Short Story: ‘The Widow’ [BDSM supernatural erotica]

THE WIDOW

Lizzie had to do it.

It had been almost a year since she’d done it last, and she’d thought she was done with it, thought she’d finally be able to move on.  But earlier that day she’d seen something—something routine, something innocuous, downright stupid—one of those magnetic yellow ribbons on the back of a pickup truck—and it felt like Jim had died all over again.

So she came home and, sobbing quietly, went into her closet and gathered up her cords, her candles, her incense, and got ready to do what she’d sworn she’d never do again.

In her living room, she did the usual things—called the watchtowers, cast a circle, drew down a cone of power—and sat in the circle’s center with three items: one of Jim’s shirts (it still smelled like him), a large black candle, and a bottle of red wine.  The ritual called for blood, but red wine had always worked before.

She took a long, deep drink from the bottle—more than was really necessary, but she needed to be calm—and poured a bit into the brass candlestand.  She lit the candle, relaxed into a sitting position, and focused her vision on the flickering flame.  She took slow, careful breaths, filling and emptying her lungs completely, over several long minutes until the act became automatic.  She focused on the candle’s flame until all other images were gone from vision and thought.  As she breathed, she intoned in a low, warbling voice, “Elohim . . . Adonai . . . Elohim . . . Adonai . . .

After a while, it was as if the sound of her own voice was fading away into the background.  Lizzie found herself floating in an icy fog.  She could see, or thought she could, though the light seemed to come from no certain source or direction.

This was the place.  She needed only to wait.

She hadn’t been waiting long before she felt she wasn’t alone, though she could see no-one else.  That was how it had been before.

“Jim?” she asked of the void.

“Liz,” came a voice from the aether, and it was clearly Jim’s voice, though it seemed to come from far away.  “Liz, you’re back already?”

“It’s been a year, Jim.”

“Whatever.  You shouldn’t be here, Liz.”

Tears stramed down her cheeks.  “I just had to bear your voice, Jim.  I love you.”

“Liz, you don’t belong here.  It’s not safe.”

“I set the circle.  I said the words.  I’m fine, Jim.  I just had to hear your voice one more time.”  She wept openly.

“I’m gone, Liz.  You can hear me, but you’ll never see me again.  What you’re doing isn’t healthy.  I’m gone.  I need you to accept that.”

“I love you, Jim.”

“If you loved me, you’ll move on.  It’s been almost three years.  I need you to move on.  When we were together, all I wanted was for you to be happy.  I still want you to be happy.  But you’ll never be happy if you keep doing this.”

“I’m sorry.  I miss you so much.  Jim, I’m so lonely.”

“This isn’t going to help.  You have to move on, Liz.  You have to stop doing this.”  A pause.  “And you should throw away that shit you hid in the closet.”

Lizzie gasped.

“Move on, Liz.  Please don’t do this again.  You need to go.”

“Jim—“

Lizzie felt like she was falling, falling, falling, faster and faster, and suddenly she was back in her own living room again, the candle burned away several inches.  She looked at her watch.  It was after midnight.  She’d need to be at work in just a few hours.

She stood up and snuffed out the candle.  Holding back tears, she carefully released the quarters and banished the circle.  She gathered up the candles, the incense, and Jim’s shirt, and headed for her bedroom.  On the way, she passed by a dustbin; after a long moment’s thought, she threw the shirt away and walked on, weeping.

In her bedroom closet, she returned the effects to their places and her eyes went to a big cardboard box tucked behind the shoes in the far corner.  She knelt down, pulled it into the center of the closet, and considered it.

The box had “JIM’S STUFF” scrawled across it in the hope that its innocuousness would let it go unnoticed.  She opened it.  Amongst the mess of handcuffs, silk ropes, underpants, and leather bands was hidden a locked wooden strongbox.  She lifted out the strongbox gingerly, carefully, as though it were poisonous, and it well might have been; even locked, it seemed to radiate malevolence.  The key was in her pocket, on the ring with her car key and housekey, just as it always had been, just in case.  Steeling herself, she opened it.

It was a wonder how Jim could’ve known about the box.  The contents had remained undisturbed since she’s compiled them two years ago, when things were at their worst and the only available options seemed to be either to take her own life or do an unspeakable thing.  In the end she hadn’t been strong enough to do either, and that was for the best.  She assayed the casket’s contents.

There was a lock of Jim’s hair.  Jim’s combat action badge—she set that aside, would put it back on his dress blues where it belonged.  A leatherbound copy of Paracelsus—that went to the side as well, far too valuable to throw away.  A wax doll made in Jim’s likeness.  A little candle made from a pale yellow substance which was definitely not wax.  Three knitting needles.  A razor blade.

She considered the items before her.  She felt no shame in having thought black thoughts in the depths of her loss, but to think she could’ve even considered this . . . better for Jim to be dead.  It would’ve been better if he’d never been born.

She took the wax doll in both hands, sundered it, and threw the halves onto the floor.  She took up the lock of hair, tore the ribbon that bound it, and scattered it about the closet.  She returned the rest of the items to the strongbox—each was valuable in its own way, and useful still—but didn’t lock it.

For the first time in three years, Lizzie felt content.  She wasn’t happy, not by any means, but for once the thought of never seeing Jim again didn’t shut her down.  Jim was at peace—which she knew for a truth, having spoken with him just a few minutes ago—and she was still here, and Jim wanted her to be happy.

“I love you, Jim,” she said aloud as she left the closet, “and I’ll always miss you, but I’m letting go.  I’m letting go, Jim.”

Suddenly, somehow, the air in the bedroom felt warmer.  She ventured a smile.

On the far wall of the bedroom, facing the bed, was an altar.  It was a usual altar, a card table covered by a cloth sporting an embroidered pentangle, displaying an incense burner, an assortment of candles, and a focus of the Goddess—a bronze statue of the Morrigan.  Where the God would’ve been represented, however, was a framed photograph of Jim, looking big and strong and brave in his dress uniform and tan beret.  Her eyes beginning to wet, Lizzie picked up the picture and moved it to the far left corner of the table, where it would sit amongst Great Granddad’s purple heart, Granddad’s Mason’s ring, the urn containing Great Grandma’s ashes.

She was openly weeping now.  Wiping away her tears as best she could, she snuffed out the candle, undressed, and climbed into bed.

***

Lizzie could only have been asleep for a couple of hours when she snapped awake, overpowered by a feeling of not being alone.  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she scanned the room and listened; nothing looked out of the ordinary, and she heard only the usual night sounds.  But she could not shake the feeling of another’s presence in the room with her.  The air was heavy with it, as if someone were lying next to her, close enough to touch.  Yet she saw nothing, heard nothing.

Dismissing the feeling as one of restless nerves, she settled back into the blankets.

And the closet door swung open.

Lizzie froze, stifling a scream.  In the shadows, she could discern the outline of a man standing in the threshold.  Her eyes drifted to the bedside table; Jim’s pistol was there, loaded and scrupulously clean, but it may as well have been a mile away.  Likewise for her phone.  Fighting down her panic, she reflected that the intruder was certainly not in the closet when she’d gone to bed; perhaps he couldn’t see her in the darkness.  She resolved to stay still, stay silent, and wait.

The intruder stepped forward; he was very tall, having to stoop low to exit the closet.

And when he’d walked out of the shadows and into plain view, Lizzie did scream.

The thing—for it was not a man—was so tall that its head nearly brushed the ten-foot ceiling.  Its skin was black, black as jet, black like a darkness that had never known light, bulging with muscles like balls of twine.  A pair of jointed, leathery black wings, like a bat’s wings, protruded from between its shoulders.  Its face was as a man’s face, but its eyes were red and shone with a fiery light, and its mouth was full of pointed teeth; it leered down at Lizzie with a predatory grin.  A massive phallus hung between its legs.

And, after taking in the whole image of it, Lizzie laughed.

The thing cocked an eyebrow and tilted its head to one side like a curious dog.  In a deep and grating voice, it said, “Why do you laugh at me, Elizabeth?”

“Because I was so fucking scared,” she said, giggling, “but it’s just a nightmare.”

“Do you often have lucid nightmares, Elizabeth?”

“More often than not.  So what’s your story, big guy?  Here to steal my soul?”

It then did something Lizzie thought rather unbecoming of a demon.  It rolled its eyes and sighed.

“Lucid dreamers,” it said, “are as gods in their own dreams.  If this is a dream, Elizabeth, why don’t you fly away?  Or wish me out of existence?  Go on, try.  I will wait.”

Lizzie often—usually—flew in her dreams, and controlling them was a skill she’d practiced since childhood.  She closed her eyes and willed herself to rise from the bed.

Nothing happened.

The creature’s predatory grin returned, and it said, “I do not want your soul, Elizabeth.  I am more interested in your body.”

Panicking, Lizzie drew herself up to a sitting position and racked her brain for a way to fight off the creature.  The creature did not move.  Rather, it shook its head and muttered, “Every time.  Every single time.”

Lizzie panted, said, “So you’re not . . . you’re not going to . . .”

“To rape you?  That would be counterproductive.”  The predatory grin became almost jovial, and it said, “You apes call my father the Lord of Lies, but it’s not by his doing that I have to put humans at ease before I can so much as speak with them.”  It spread its arms and waggled its hands in a mocking gesture.  “’Be not afraid, child, for I am an Angel of the Lord, be not afraid!’  Is that better?’

Lizzie must have looked unconvinced, for the creature went on, “Did not the Master Crowley say that the Devil is the God one doesn’t believe in?  I have no reason to hurt you, Elizabeth.  It would profit me nothing.”

Relaxing slightly, Lizzie said, “Well . . . who are you and why are you here?”

“That is more like it.  I am known as Iblis, and I’m here to offer you terrible purpose.  We have been watching you, Elizabeth, since the day you were born, we’ve seen your power wax, seen you blossom into womanhood, seen you dabble in the arts of the old masters, and we’ve liked what we’ve seen.  We think you will be . . . amenable.”

“Amenable to what?”

“I’m here to offer you what you’ve always longed for.  The thing that you’ve resigned yourself to never knowing.”

“And what do you think that is?”

“A child, Elizabeth.  A son.  I offer you a son.”

Lizzie gaped.  It—Iblis—He—leered down at her and said, “He will be human, beautiful, and strong, stronger and smarter than a human should naturally be.  He will be born destined for greatness and glory, just as it was of old.  For there were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men of renown.”

“You . . . you want me to have the Antichrist?”

“Is that your word for it?  I’ve only known them as Nephilim.  Anyway, you’ve had a Christ for ages, and what has He profited you?  Why not give the other a chance?”  He walked up to the bed.  “You could have a son, Elizabeth.”

She couldn’t deny that he’d read her well; she wanted to be a mother.  One of the worst things about Jim’s death was that it had come just as they’d started trying.  A child . . . a son . . .

She made another, longer appraisal of Iblis’s form.  He was tall and broad, and he looked so strong.  Between his legs, his long, thick phallus was erect and throbbing.

Lizzie found that she was amenable.

She nodded and slowly, tentatively pulled aside her blanket and exposed her naked body.  Iblis looked her over and said, “You are quite lovely.”

The creature climbed onto the bed, climbed over Lizzie’s trembling form until his fire-eyed face leered over her own.  He said, “You’re shaking, my child.  Have you changed your mind?”

Lizzie gulped and said, “No . . . No, I want this.”

“Touch me.”

She raised up her trembling arms and wrapped them about him.  His flesh was icy cold and as hard as iron.  Still trembling, she brought her legs up and wrapped them around his waist.  He was so cold, and so strong, and his touch felt profoundly alien.  She whispered, “You’re so cold.”

“You can warm me.”

He slid one of his great arms beneath her and cradled her.  The whole of her body was trembling, her breath ragged.  Iblis whispered, “You have nothing to fear.  I will not hurt you.”

Tentatively fighting down her fear, she whispered, “I want it.”

She felt the head of his member press against her, the cold of its touch exciting, stimulating.  She longed to press forward and accept him, but her fear rooted her.  The mixture of lust and fear was exhilarating.

Iblis pushed forward, opening her womanhood to accept him.  She felt the head of his member enter her, and slowly, inch by inch, its length.  The girth of it filled and stretched her.  She moaned and shuddered as she took him in; with each successive inch, she feared it would fill her completely before she’d taken all of him, but when their hips met she found he fit her perfectly.  The cold made her acutely, pleasurably aware of every inch.

“So big,” she gasped.

The demon smiled.  “Do you like it?”

She moaned.

He began to slide out of her, as slowly as he’d entered, and as her womanhood gripped the girth of him she could feel herself building to a release.  She locked her legs about his waist and tried to pull him back in, but his strength was too great and he did not stop until nearly all of him was out of her.  He thrust forward, faster but still gentle, and Lizzie came, her body spasming around his member.

“That did not take long,” he said as he backed out again.

“More,” Lizzie moaned, “more, more . . .”

He increased the speed of his thrusts, riding her, driving her into the bed as she moaned and gasped and screamed and clawed.  Lizzie gave up trying to count her orgasms; she was shortly howling with ecstasy and soaking the bed with each release.  She gave up trying to track the time; it could’ve been minutes or countless hours that the demon silently rode her.  At last, she felt his member swell; he grunted, almost inaudibly; she felt as if ice water was being injected into her belly.  She came again.

When Iblis removed his now-flaccid member and moved to sit on the far side of the bed, Lizzie tried to sit up and embrace him but found she couldn’t move.  Grinning, he asked her, “Are you pleased, Elizabeth?”

Gasping for air, she let out a long, low, rattling moan and said, between breaths, “I have . . . never . . . been fucked like that . . . ever.”

“We’ll see each other again tomorrow.  I would come to couple with you every night until your womb quickens, if you’re still amenable.”

Lizzie curled up, clutching her stomach, and laughed, “Dude, I am so fucking amenable.”

“That is good.  I’ll take my leave now.”

***

The next thing Lizzie knew, she was alone and her alarm clock was ringing.  She shook her head and mumbled something about restless dreaming, but stopped short.  Her bed was soaked; the room reeked of sex; there was a dull and not unpleasant ache inside of her.

There was a moment of fear and wonder, but it quickly gave way to an emotion she hadn’t felt in years.

Contentment.

Smiling, she embraced herself and whispered, “Tonight.”

***

After a hasty shower and most of a pot of coffee, Lizzie barely made it into her work on time.  She still felt a thousand miles away, and though she was soundly exhausted, she still felt profoundly, fundamentally happy.  Thoughts of the previous night filled her mind, so that as she walked into work, she nearly ran into Carol before she saw her.

Carol, an older woman, was also a witch, and they had been friends since Lizzie’s first day.  Stopping Lizzie by grabbing her shoulder, she sized the younger woman up and said, with a knowing, smile, “Fun night last night?”

Lizzie stammered, her own smile like a girl’s who’d just been caught misbehaving.

“You’re glowing, girl,” Carol said.

“Well . . . I sort of hooked up.”

They walked on together.  “So, you ‘sort of’ hooked up?”

“Sort of, yeah.  It’s . . . it’s complicated.  I can’t really explain it.”

“Whatever.  So, is he cute?”

Shivering, Lizzie said, “Oh yeah.  He’s chiseled from stone.”

“Hmm.  So, do I get to meet him?  You should bring him to circle on Sunday.”

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet.  And I don’t think I’ll be able to go to circle this weekend; I’m . . . well, you know.”

“Yeah, sweetie, I know.”

Suddenly, Carol stopped.  Lizzie stopped as well and saw that the other woman was frozen in place, staring at her with obvious, abject horror.

Carol shook her head, took a breath, and said, “Woah, a goose walked over my grave just then.  So, you and your mystery man, is it serious?”

“I don’t know,” Lizzie said.  “I hope so.”

***

Lizzie felt every minute of the day drag by, felt it in her bones.  The previous night filled her mind, all other thoughts having to fight for attention.  More than once, she caught herself idly laying a hand on her lap, scratching, rubbing.

The sun was already sinking when she left.  After rushing home, she locked and bolted the door, tore off her clothes, and walked to the bedroom.  The bed was still the slightest bit damp, and the whole room reeked of sex.  Lying facedown on the bed, she breathed deep the smell of her own sex, thought on what had happened the previous night, on what would happen in a few hours.  Her hand found her womanhood.  She teased herself, stroked the lips of her sex, played with her clitoris, at last plunged her fingers into herself and drove them in and out, savoring every stroke, thinking on her lover.  She brought herself to climax quickly and lay still on the bed, riding the afterglow of it, savoring the smell of the bed.

At last she rose up and, having a thought, went to the closet.  She opened a drawer that hadn’t been opened in years, rooted about in it, produced a scarlet pair of silk panties and a lace bra.  She put them on, assayed her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door, approved.  She found a pair of black stockings and put them on as well.  She imagined her lover seeing her dressed so, imagined his massive, stone-cold member swelling at the sight, and felt herself moistening.

Another thought struck her.  Digging about in the drawer, she found a bottle of lubricant, barely used.  With the bottle in hand, she returned to the bed to await his coming.

The anticipation was overwhelming.  She pleasured herself until sleep came.

***

When she awoke in the darkness, the pall of fear and feeling of intrusion thrilled rather than troubled her.  She threw the blanket off and propped herself up on her knees, her rump in the air.  When she heard the closet door swing open, she called out, “Hello, lover.”

Heavy footsteps approached the bed.  The heavy, gravelly voice said, “You’ve dressed for my coming.”

Lizzie trembled at the sound, asked, “Do you like it?”

“Come up, let me see you.”

Lizzie rose up and turned, still on her knees.  The thick, black, throbbing member was nearly level with her face.  She moaned.

“I like it very much,” the grinning demon said.

She turned back around, crawled up the bed, and fell back down onto it, her rump in the air.  Iblis followed, the bed heaving with his weight, and his cold, powerful hands grabbed her hips.  She said, “I want you to take me like this.”

“You are very eager.”

“Iblis, I need it.  I’ve been dreaming about it all day.  Give it to me.”

“Gladly.”

She felt him pull her panties aside to reveal her dripping sex.  She felt the icy head of his member press against it, and she moaned at its touch.  Before he could enter her, she pushed against him and took him in herself, groaning as his girth stretched her.

He laughed.  “You are very eager, Elizabeth.”

“So good,” she managed to gasp.  He grabbed her hips again, and she growled, “Stop.  Don’t move.  Let me do it.”

“As you wish.”

She rocked back onto him, savoring every inch, moaning as she accepted his member.  When at last her rump touched his hips, she gasped and growled, “It’s so big.”

“Do you like it, Elizabeth?”

“I love it.  I fucking love it.  Give it to me, Iblis, just like this.  But touch me.  Last night was amazing, but I need you to touch me.”

She sank down until she lay flat on the mattress, and he followed, one hand supporting himself, the other caressing her.  He rode her.  She moaned, then screamed with every thrust.  She lost herself, the icy chill of his body making her acutely aware of every inch of his member, the experience becoming an eternity of intense pleasure building to gushing release.  After a few minutes—or hours, or days—she found herself enough to gasp, “Pin my arms!”

She felt her lover’s powerful hands lay upon her forearms, felt his weight press against them, and she came again.  The massive, throbbing member pulsed in and out of her, and Lizzie moaned, “Give it to me!  I want your cum, Iblis!  I want your monster babies!  Put the fucking antichrist inside me!”

As if acquiescing, Iblis grunted and released into her.  She came again, and came a final time when his girth left her.

“Pleased?” he asked.

She drew in a deep breath and spat, “Don’t go!”

“What would you have me do for you, Elizabeth?”

Lizzie moaned, trying to catch her breath, and at last whispered, “I want you to hold me.”

He wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him, pressing her against his iron muscles.

Sighing with contentment, she said, “I love the way you feel.  I would nuzzle you, but I can’t move.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“You keep saying that, but what about you?  Is this good for you?”

“Would I do this if it was not?  Your body is most pleasing to me, Elizabeth.”

She purred.  “I wanted to ask, do you not want anything more from me than a baby?”

“Hmm.  Elaborate.”

“Are you just going to knock me up and leave?”

“Certainly not, Elizabeth.  I must stay around to ensure my son’s welfare.”  He gripped her more tightly.  “And his mother’s.”

“It’s good to hear that.  You know, I want you to be pleased, Iblis.  I can do more than just lie down and take you.”

“By all means.”

She slid out of his arms and down the front of him until her face was level with his member.  Even flaccid, it was impressive, easily more than filling one of her hands.  She stroked it gently, kissed it, smiled as it stiffened and grew.  When it was fully enlarged, her hand could not wrap all the way around its shaft.  Carefully, a bit nervously, she opened her mouth and accepted the throbbing head.  She could taste herself, as well as another something that must have been his seed.  It was sweet, with a hint of alcohol.  She lifted her head to tell him so.

“I am glad you like it,” he laughed.

She returned her attention to his member, taking the head into her mouth, savoring the taste of his seed and her sex.  His girth filled her mouth, and it was slowly and carefully that she took in more and more.  The feeling of fullness was delicious, thrilling.  When she thought she could take no more, she was merely halfway down the whole of his length; she reflected on having every inch of his member inside her sex, how full she’d felt, how empty she’d felt when he’d left her; she let out a muffled moan.

Wrapping her hands around the exposed shaft, she began bobbing her head, worshipping the member with her tongue; Iblis sighed and stroked her hair.  With each bob, she took in a bit more of his length, and Lizzie found herself determined to accept all of him.  Her lips slid down another inch, and up, and down another; her hands stroked him; soon she had only a few more inches before her; but she was wholly filled now.  She worked him furiously.  He throbbed and swelled.  She lifted her head from him and stroked him as hard as he could.  He grunted, shooting his seed into her mouth, onto her chin.  Moaning, she took the head into her mouth again, longing to draw out every drop.

When she was satisfied that he was spent, Lizzie looked up at him and asked, “Good?”

He smiled.  “Very.  Did you enjoy?”

Lizzie wiped his seed from her chin, licked it from her finger, said, “I like the way you taste.”

“As you said, Elizabeth.  You may well be the most eager woman I’ve ever been with.”

“I’m enjoying this.  Before last night, I hadn’t been laid in three years; just being touched is like fireworks.  And you?  You’re a big, scary monster, but—besides my Jim—you’re the sweetest lover I’ve ever had.”

He laughed.

She gripped his member, said, “I mean it.  This thing is huge.  You could seriously injure me with this.  And you’re so strong.  But you’ve never hurt me, and I don’t think you ever will.”

“I will never hurt you, Elizabeth.”

“What if I want you to hurt me?”

“Hmm.  Sounds interesting.”

“I want you to do something.  Call it a trust exercise.  But you’ve come twice already; are you spent?”

“Elizabeth, I could pleasure you for days.”

“Good.”

She rolled to the edge of the bed to retrieve the bottle of lube from the nightstand.  Returning to him, she whetted his member until it glistened, and continued until it dripped.  She rolled over, got up onto her hands and knees, and began rubbing the lube into her bottom.

“Listen,” she said, “I want you to sodomize me.  But I haven’t done this in years, and you’re like a fucking stallion anyway; it might be too much.  Even if I can take it, it’s probably going to hurt.  That’s okay.  But if I want you to stop, I’ll say ‘red’.”

“As you wish.”

“What are you going to do if I say ‘red’?”

“I will stop.”

“Fuck me.”

She grabbed her rump and held it apart for him.  She shuddered as the head of his member pressed against her hole.  He pushed forward, his member forcing her open.  She screamed.

“Is it too much?” he asked.

She caught her breath and growled, “Fuck me.  Just go slow.  Be gentle.  But fuck me.”

He entered her slowly, an inch at a time.  Lizzie screamed, groaned, and growled; his member was massive; the pleasure was nearly overwhelming, and there was pain.  As with her womanhood, the cold made her aware of every inch.

“So fucking big,” she gasped, breathing hard.  “How much more can there be?”

“Halfway,” Iblis said.

She groaned.  “I want it all.  Oh God, oh Jesus Howard Christ on a pogo stick, this is so fucking intense.  I want it all.  Don’t move, though.  Let me . . . let me do it.”

Lizzie backed onto his member, and she came, spasming around him, soaking the bed with her release as she screamed.  She accepted more of him, and seemed to come with every inch she took.  After what felt like—and may well have been—hours, she found herself grinding against his hips.

“So goddamn huge,” she gasped.

“You are very tight.”

“When we’re done here, I might not be.  Oh, God, oh Jesus, this is so intense, so fucking intense.”

“Iblis.”

“Huh?”

“My name is not God.  My name is Iblis.”

“Very funny.”

She slid an inch off of his member, slammed back onto him, gasped, “Iblis!”

“That is better.”

Lizzie went limp and he followed her down.  Panting, she said, “Fuck me, Iblis.  Fuck my ass.  Fuck my ass with your demon cock while God and all His Angels watch.”

He obliged.  It was slow, gentle, careful, but was still nearly at her limit.  The pleasure was incredible, but the pain was growing.  After a few minutes, she released, spasmed about his member, and screamed from pain rather than ecstasy.  She caught her breath and shouted, “Red!  Red!  Red!”

At once, Iblis stopped and removed himself.  As the head of his member left her, he released his seed across her rump.  He threw his arms around her and drew her limp, shuddering body into his.  He ran a hand through her hair and asked, “Are you alright, Elizabeth?”

“I’m fine.  It was good, it was just too much.  It’ll go easier next time.”  She nuzzled against him.  “You stopped.”

“You asked me to stop.”

“I did ask you.  And you did stop.”  She nuzzled again.  “And now you’re taking care of me.”

“How could I possibly not?”

“Iblis, I don’t think I can move.  I need you to go to the closet for me and bring me the cardboard box.”

“As you wish.”

He left, returning with the box a moment later.  She rooted around in it until she found a thin leather band studded with glass beads, a clasp at either end.  Holding it up, she said, “Hey . . . this is weird, but . . . Iblis, I think I love you.”

He was silent for a long moment.  At last, he laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “I love you, Elizabeth.”

She handed him the leather band, said, “I want you to put this around my neck.”

Lizzie moaned at his touch, shuddered when she felt the collar snap shut.  He threw his arms around her and drew her back to him.

She purred, asked, “Iblis?”

“Yes, Elizabeth?”

Grinning, she buried her head in his chest.  “I love you, Master.”

 

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