Page 10 of Demonic Delights

He must be pleased because he finally managed to strip me of my ability to speak. I just cry some more, not so much in reaction to what he said as to the way he wrecks my pussy; ruthlessly and relentlessly like he intends for me never to use it again. The invasion of his fingers higher above is no less brutal, their plunges deep, rapid, and completely dominating. Tears are streaming down my cheeks, smoke is burning at the back of my throat, and the fronts of my thighs and crotch are getting bruised viciously against the edge of the table. Not that I have much attention to spare for such minor discomforts.

Despite my efforts to hold it in place, the table grates against the floor, the noises of it competing in volume with the ones I’m making as Silas continues rutting into me, fucking me harder than I’ve ever been fucked, ravaging me more thoroughly than I thought possible. He isn’t just rearranging my organs, he’s obliterating them, and it’s all too much, like I’m fighting just to stay alive through it. A powerful climax is ripening inside me, but I find myself unable to reap it. Still, the last thing I want is to ask him to go gentler, revelling in his rare savagery, the perilous torture a form of edging that causes my unceasing pleasure to swell into bestial proportions, long past the point of sane or even tolerable.

With one hand still wedged deep between my ass cheeks, fingers of Silas’s other hand brush my lips as they force their way into my mouth.

“Suck on them,” he instructs me in a flat, strangled tone of voice, and what I do can’t even be called obeying, because I no longer have anything resembling free will and the ability to protest when commanded by him.

I press my teeth into his knuckles, and with my tongue rippling underneath them, I pull on them like I would on his dick. Silas grumbles with satisfaction behind me, interrupting his thrusts to roll his hips, the hilt of his length pressing against my pubic bone, rubbing against it pitilessly as if meaning to rip the surrounding flesh off. I screech and bite into his fingers. He chuckles darkly and resumes pistoning into me until cold sweat erupts all over me.

It is almost terrifying, the way I come completely undone, the intensity with which he can make my body react. There is no pain anymore. No heat or cold. No noises, no tastes. Just a solar storm raging inside me. I am blind and deaf and would not get out of the way of a falling tree in this state. My body is no longer my own; it has become nothing but a conduit for a force it is itself powerless against.

But then, Silas’s cock throbs inside me violently with his own impeding culmination, his punishing pace letting up just a little. Just enough for me to soar. Electricity rushes all the way through to my toes and fingertips, and I shake and shudder, my lungs closing. And everything goes black as I ride out the most earth-shattering orgasm of my life.

When I come to, I’m coughing violently, the smoke searing the insides of my lungs. I’m still lying on the table, but on my back, even though I don’t recall turning over. Silas is towering over me, with my legs thrown over his shoulders.

“Oh come on,” I complain, my voice raspy. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do any of that trying-to-conceive nonsense ... oooow, OW!” My hands shoot to my abdomen, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. “It’s burning!”

“It’s nothing, you’ll be fine. Give it a minute,” Silas says in a flat tone of voice. “Breathe through it.”

I whimper, then open my mouth to argue with that statement.

“Roxana, do as I say. Deep breaths, now.” His fingers close tighter around my thighs.

There’s something so firm, so commanding in his look and in that imperceptible gesture that the protests die on my lips and I just do what he wants, inhaling deeply, then exhaling, once, twice, thrice ... only to realise that he was right, the scorching sensation is easing up. Still, what the hell was that? Do I have an infection of some sort?

I don’t have time to dwell on that, though, as there are more pressing matters to attend to. Such as the fact that the damn Yorkshire puddings are about to set our house on fire. I cough some more, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“I need to take them out before we choke to death here.” I make to roll off the table, but Silas holds me firmly in place.

“No. You stay here and keep your legs up, or else there’ll be consequences,” he threatens before walking to the oven.

Being who I am, of course, I contemplate disobeying. But I am so drained, so completely satisfied, that for once, even I decide against it. Instead, I wrap my hands underneath my bent knees and watch him as he opens the chrome slide-in oven door and reaches in. It is because I’m so tired that it takes me a minute to fully realise what it is I’ve seen, and by the time I do, Silas is already back by the table.

“How did you not burn your hands?” I ask, raising my head to look him in the face. “You didn’t wear oven mitts!”

He turns his hands over and spreads his fingers out, looking at them in a puzzled sort of way. “Huh. I guess I did burn them a little.”

His eyes then stray down to my pussy with a frown.

“You’re leaking.”

“Well, what did you expect?” I chuckle, laying my head back down and closing my eyes. “There was so much of it. Seriously, what is up with you today?”

He doesn’t respond. “Let me clean you up,” he says instead.

I expect him to go grab the paper towels from the kitchen counter. Which is why it takes me completely by surprise when his tongue slices through my slit and then licks all around it, deft and supple in its purposeful motion, his hands kneading the sides of my hips.

“Fuck, Silas!” I gasp at the intrusion.

At first, he only groans in response, encircling my clit with the tip of his tongue. The sound he makes is so anguished and tortured that it tugs at something tender inside me, and suddenly, that gesture feels more intimate than erotic. More intimate than any single interaction between us has felt in years.

“Silas ...”

He presses his face against me momentarily, his beard coarse, but the contact itself gentle.

“Dark darling,” he drawls, his breath hot against my core. “How will I ever get enough of the way you taste?”

“That’s a dumb question,” I say in reaction. “Because why would you ever have to get enough?”