Asmodeus – Demon of Lust: Part 6
Introduction:
The demoness and the Queen meet again…
Cheers,
Steelkat
Part 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
