the fall of the Roman Empire, I became as I am now. Almost all my shapes have been the most widely recognised sex deities of the time.”

   My eyes are heavy and my brain is foggy but that doesn’t mean I’ve failed to notice his deliberate exclusion of one very relevant culture. I know Elysia is Greek and that the culture was far too prominent to hold no sway over Asmodeus’ given shape.

   “Which Greek god were you?” I whisper, my eyes still shut under the weight of my eminent sleep. How quickly his voice has relaxed me.

   “Hush,” he rumbles, “I was getting to that.”

   “Hmm…” I moan in agreement, too sleepy to voice my approval. I fight to stay awake and listen to his story, but Gods help me I can feel myself slipping. I focus long enough to realise that he has already started speaking.

   “- Dionysus or Bacchus, with a cult of female followers. I was betrothed to a mortal named Ariadne, who was the daughter of a sadistic king. He wished to sacrifice her to a monster conceived by his own wife. Ariadne aided a hero in his quest to slay the beast but was abandoned by him once he had used her to win his crown. Betrayed by the man she loved, I found her weeping his loss and granted her immortality. Had I known then that I would be creating my own nemesis, perhaps I would have walked another path. Truly, I cannot blame her, for she is what I turned her into. A woman scorned twice is a forced to be reckoned with. When I left her for Elysia, her contempt for me festered. She became a creature of hatred – the first demoness. She killed you and in the centuries that I suffered, Roman religion gave me another attribute, naming me Penthos the mournful and her Poena the punisher. It took her centuries to find our son Pan, as he was known, at which time religion was changing again. The Hebrews called her Lilith, the night witch, and she destroyed not only Pan but all worship of him too. Christian beliefs provided me with this powerful frame and my wrath was too great to behold.”

   Hearing the pain and anger warring in his voice, I open my eyes again – sleep be damned – and attempt to comfort my lover. I rub a palm down his heaving chest but his disquiet only seems to intensify. The rooms melts away until he is all I see and yet, it is not my demon king who remains within my embrace. An achingly beautiful woman lies in his place, pale and luminescent as a full moon. Her hair is bronze, glinting under an unknown light source. Delicate filigree tattoos colour her skin, the ink golden. Her skin shifts just as Asmodeus’ does, although only between white and grey. Her eyes are closed in a peaceful sleep and I can’t help thinking that she must be an angel. That is, until she opens her eyes.

   They are the colour of deepest space, a purple black so cold that their stare cuts right through me. The power of her empty eyes is so horrific that it seems to steal the very air from my lungs. I gasp for a breath, only to realise that this terrible angel has wrapped her elegant fingers around my neck. I claw at her face desperately, ripping my fingernails against her unyielding skin and all the while she laughs a sound which reminds me ravens screaming. To no avail, I will my power to save me. I am prey to her, nothing more than carrion and she will devour my body once my spirit flees.

   “No!” I hear the roar, “You will not take her again!”

   All at once, the creature choking me disappears in a curl of silver smoke. Suddenly able to breathe again, my body launches off the bed. I inhale a huge lungful of my attacker’s strange essence and almost choke on it. Asmodeus is at my side a second later and holds me as I wheeze in breath after agonising breath. He wears his own skin here, portrayed in this dream as he truly is.

   “I am sorry, my Selena,” Asmodeus croaks, remorse dragging his voice down, “This is my doing. I should have cleared my mind before you succumbed to sleep.”

   “I’m asleep?” I rasp, when my lungs allow voice.

   “You have entered my dreams, a dangerous place while she lurks here. I was foolish to bring you.”

   “Lilith?” I whisper, afraid that saying her name out loud will summon her once more, “She’s alive?”

   “Only here,” he growls, face darkening as he taps his temple, “She is two millennia dead and yet still she plagues my existence.”

   “She’s so… strong,” I say, shuddering as the remnant of her hold closes my throat once more, “She couldn’t really kill me here, could she?”

   “In a dream she has the power to crush your spirit so completely that you would sleep until your body dies. She has strengthened with my fears. Now that I have you, my darkest fear is that you will be taken from me,” he says, and his face sets with grim determination, “She will not have you this time.”

   Wordlessly, I embrace my love, both needing to comfort him and be comforted. I hold him so tight it hurts as he encompasses me within his strong arms. I feel so safe here, as if I am protected from everything, even the dream witch who just tried to kill me. Even she cannot harm me here.

   When we break apart, I reach for his hand as I take in our dreamscape. As if to reflect his mood, Asmodeus’ dream is dark and hostile. It’s not hard to imagine Lilith lurking in the shadows, just waiting for her chance to pull me into oblivion. A smoky mist swirls at our feet as Asmodeus leads me to an unseen destination. When he looks back at me, his red eyes seem to spark in the darkness and his silver hair looks like a crown of glory atop his head. He looks like he belongs here and now that I think about it, I suppose he does. He is a mythical creature walking through the land of dreams.

   Following directions only he can see, my lover stops walking and pulls me to his side. We stand at the edge of a precipice; the seemingly endless expanse stretched before us is made even more treacherous by the sheer drop which precedes it. The mist which fills it isn’t dark like the vapour surrounding us but silver with thousands of throbbing, weaving threads of gold floating within. It is mesmerising to watch and I am captivated so thoroughly that it seems as if the gold threads are swimming behind my eyes.

   A sudden heart-stopping jerk brings me back to reality – well, this dream reality anyway. Asmodeus pulls hard on my shoulders and crushes me against his chest protectively. Before I can protest, some earth gives way beneath my feet and I realise how close I came to falling. So hypnotised was I by the golden threads that I almost walked off a cliff.

   “That is twice now I have endangered you. We must leave.”

   His voice his firm and his expression resolved but I’m not leaving without a fight.

   “No! You promised me that I could help convince my family. I’m staying until I do that.”

   “Selena…” he groans, disapprovingly.

   “I’m staying. We can hurry this up and get out of here or we can spend even more time arguing,” I smile a little and turn to face him, “Who knows what kind of trouble I’ll get into if we waste any more time?”

   He snorts a laugh and takes my hand in his, kissing the palm and lacing our fingers together.

   “You can be very persuasive,” he grumbles.

   “It’s a gift,” I reply, as we walk together to the edge of the cliff.

   “Alright,” I say, “What are we looking at?”

   “Human dreams,” he answers, reaching into the abyss with a clawed hand and summoning a golden thread to us.

   As it grows closer, it expands until it resembles thick rope. Each weave of the rope hums with energy and I watch with utter fascination as images dart through them, like little surges of electricity through copper wire. Asmodeus catches the rope as it comes closer still and inspects it.

   “A female, who goes by the name Layla dreams of her life before the one she now leads.” He explains, his eyes still scrutinising the threads. He draws the rope even closer still and with his power he separates the threads into individual strands and expands the images coursing through them.

   “This,” he observes, expanding the silently laughing image of a handsome dark skinned man from the woman’s dream, “Is Mark, Layla’s former lover and mentor. It has been decades since Mark has laughed with her like this; I feel her longing for this ease between them to return.”

   Underneath this golden thread, a bronze thread writhes violently and wraps itself around Layla’s sweet dream, infecting it with fear. In this nightmare, Mark turns into a monster who hunts a woman with an innocence about her which says that she is only just old enough to be considered a woman. With ebony hair and chocolate eyes, she looks a lot like me. The creature Mark catches her, holding her tight in his arms and for a moment it seems that she forgets what he is. Then he presses his lips to her throat as if to kiss her and I hear a lush tearing, followed by Layla’s gurgled scream. Her blood flows thick and fast, spilling past the corners of Mark’s dark lips. Layla meanwhile, loses the vibrancy in her warm brown skin until it turns ashen and her eyelids flutter shut. I watch in horror, wanting to comfort this stranger so like me, seduced by an otherworldly creature. Lucky for her though, this nightmare is just that and will be banished the moment she wakes up.

   The nightmare changes as another bronze thread consumes the previous one and plays out a new heartbreaking scene. Layla, now hard and pale with none of her innocence still intact, looks over a graveyard under the shade of an old marble catacomb entrance. Below her, a large family buries their loved one.

   “The coffin is empty,” Asmodeus says, “Layla is witnessing her own funeral.”

   “What a strange dream,” I whisper, too fascinated to look away.

   “Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at a devastated young woman, whose grief is so great that she sinks to her knees before Layla’s empty coffin and dissolves into a flood of tears.

   “Her twin sister,” he replies, “Her name is Sandra.”

   “Layla and Sandra?” I ask, confused. The names strike a chord with me, but I can’t find the elusive revelation they will surely bring. I’m pretty sure I don’t know any Laylas and the only Sandra I know is my grandmoth-

   “Holy shit!” I exclaim, as realisation dawns on me.

   “You may know the surviving sister as Sandra Ma, who lost her twin Layla when they were eighteen. Layla and Sandra were their simple names, they were born Laghima and-”

   “Singaramal,” I gasp, astounded by the possibility that I am visiting the strange dreams of my long dead great aunt.

   “Wait,” I whisper, heart pounding, “How are we even seeing her dreams? She’s dead.”

   “She is very much alive Selena.”

   “What?! No way! This is incredible!” I shout, eyes darting through the threads of my supposedly long lost relative, “What happened to her?! How’d she disappear and why hasn’t she returned if she’s still alive? She’s what, seventy-two now?”

   “Indeed she is, Selena. But she cannot return to her family.”

   “Why not?”

   “She is an immortal, my love. The body you see in her dream is the one she still possesses.”

   “Wait, what?” I ask, struggling to process revelation after stunning revelation.

   “Arkamun, born three millennia before your grandmother, began using the name Markus after the rise of Christianity. He posed as a farm hand when your grandmother was a teenager and fell in love with her sister. Layla joined him and was never again seen by her family. He turned her into what she is now.”

   “A vampire?” I can’t believe that I’m actually expecting confirmation for such a ridiculous question.

   “Yes.”

   “And how is it that he is what he is?”

   “Pan inadvertently created him, gifting his lineage to a mortal woman who would birth the first vampire.”

   “Wait, wait, wait,” I gasp, “So you’re telling me that your grandchild with Elysia, through Pan was the very first vampire?”

   “Yes. The child was named Lamia and she was the first of her kind. All modern vampires are descended from her blood.”

   “And yours,” I say.

   “And mine,” he agrees, “In a sense, they are also my children.”

   As he says this, he caresses the threads which haunt my great aunt’s sleep. As his fingers trail along the bronze coloured vibrations, the dream shifts to a moment between Layla and my grandmother when one was still mortal and both still young. The thread turns gold again as Layla revels in this dream memory.

   “You helped her,” I whisper, “Thank you.”

   “As I have told you love, I feel as if all vampires are my kin. She has suffered far too much in the waking world to be troubled by her dreams.”

   “Is this what you do when you’re sleeping?” I ask, my heart warming to him ever further.

   “I influence dreams, yes. Mostly for the benefit of my sin but occasionally,” he smirks, “For the good of others.”

   “Of course,” I drawl, rolling my eyes, at least he didn’t lie.

   “Where is she?” I ask, now burning with the desire to see my long lost relative.

   “She wanders the world, seeking spiritual salvation for what she has become. She observes her sister’s descendants however; undoubtedly she has looked in on your father and all his kin. Surely she knows you are gone.”

   “Yeah,” I whisper, heartbroken by the finality of the word ‘gone’.

   But that’s exactly how my family would see it. I’m gone. Never to be seen again. Something Layla’s family would have realised when she disappeared. My poor grandmother; losing a sister and granddaughter the same way twice in one lifetime. We’ve broken her heart, Layla and I, for the love of monsters.

   “Let’s find my dad’s dream then,” I say, trying to clear the thickness growing in my throat.

   Thankfully, Asmodeus sees the shift in my mood and immediately obliges. He gently flicks Layla’s dream back into the abyss and with the same hand, summons another golden rope of sub consciousness. This one is corrupt though, infected with bronze strands so dark they look black.

   My father’s nightmares.

   I sigh, apprehension flooding through me. The last thing I want to do is watch the horror which disturbs my dad’s sleep. But seeing the choking hold of the bronze-black strands smothering what should be peaceful dreams is more than enough to strengthen my resolve. I lace my fingers with Asmodeus’ and say, “Let’s do this.”

   Wordlessly, he draws a darkened thread closer and expands it. I see an image of my father searching frantically for something, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. Asmodeus expands the strand until it becomes a doorway of sorts, made of light, with the now full sized image of my dad pacing restlessly within its depths. Asmodeus directs his hand, palm up at the portal in an ‘after you’ gesture. Taking a deep breath, I walk into a foreign nightmare.

   To be continued…

   Reply

8. eroticstories says

   July 27, 2017 at 11:59 pm

   2017 sex stories: Asmodeus – Demon of Lust – Chap 9

   My father’s dream envelops me like a tomb, it’s darkness oppressing and tightening around my shoulders. This is what he feels, I realise, as I watch him pace. His footsteps pound in my ears; they are deafening in the darkness. I hear his desperation as he calls out my name and feel his frustration when I do not answer.

   Choking on his pain, my throat closes against my tears. I want so desperately to run into his arms and assure him of my safety, but Asmodeus holds me to his side.

   “Wait,” he says, “we must ease is path to you. He will not believe you are as you say you are.”

   “Why not?” I croak, the corners of my eyes pricking.

   Asmodeus looks down at me, his face displaying a profound sadness.

   “He dreams of you every night, my sweet. Every night, you return to him only to disappear when he wakes. He is beginning to lose hope.”

   “No!” I gasp, face crumpling in anguish.

   I want my family to move on, to live their lives without me, not to mourn me so sickeningly. The reality is heart-wrenching. My knees buckle under the weight of mine and my father’s pain.

   Asmodeus steadies me, holding me as I attempt to regulate my breathing. I dig my nails into his biceps, letting him hold me tight as I fight off a panic attack. All the while, my father continues his frantic calls. Every echo of his voice is a knife in my heart.

   “Calm yourself, my love. You may go to him when you are in control of your emotions.”

   Still clinging to my lover, I draw in one shuddering deep breath after another, letting the air fill my lungs completely and feeling my heart slow its frantic thumping. It takes every iota of focus I possess to relax my screaming muscles. I shut out my father’s calls and completely release one final breath. My tears dry as I do so and I look up to see Asmodeus watching me approvingly.

   “Yes,” he says, “Very good.”

   “Now what?” I ask, voice shaking slightly.

   “Now you turn that focus of yours into energy and will your appearance to change. Become Rowan again and speak to your father as her. Convince him.”

   I don’t question him. For once, I let him direct me completely, without hesitation, following every instruction to the letter. I try to wrap my head around the power of will. I’d always believed it to be a powerful thing; a practice which could help the willing achieve anything they put their mind to. Listening to Asmodeus’ stories and learning that his shape – along with that of all the immortals – is directly influenced by nothing but the will of the human collective, gives me a boost of confidence.

   I close my eyes and focus everything I have, everything I am, into becoming a stranger again. I picture the pigment in my skin bleaching, like a shirt left too long in the sun. I focus on lightening my hair and eyes, picturing hay-bales and emeralds replacing black silk and dark coffee. I demonstrate the sheer power of my will, the near tangible thing which makes me strong. The rush of adrenaline I feel when my skin prickles with the change, brings with it a giddy pride. I open my eyes to find Asmodeus beaming me a devastating smile and for once, I feel worthy of him. I am strong, a fitting Queen to his all powerful King.

   He tilts his head towards my father and I step forward without hesitation. This realisation that I am stronger than I thought has me eager to face my challenges head on, like a patriotic soldier, absolutely positive she is fighting for a just cause. I will win, not just for me but for my family too. I owe them a chance to say goodbye.

   “Lena!” My father’s voice cracks as he calls out for me, yet again. “Where are you, my baby?”

   That question is quiet, broken, and a prickling of fear races up my spine. He’s about to give up, I realise.

   “Mr Sastri!” I call, but he does not hear me.

   “Mr Sastri!” His eyes rove his dreamscape hungrily, wild and desperate, seeing everything except me.

   “Dad!” I scream and finally he whips around, that magic word speaking to his damaged heart. He looks past me, eager for a glimpse of his precious daughter and is shattered to realise that she isn’t hiding behind the vaguely familiar white girl. I watch his face crumple and his body visibly deflate, shoulders hunched and head hung.

   “Not her,” he mumbles, “Not my Selena.”

   My heart aches as I rush toward him, lifting his face with my palms.

   “It is me, dad, I’m right here”.

   “Not her,” he whispers.

   “Yes, I am Selena.”

   “Not her,” he asserts, louder this time, “Not her. Not her, not her, NOT HER!”

   He’s shaking his head now, palms clamped over his ears and eyes squeezed shut. The audacity of me, he must be thinking, pretending to be his lost child.

   I will my appearance to change again, back into my real face before saying, “It’s me, dad, look.”

   His fury boils over and he screams, “You ARE NOT my daughter!”

   His eyes snap open and he looks murderous until he registers my face. Immediately, his own softens and he crushes me to his chest, his body shaking as he cries silently into my neck.

   “Oh, Selena!” He sobs, “Don’t leave me again.”

   I feel like my chest is going to explode and my throat close forever. My immovable rock of a father, stoic and always so strong, is absolutely shattered and it’s entirely my fault. I’ve never, ever seen him cry, not once and now here he is, broken down so completely. Every time I try to pull away, he holds me tighter until we’ve been clinging to each other for longer than I know. When he finally releases me, I am dizzy from his hold but he steadies me with heavy hands on my shoulders.

   “Where have you been, babe?”

   “I’m close,” I tell him, “closer than you think.”

   “But where?!” He whines, desperate to know.

   “I’m here,” I reply and let my skin shift again so that Rowan completes the sentence.

   His face twitches with momentary disbelief which morphs into an easy acceptance. Dreams aren’t really supposed to make sense, after all. I keep switching faces as I stand before him, proving that it really is me by reminiscing with him. In his heart he knows who I am so it doesn’t matter what I look like. I do it until I sense him watching Rowan with the same warmth he reserves for me and then I turn to say goodbye.

   His face falls from the smile I took so long to coax out of him.

   “You’re leaving me again,” he mumbles, squeezing my hands.

   “I’ll always be with you,” I reply, “Will you come to my wedding?”

   “Wedding,” he blinks, suddenly realising that he is speaking to Rowan, “Wedding, yes. I’ll be there.”

   I switch my face back and whisper, “Thank you, Daddy. I love you.”

   I kiss his cheek while he wears a dazed expression and register the tiniest shift in our surroundings as I step back. More quickly after that, the landscape fades away as my father focuses on something new. We’re in our old living room in South Africa, standing on a course grey carpet, suddenly enclosed by painted brick. A rifle hangs on a plaque, mounted on the wall beside me. The front door is at my back, the protective bars clanging as my father walks toward the entrance of the hallway. He nearly trips over a little girl, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tears streaming down her face. Her hair is long and spider-web fine, matted and knotted from burying her head in her arms.

   It’s me, when I was younger, maybe five or six. I remember a scene I hadn’t known I’d forgotten, of waiting for my father to come home from work. I remember now, pacing at the door, watching the hands of the wall clock speed carelessly by as I agonised over his arrival. One minute later than the time I’d expected him to be in and the tears would start as I’d imagine the worst.

   My mother, poor thing, I can’t have helped. She knew the risks my father took with his job, policing a town situated in a very violent country. It’s not like she wasn’t worried too, but to her credit, she saw that she needed to mask her own in order to ease mine.

   Not that it helped much.

   When I’d see him walk through the door I’d leap to my feet and squeeze him in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. In this particular memory of his, he scoops little me up and gives her a hug.

   “What’s wrong, baby?” He asks, gentle and sweet.

   “I was s-scared,” she hiccups, eyes red and nose running.

   “Scared of what?”

   “That you weren’t c-coming home,” she sobs, needing another soothing hug.

   “Shh, it’s okay, I’m home now,” he pulls back and says, “I love you and I’m not going to leave you, okay?”

   Silently, her little head moves in a couple of quick nods, mouth still pulled into a dimply frown.

   “Enough now,” he admonishes, suddenly the tough as old boots detective inspector whom everyone knew him as, “No more crying.”

   I chuckle as he leads her down the hall where I know he’ll tuck her into bed with her sister. I turn away and walk out the door.

   *****

   I visit Rochelle at school; she is dreaming of a time when we were younger, in our final year of high school. We’d known of each other then, of course, our school wasn’t very big, both in physical size and population. It wasn’t until university though, that we really hit it off and of course, by then we’d lamented the fact that we were both too stuck up our own asses to really take notice of how well we would have gotten along back then. Oh well, I’d told her, better late than never.

   Rochelle is someone who is so absolutely decent that I was actually suspicious of her as I got to know her. From my experiences, I’d discovered that people were rarely who they seemed to be. Naturally, with this somewhat bleak assessment of human beings colouring my attitude towards them, I kept my distance from Roch at first, reluctant to share any vulnerable part of myself with someone who seemed too perfect to actually exist. Months passed into our budding friendship and Rochelle’s charm chipped away at my reservations until I couldn’t help but trust her completely. Virtuous without being preachy, hard-working but fun, and intelligent but quirky, Rochelle has been one of my best friends for two years now and I love her like a sister.

   It doesn’t take much to convince her to attend my wedding. We sit together on a bench, wearing the maroon jumpers, powder blue shirts and navy skirts of our school uniform. We lean into each other and tears stream down her face.

   “I miss you,” she says quietly, linking my arm in hers.

   “Me too, sweetheart,” I reply, “Don’t cry; you’ll see me tomorrow.”

   She nods her head, okay, and I envelop her tiny body in a deep hug, face buried in her long, wavy black tresses, before rising and stepping forward. I visualise Bailey next and am faced with large, white double doors, which I recognise as the entrance to her parents’ house. Taking a deep breath, I open a door and walk through.

   Bailey is sitting cross-legged on the family room floor, bucket of kettle corn in her lap, re-watching Ocean’s Eleven. A younger version of me sits on the couch she leans against, looking content to be in the company of her oldest friend.

   I met Bailey when we were ten. I’d just arrived from South Africa and was attending middle school in an unfamiliar country. Fresh off the plane, my skin was very dark and my accent very pronounced. I stuck out like a sore thumb, unfamiliar with the local culture and unpopular due to my lack of confidence. Having come from a community back home where you got mercilessly teased for being overweight, I had developed somewhat of a low self-esteem. I was afraid to talk to people, feeling unworthy of them because of my size and colour. The other brown skinned girl in my class was of course, Bailey.

   Upon finding out that she was also born in South Africa, I latched onto the one thing we both had in common with the hope that we would become fast friends. I was soon to find out though, that unlike Rochelle, Bailey wasn’t all that perfect. Petty at times, she held grudges and was far too opinionated for her own good. She thought she was better than me at first, incensed that I’d even suggested we were anything alike. The more I tried to cling to her, the more she grew to dislike me until finally, by some miracle I realised that I deserved better than an unwilling companion.

   As I withdrew, Bailey was able to see me for who I was and I was able to construct my own identity, fragile though it was. Before, in South Africa, I had been held up on the social ladder by my siblings, who were always far more popular than I was. I’d been convinced that my size was the reason; and how could I not be? Children were cruel and adults unintentionally harsh about my weight. I’d grown up believing that I was too fat to be desirable in any way and was pleasantly surprised when popularity found me in my first year at high school. Bailey and I had been friends ever since.

   She definitely wasn’t perfect and I loved her for it. And while we’d had a rocky start to our friendship, I now had no doubt that she would do anything for me and I, her.

   “Bee,” I call, trying to snap her attention away from her dream television.

   “Hmm?” She answers, still totally absorbed by a movie that she’s seen at least half a dozen times before.

   “Bee, it’s me.”

   She turns to look at me and I watch her face crack with pain. Wordlessly, she hugs me and I feel sobs rack her body.

   “Shh,” I soothe, stroking her beautiful, wavy hair.

   “It’s not fair,” she whimpers, “How could you be gone? How could anyone hurt you. You don’t deserve that; you’re the loveliest person I know.”

   “It’s okay,” I whisper, “I’m still here.”

   And I tell her exactly when she’ll have a chance to see me again.

   ******

   With my job done, Bailey’s house melts away and is replaced with a forest. I’m surrounded by vegetation; colossal trees with sprawling roots and wide canopies. I’m in the gardens again; its tranquillity cradling me even in this dreamscape. Asmodeus appears here as he did in the waking world, cloaked in Ash’s pale skin, golden hair and icy eyes.

   I find myself emotionally drained after my interactions with my friends and my father. I want only to be held by my husband-to-be; to be comforted in my decision to stay with him and to borrow some of his boundless energy. His touch does exactly this, sending a spark through me so fast that I twitch violently. I exhale slowly, releasing the sudden tension that has built in my shoulders.

   He looks at me, glacial eyes glinting, and tilts his head slightly. I launch at him, flinging my arms around his neck and using his unshakable frame to pull myself up. Our mouths collide hungrily, teeth bumping behind lips as we meld together. The kiss softens slightly as I part my lips, letting his tongue slip past them and massage mine. The sound of our lips gently smacking and our panting breaths has me aching for more.

   Our lips stay locked so completely and for so long that when we finally part, I am delirious from the heat of it. I pull myself close to him and run my fingers along the hard line of his jaw. The feel of him, the sound of his breathing and the smell of his musk is so absolutely arousing that I want to feast on the taste of him too, just so that I can experience him through every sense. I bury my nose within the crook of his neck and inhale his intoxicating scent before grazing my teeth against it, gently nipping at his skin.

   He begins ripping off my imaginary clothing and even in his dreamscape, the resistance of the material feels deliciously rough against my skin. He is bare before me already and the heat of his skin scalds mine. His length rises up between us and I grab it without thinking. It’s as if it is an organism all on its own, growing longer and harder than I thought possible. I squeeze it hard and shudder at the thought of such resistance pushing into me.

   I reach lower still, gently cupping the unbelievably soft skin of his loins and stroking the wiry blond hair with my fingertips. They move within my hand, shifting and contracting as the attached appendage grows greater still. Imagining him buried deep within me has me writhing with pleasure. My irrepressible desire compels me to behave like a wild woman. I squeeze him again and graze his chest with my teeth.

   I’m moaning softly now, grinding my body against his. My mouth still works at his chest, capturing a rock hard nipple between my lips and running my tongue over it. My hands rake down his back until one reaches his ass. I slap it hard, the force of it stinging my hand. Asmodeus growls his assent and explores my body with his own hands. He reaches up and grabs a fistful of my ample left breast and massages it forcefully before pinching at my nipple.

   I hiss at the pain which turns to shuddering pleasure a second later, and grab his balls. I want him to feel what I feel; the exquisite balance between euphoria and suffering. To me, pleasure can only truly be felt immediately following pain. The release from it feels like a miniature orgasm and I test this paradox on my lover. He grunts when I squeeze him harder still and I feel a rush from the knowledge that even my powerful demon King is as vulnerable with his Crown Jewels as any other man. I hold tight a second longer before I release him and use my other hand to massage his magnificent member. He groans, releasing the tension which had held his frame rigid and rocking his hips in time with my hand movements.

   I sink to my knees and lick his belly while I stroke him; my own tightening with pleasure at his response to my touch. He groans a sound so beautiful that I never want it to end. I work him harder and faster, feeling his skin slide smoothly over the hot and unbelievably stiff meat of his tool. Suddenly, I want to do something I’ve never even considered doing before. I trail my kisses lower still, past his navel and into the hard plains of his pubic bone. Course, curly hair tickles my lips as my mouth ventures further south. The fingers of my right hand alternate between tickling his balls and massaging a hard lump just below them, while my left hand remains wrapped around his shaft.

   Soon, my mouth is hovering against the swollen pink head of his dick, my warm breath washing over it. I dart my tongue out and lick the tip, marvelling at the incredibly smooth and slick surface. His member twitches in response but Ash reaches down and starts to pull me back up.

   “No,” I gasp, “Let me please you, my love. I want to taste you.”

   He is quick to oblige, no doubt more willing to experiment in this dream word rather than the real one. Excited, I take his length into my grasp, kneading it firmly as I work myself up to putting him in my mouth. Feeling his skin slide over his hardness is arousing beyond measure as I pump him with one fist and tickle him a little lower with the fingers of my other hand. I loom over the mushroom shaped head of his tool, massaging a milky droplet out of the tip. As soon as I do so, I have the irrepressible urge to taste this drop.

   I lean over and dip my head lower still, sliding my tongue over the smooth head. He feels even silkier in my mouth than he did in my hands and I moan over a mouthful of him. He shudders in response, his fingers clenching in the tangles of my hair. My mouth is stretched to its limit as I continue to lick him, circling him with my tongue while sucking him passionately. He twitches in my mouth and the thought that I am providing him with such pleasure has me ecstatic.

   I pleasure him with everything I have, drawing delicious moans from his quaking body. I hold him in my mouth until my jaw aches and, sensing my fatigue, he brushes my hair back and gently pushes me onto the soft earth. His body still shakes and I know it takes all his control not to be rough with me. As he lowers himself onto me, I smack his ass as hard as I can; a reminder that I’m not as delicate as he seems to think.

   This sends him into a frenzy and he flips me over as if I am a rag doll. Now I’m on my hands and knees, gasping in anticipation, my clenched fists ripping up grass by the roots. His hands slide down my body before resting at my hips and the pleasure his touch brings sends a tingle up my spine. The sensation builds and races up, up, until it explodes in my mind. Asmodeus chooses this moment to plunge into me.

   The pleasure is so great that it feels as if my heart is going to rupture. I almost come with that thrust alone. It feels so good that I can’t contain the cry that bursts from within me and my song of lust bounces off the trees and back at me. I am a sweet voiced songbird, singing her joy.

   He moves quickly, a deprived animal who has finally been given a mate. Every single push from him draws a high note from me until I can’t take it any longer and my song becomes a guttural cry. I come so hard that I fall face first into the dirt and moan my sweet release. Asmodeus isn’t far behind and his climax sends another stab of pure bliss throughout my body.

   He collapses on the ground next to me while it takes everything I have to roll over onto my back. We’re both panting heavily, caught between exhaustion and utter euphoria. I reach over with my hand and draw his face to mine. We share a kiss so passionate that for once, I feel we were fated to be together, just as Asmodeus had always insisted. I am suddenly wrapped within a feeling of pure comfort and absolute certainty. This feels so right; even as spent as we are, I feel powerful with my King, as if nothing can hurt us while we are together.

   *****

   The little gap between the drawn curtains, which last night let silver light in, now allows a slice of gold through. I am awakened by the dawn of my wedding day and this sudden realisation has me bounding out of bed. Asmodeus isn’t here; a note on the bedside table says that he has returned to his realm to gather supplies for our wedding. I assume that amongst these supplies is my wedding dress and a portion of glamour clay; enough to change my skin again.

   I release a longing sigh as I replace the letter. I had wanted a kiss from my lover one last time before we kiss as husband and wife. Deciding not to dwell on it and instead look forward to an eternity at Asmodeus’ side, I glide into the bathroom. I stop in my tracks, heart thudding painfully when I find someone waiting for me.

   Ida stands rigid in the middle of the room; hands clasping a frosted glass box and head bowed in submission, still wearing the green dress I gave her. It’s the dress that gives away who she is and without it I probably wouldn’t have recognised her. She looks completely different; no doubt covered in the glamour clay. Her dark hair has lightened somewhat, chestnut brown instead of black. Her burgundy skin has warmed to a beautiful olive, as if she is a Mediterranean beauty with the perfect tan. Lastly, her yellow eyes have cooled into a deep ocean blue; the depths of which seem unfathomable. Behind her the sink is filled with the taupe coloured clay and I know she is here to help me get ready.

   An uncontrollable wave of jealousy rolls over me. Here she stands, looking more beautiful than I could ever dream to be, on MY wedding day. My jealousy turns to anger before I notice the weary innocence in her gaze as she watches me. She can feel my anger, and wonders what she has done to deserve it. Sighing softly, I ask her as gently as I can to leave me be for now. When she walks into the main room – mysterious box still cradled in her arms – without a word of argument, I lock her out and breathe deeply. I’m not going to let irrationality win today, I decide. Asmodeus loves me, not her, and Ida, with her appearance of pure strength, is not as strong as she could be and certainly not as strong as me. I must try harder not to scare her.

   The first thing I do is bathe, meticulously scrubbing every inch of my body. When my skin is red and squeaky clean, I dry off, brush my teeth, dry my hair with the bathroom’s built in dryer and unlock the door for Ida.

   Silently, she glides in, all easy elegance and infuriating grace. I do not hide my body from her – even these few days with Asmodeus were enough to rid me of a few layers of body insecurities; no easy feat, considering the years they’ve had to cultivate. Of course, they aren’t completely gone, or else Ida’s mere presence would not irk me so.

   Without a word, she turns her attention to the clay in the sink, dipping her hands in and bringing out with them a thick layer of glamour. She proceeds to smooth it into my skin starting at my shoulders and working her way down. I say nothing to her, intending on keeping our relationship strictly professional from now on. My cheeks burn at the memory of our last meeting – of me kissing her on the mouth in gratitude. I was exhausted and relieved and in a moment of weakness, I displayed unforgivable emotion. Only Asmodeus should see me vulnerable, I have decided. I cannot look weak if I am to command respect one day.

   That isn’t to say I’ll be unkind to this demoness – we do after all share a bond of suffering – but…

   God, what am I thinking? I sound like a stuffy, snooty, up herself bitch! What the fuck is going on in this stupid head of mine?

   Not five hours ago I was dreaming of my friends and family. People who I love and who have loved me. And in five more hours, I’ll be saying goodbye forever. Who am I to turn my nose up at friendship? When have I ever thought myself above another living being? I, who have nothing but what has been given to me. I, who have always shared my heart so freely in the past.

   Just as Ida reaches up to my face, I catch her hand in mine.

   “I’m sorry”, I say, “For everything. Please don’t feel like you have to be meek around me. I’d like for you to think of me as a friend.”

   She bows her head in submission, not believing a word out of my mouth. I use my other hand to cup her cheek and raise her face to meet mine.

   “Please Ida, will you be my friend? I’d love to have a girl friend to speak to.”

   Her eyes flash with an indiscernible emotion.

   “Girlfriend, my lady?” She asks and I can hear the cringe in her words. I laugh at this,

   “Not that kind of girlfriend. Someone I can confide in, be at ease with and trust with my secrets.”

   “Secrets, Majesty?” She asks, her eyes widening, “What of our King? Is he not whom you would choose to confide in?”

   “In most things, yes,” I agree, “But not all. What if he is the reason I need to vent? Or if I need advice regarding him? You can be my most trusted.”

   She looks torn, fear and mistrust so obviously written on her face.

   “Think about it,” I say gently, and she bows in servitude.

   I sigh. It’s a start.

   *****

   When Ida is done with me, I am radiant. Some eye shadow, a little blush, deep lip colour and black eyeliner is what I would wear normally if I was looking to stand out a little. Hardly a fan of regular makeup use, when I’d pretty up my face for parties, the little I’d use would serve to highlight which I now realise to be quite sensual features. Sharp, high cheekbones, smattered with freckles, impossibly deep dimples, a well-defined jaw, large brown eyes, a little button nose, and plump, sensuous lips topped with a perfect Cupid’s bow. Oh yes, I see now that I’ve always had a pretty face. A pity, it isn’t mine I see in the mirror.

   With this stranger’s face, the same makeup which usually only just highlighted my prettiest features, now places them on display. Rowan’s eyes look heavy, sexy and a little eerie, glimmering brighter while surrounded by the dark kohl. He cheeks look angular in a way mine could never be and her lips are bold, daring and seductive, dressed in an intoxicating merlot hue.

   My dress is a similar colour, a dark, rich red, not quite so deep as the lipstick, but just as bold. I am enveloped in a heavy floor length silk. The skirt is studded and pinned with diamonds. The bodice has a sweetheart neckline, and is accented with silver filigree. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever had the privilege of wearing and it’s mine, just as Asmodeus will soon be mine as well.

   It feels as if no time at all has passed and I’m walking toward him, down an aisle of moss and fallen leaves. I walk alone, wishing I had my father to steady me. I can’t complain though; I’ve found his face among the seated crowd. The other faces are a blur – not that I would have recognised most of them anyway. I see my mother and siblings, sitting close to Bailey and Rochelle. Seeing my sister and best friends make my heart leap.

   I’m smiling so hard, my cheeks and teeth ache as unwanted tears roll down my face. The girls smile uncertainly at me and once again I am reminded that they do not see me as I picture myself. That reminder, in turn, causes me to realise that if I do not get my emotions under control, my glamour will fail. I’d imagine that the guests would flee from sheer terror if the demented panda makes an appearance here.

   Taking and releasing a deep breath helps me focus. I walk deliberately forward, my eyes glued to my camouflaged groom. All the while, the sweetest music plays in the background, all piano and harp, married to a gorgeously husky voice and given weight by a deep cello. It makes my heart want to burst because somehow, it conveys everything I feel for Asmodeus, my family, my friends, and anyone else I’ve ever loved with its enigmatic elegance. It doesn’t even matter that the lyrics are in a tongue I don’t recognise.

   I listen so intently that I don’t even realise I’m at the end of the aisle until Asmodeus takes my hand. A celebrant stands with us and welcomes the guests. She keeps her speech about sanctity of marriage and immorality of love, blessedly short before announcing that Ash and I will make our own vows. A wave of light-headedness nearly drops me. I have not prepared for this!

   I shoot a pleading look at Asmodeus, who smiles back reassuringly. Follow my lead, the smile says, you’ll be fine.

   I take another breath and try to steady my nerves enough so that I can actually hear Asmodeus when he begins to speak.

   “My love; you are woman whom I have chosen and who has chosen me.

   “I swear to you my trust, my honour, my fealty and my life.

   “I will be your friend, your partner, your lover, and your King. You will be my Queen.

   “I will love, treasure and protect you. I will grant you anything within my power and I will never harm you.

   “This, I swear, until the end of days.”

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