Page 39 of Demonic Delights

Straining her abdominal muscles, she lifts her legs to the sides a little, her thighs parting in invitation. I drop to my knees like I am nothing but a mortal man besotted with devout rapture. I press my face against her stomach, tracing my lips from hip to hip, knowing how much she enjoys the scratch of the pawn’s beard on her skin. And as I start planting kisses on her navel, I picture my seed taking root inside of her and her womb swelling with my legacy, nothing but a few inches of skin and flesh separating me from the site of my greatest triumph to come, my key to ruling the world of mortals and immortals alike.

I throw her legs one after another over my shoulders, and her pussy is now inches from my face, its fragrance mixing in my nostrils with the iron smell of blood. I trace my tongue through her entrance before my lips close around her clit, sucking on it and grazing it gently with my teeth until I have her moaning and bucking her hips, grinding herself against me.

I plunge two fingers inside her, and her walls spasm around them, pulling them deeper in as she cries and shudders with her first orgasm of the night.

Warm rivulets of her glistening juices trail down my hand, cooling before they get caught in the hairs on my arm. I lick them off, their salty flavour complementing the residual taste of her blood on my tongue.

Then I have to chew the inside of my cheek until I draw my pawn’s blood to stop myself from coming, my balls nearly exploding, and my cock so engorged with blazing lust that it feels like its skin will soon rip.

When I speak, my voice comes out as nothing but a breathless rasp, “You are my religion, and this is how I pray. On my knees in front of you and savouring you with all my senses.”

She lets out a surprised huff, a sound between a moan and a giggle, her head lolling back. A drop of her arousal falls to the ground with the faintest splat. That’s when I notice the discarded prayer beads a few inches from my knee.

I want to make her feel good in all the ways she likes, stronger than she thought she could. I want the Enemy to hear her screaming my name in His residence. I want to show him beyond a shred of doubt that she is mine, mine, MINE!

I coat the beads in her juices, but it’s not enough. So, I reach up and drag my fingers through the blood still welling reluctantly in the fresh wound of her brand. She hisses, her body tensing. But I’m done in no time, and she relaxes again. I rub the beads until they’re warm and red, their surface slippery. Then I hold them firmly in my fist. Pushing my hand between her arse cheeks, I align the tip of the folded elastic ring with the puckered little hole between them.

“Fucking hell,” she groans when I slide them in carefully.

I put my mouth back on her clit, and I shove three fingers into the vice of her pulsating cunt with a claiming jab. Her walls react, squeezing me so hard they nearly snap my knuckles in half.

She moans as I start working her in all three places: sucking on the bud between my lips, rubbing and stretching her pussy with my fingers and pushing the beads in and tugging them back out gently.

“Daddy ...” she gasps, trembling underneath my touch.

“No. My name. Say my name,” I growl, my need slashing through me like rage, made stronger by the proximity of the Enemy and His outraged gaze.

I pinch her clit between my teeth, rolling it over the edges. Roxana screams, bucking her hips, her heels kicking my back as she quakes with euphoria.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Her thighs and calves tensing, she digs her heels into my shoulder blades to force me closer to herself. The chain rattles against the stone crossbar as she jerks and struggles frantically to rub herself over my face.

“Call my name!” I urge her without taking my mouth off her.

“Your real name?”

“I have many names, dark darling.” A smile seeps into my voice. “None of them real.” I nip at her clit, and she whimpers. “Call my name before I seed your womb. Call⁠—”

My hand connects with the side of her ass, and the impact echoes loudly.

“My—”

Slap.

“Name!”

Slap.

“Sangrel!” Roxana obeys, panting. “Sangrel! Sangrel!” She keeps repeating it, louder and louder, until her voice grows hoarse.

I pull the beads out almost to the tip, then slide them back in until only the little metal cross at the end of their loop protrudes from the puckered opening. She howls, her pussy spasming and pulling my fingers deeper. I massage her front wall, drawing circles over it and varying the pressure of my touch. Sucking her clit sharply between my lips, I start flicking my tongue over it, and I don’t stop, not even when her chants turn to a loud, continuous screech.

With a mighty final tremor, she freezes in my hands when she first starts coming. And then she melts, and very suddenly, my face and the front of my chest are warm and wet as she squirts all over me like stormy skies finally bursting with an outpour of rain.

Blinking to dispel the liquid from my eyes, I glance up to see her tits bob on her heaving chest. She looks down on me with a breathless smile.

“I give you my holy fucking water,” she says and then bursts out cackling.