by Various
His brow furrowed slightly then, as it did when he was deep in thought, yet his lips continued to smile. There was something wicked in his expression, something darkly sensual. He took an article from a shelf and set it on the table. Then he placed her on top of it. She blinked in confusion for a moment. It was a wax tray, the kind used for dissection.
‘You’re such a rare specimen,’ he said. ‘Now lie on your back for me.’
Auren was grateful not to have to stand up any longer. She obeyed, a delicious shudder coursing from head to foot as she lay back in the soft wax and waited for the exposure she knew was coming. She had admired her master’s collection of butterflies and marvelled at his skill in pinning them, splaying their colourful wings to show their exquisite beauty.
Now he took up a length of silken thread and twisted it into a double loop. He arranged her arms so they were spread like wings and with his most delicate pair of miniature tongs he laid the thread across Auren’s left wrist and carefully drove a pin through each end of the loop, securing her arm in place. Then he did the same with her other wrist.
Auren tested the bonds and found she was held fast. The sense of powerlessness and display made her writhe with desire and she squeezed her legs together tightly, craving and dreading what she knew would come next.
‘Legs apart,’ he said.
Slowly she spread her legs for him, blushing and squirming at the wetness that would be shamefully obvious to her master. Her heartbeat threatened to deafen her. Valtiori pinned her ankles in place with two more loops of thread and stepped back to admire his work.
‘Now what shall we do with you?’ he wondered aloud, clearly relishing the unique power he had over his tiny apprentice.
Auren felt dizzy with lust and exposure, her legs splayed wide for her master. She felt the memory of his cock inside her, the feeling stronger now that she knew it had been real. He couldn’t fuck her now but she imagined there were plenty of other creative things he could do to her instead.
He teased her again with the quill, brushing the excruciating softness of the feather across her breasts, tickling her nipples into painful stiffness. Then he dipped the nib into the candle, coating it with a droplet of melted wax. As he brought it near her sex she sighed at the warmth she could feel emanating from it. He placed it between her splayed thighs, pressing the warm soft waxy bulb against her sex and moving it in tiny circles.
She moaned and shuddered at its touch, gasping occasionally when the pressure became too intense. When the wax began to cool he withdrew the quill and Auren whimpered softly, a submissive entreaty for him not to stop. He smiled down at her, seeming pleased by her behaviour.
‘I wonder …’ he mused. Then he picked up another pin like the ones securing her to the wax tray. ‘Now hold perfectly still.’
Auren’s eyes widened in terror as he slowly lowered the pin between her legs. She bit back a scream as it came nearer and nearer but she held still as she’d been ordered to and the point sank into the wax tray without touching her. Valtiori angled it upwards slightly so that it pressed firmly against her sex. The stimulation was immediate and intense, no doubt heightened by her momentary fear.
But Valtiori wasn’t finished. He had looped something through the end of the pin, some kind of flexible thread. No, she realised. It was the string of a musical instrument. She watched, fascinated, as he pulled it taut and placed his finger against it. And when he strummed it, the vibration it sent through her made her gasp.
She had never felt anything so exquisite. Her tiny body was wildly alive with sensation. And she knew she couldn’t escape it even if she wanted to. She had no choice but to submit to her master’s slow and deliberate ministrations as he twanged the string again and sent another jolt of ecstasy buzzing through her.
He was forcing such sublime feelings from her, just as he had before, when she’d thought she was merely dreaming. But this was no fantasy. She was his pinned specimen, his to tease and toy with however he wished. The thought made her head swim with lust as the vibrations made her shudder all over, inside and out, again and again until she thought she wouldn’t be able to take any more. At last the pleasure swelled and built into a powerful climax and she cried out, arching and twisting in her bonds as wave after blissful wave washed over her.
Afterwards she lay limp and panting and utterly spent. Valtiori was watching her again through the magnifying glass and the added sense of exposure made her body burn with eagerness for more.
‘What a very good girl,’ Valtiori said.
He sounded pleased and Auren blushed, humbled as always by his praise even though it had been none of her doing.
When he began removing the pins to release her, she almost begged him not to. She didn’t think her legs could possibly hold her up but she needn’t have worried; her master held her in the palm of his hand as she curled into a ball and closed her eyes.
He smiled and stroked her hair with a fingertip. ‘My little pet,’ he said fondly.
As she drifted off to sleep she suspected he was no more eager than she was to have her return to her normal size.
The Candidate
Rhyll Biest
‘Candidates eleven and twelve.’
She strained to hear her number as the pairs were called, one instructor’s voice rocking the gym hall louder than the rest.
Marchosias.
All-knowing, all-seeing, he waited for a demon candidate to show weakness then plucked them from the course, declaring them unfit for his legion. His voice rumbled around the cavernous gym like the wake of an avalanche, alternately cajoling and hectoring, often irate.
But in Marchosias’s case, appearance took precedence over voice.
Arrestingly hard-faced with rust-brown skin, his left arm punctuated with ink in a jagged, chaotic stream of tattoo blacker than his close-cropped hair and scowl. Easily mistaken by a human for ‘tribal’, the sigils marked Marchosias’s place in the hierarchy of Hell – at the top, with all the other millennia-old arch-demons. Even without the sigils Vanth would have known his status. It was stamped, far deeper than any tattoo, in the arrogant tilt of his head, his acerbic tongue, the way his ochre gaze stripped her bare and found her clearly wanting.
The only thing more humiliating than the sting of his cold glare was its effect on her. Only yesterday she was half-heartedly sucking the cock of a fellow student in preparation for the final Fornication 101 exam, wondering how soon class would end and what was for dinner, when the raw yolk of his stare fell on her and, bam, like that, a needy ache set up between her legs and, next she knew, she was hoovering every last drop of come from her partner in an urgent, frenzied motion as small, undignified whimpers crowded the cock in her throat for space.
Unsettling stuff.
But Marchosias was older than time itself, and, as the legion’s expert in leading humans astray, who could tell where his sway ended?
She frowned as more and more names were called and she remained unpaired. Around her, students jogged on the spot and limbered up with their partners, preparing to get the most out of their fragile human forms over the hour-long exam.
‘Candidates twenty-six and twenty-three.’
Unease tugged at her guts as the last remaining names were called out.
She squinted at the instructors. Had they left her off the exam list? Where was her partner? Only a handful of instructors remained.
Oh, no. A possibility so awful occurred to her that she had to close her eyes against the very idea. Surely not?
Spit turning sour in her mouth, she opened her eyes and watched, appalled, as Marchosias approached.
Her gaze lifted to his mile-wide shoulders then slid down the muscled torso straining his T-shirt. A thick belt sat above the sinful sweep of his lean hips like a black halo. Hard thighs drew her unwilling gaze to a denim bulge that concealed the downfall of many a candidate: Marchosias’s cock.
According to demon lore, the monster was not overly long, but unusually thick.
Her thighs clamped together involuntarily.
How stupid of her: human form was affecting her brain. His cock would be the least of her problems. Thousands upon thousands of years old, he had to know human sexual tricks she couldn’t even begin to imagine. There was no way she could make him come while controlling her own body. She might as well give up right now on joining the legion.
Months of instruction in human etiquette and culture flashed before her eyes, the wasted effort welling like a blister inside her. She and the other legion candidates were just a joke to the instructors, right down to the tacky faux high school gym setting conjured for training.
Two large bare feet planted themselves in front of her on the navy-blue gym mats, and with misgiving she raised her eyes. Had he singled her out because of her moment of mirth during fellatio class? Surely not …
Under the black wing of his brows, ochre eyes gleamed with amusement. Unlike her, he didn’t have to keep his eyes looking human.
‘Hmmm. Uneven class numbers are a bitch, aren’t they?’
His rich baritone reverberated in her ears as her gaze darted around the gymnasium where the other students were in various stages of coupling, observed by grading instructors.
She licked suddenly dry lips, her eyes on the other pairs. ‘What about a threesome? That has to be worth extra credit, surely?’
He grinned, teeth flashing white against his deep tan. ‘Sorry. Wouldn’t be fair to the other students, would it?’
Fair? What was fair about any of this?
As hope drained from her, he conducted a leisurely inspection of her body from head to toe. Under his unblinking gaze, the human form she’d viewed as largely uninteresting took on a new dimension as his body subtly unfurled and stood to attention. Hmmm, her cheerleader outfit was obviously a good choice for the exam. Feeling a little more hopeful, she gave her pom-poms a tentative shake.
A sneer curled his lip.
Damn.
An instructor wandered over, clipboard and pencil in hand, expression bored. ‘You two good to go?’
‘Screw off, I have this in hand.’
The instructor stiffened. ‘Ah, apologies, arch-demon Marchosias.’
She watched the demon scurry away and her courage threatened to leak out through her bare soles and dribble down between the gym mats.
‘Candidate twenty-nine, I’m waiting.’
He didn’t even know her name, just the number written in felt-tip pen on her arm. Still, what was the name of a mere hundred-year-old demoness to him?
Fear frothed just below her skin but she took a deep breath and forced her feet a step closer to his lean, taut body. She carefully avoided his gaze, focusing on his chest. Was it her imagination or was he suddenly bigger? A light buzz set up in her ears, chasing the memory of every lesson out her brain until she stared dumbfounded at the nipples punctuating his grey T-shirt. Where to start?
Unpeeling, everything starts with the unpeeling. With a flourish she tossed her pom-poms over her shoulders, her panties behind them, and shimmied out of her tight sleeveless top. Not too fast. Would a bump and grind be out of place? He was no mere human, easily impressed by jiggling flesh. She decided to skip it, unzipped her skirt and let it fall in a puddle of crimson at her feet.
A-ha, he wasn’t sneering now. In fact, his lips were slightly parted in a way she liked the look of.
Now to unpeel him.
If the exam had allowed changing to demon form she could have just shredded his T-shirt with a single swipe of her clawed hand. Instead she hooked a finger under its hem and crept her hand north, glacially slow, taking in the way his nostrils flared and the pulse jumped in his throat.
The hem reached the prow of his nipples and would go no further as his arms remained stubbornly by his sides.
She cleared her throat. ‘A little help here, please.’
He raised one dark, haughty brow. ‘Help? This is not a social working bee, candidate twenty-nine, this is an exam.’
‘Fine,’ she huffed, and stepped in, grabbed him by the nape and buried his face in her cleavage. She twitched his T-shirt over his head as his long arms flailed for balance.
He spluttered against her nipples, but when he straightened he was shirtless.
Victory over a thousand-year-old demon was sweet and she savoured it, along with the smooth, tanned landscape of his chest and abs, and the sinful groove bracketing each hip in a graceful V shape that swept low to disappear down his waistband.
He narrowed ochre eyes at her and her smirk faltered. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
She swallowed. ‘Let me guess, no sense of humour?’
‘None whatsoever. Unless it involves failing candidates.’
Ouch.
She unhooked her bra with sad hands. Every demon needed a sense of humour. What had happened to his?
Cupping her breasts she jiggled them, but failed to raise a smile.
Instead he growled at her. ‘You’re boring me. Hurry up.’
Boring him?
Swallowing a hiss, she lunged forward and fastened her mouth over one of his small brown nipples and sucked as if her life depended on it. A shudder rewarded her, but before she could savour her victory his shoulders flexed and large hands engulfed her breasts, hot palms swallowing the lower half of each globe as deft, clever fingers worked her nipples.
Aiii! A jolt of pleasure shot from nipple to cunt, as overwhelming as it was unexpected. This had never happened in class before. What was going on?
Desperate to get away from his cunning fingers she dropped to her knees. His jutting denim-clad erection gently grazed her cheek and she jerked away from it.
‘On your knees already, candidate twenty-nine? It must be my lucky day.’
His deep, hateful voice mocked her as she eyed the bulge in his jeans with resentment.
‘Eyes up,’ he commanded.
Grudgingly she looked up and was caught in his smouldering, ever so mildly contemptuous, stare.
Holding her gaze, his eyelids grew heavy as he rubbed his hand over his chest, let the same hand sink down past ribs and abdominals, sweeping lower and lower in a lazy trail that made her mouth water. With a deft movement of his fingers he undid the top button of his jeans, unzipped himself and let his cock spring free.
He dressed commando-style. Of course.
Palming his shaft, he stroked it hard, swirling his thumb over the head. A muscle jumped in his jaw and she gave voice to the whimper building in her throat. She wanted his hard, heavy shaft in her hand, no, wanted it in her mouth, wanted to feel its warm, pulsing thickness and taste its salty precome.
A wicked gleam lit his eyes as he stared her down. ‘I’m not sure you’re entirely worthy of sucking my cock. What do you think, candidate twenty-nine?’
Incapable of speech, she stared at his hand, licked her lips and almost moaned as he stepped closer to trace her lips with the head of his prick. She’d imagined sucking him off many a time, but in her dreams he begged and moaned her name rather than drilling her with an icy look that was part challenge, part disdain.
Her hand hovered small and pale above his enormous tanned thigh before settling on the furnace of muscle. The other hand she placed over his to feed his cock between her lips, opening wide to take his thickness. Her training kicked in and she ran the tip of her tongue along the underside of his shaft, savoured his harsh intake of breath as she laved the groove below the head of his prick.
He was warm, salty, silken in her mouth. Somehow she had expected him to be made of stone, as flinty as the drill-sergeant words that flew from him like shrapnel.
Fingers dug into her hair. ‘Ah, what a lovely fuck your mouth is. Take me deeper.’
Shamed by the way his compliment thrilled her, she tilted her head and let him slide deeper, freeing him only to roll her tongue around the thick, red, swollen head of his cock. His hips pumped once, then twice, involuntarily, and she stole a glance at his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly p
arted.
He was hers.
Jubilant, she slid her hand from his thigh up to the invitation of his balls, cupped his sack, fondled the hot, heavy flesh and registered his jerk, followed by a light shudder. Keeping her mouth firm on his cock, she rubbed and teased him. Elation warmed her cheeks as he came undone, his movements less controlled, more graceless with each moment. She might be the one on her knees servicing him, his social inferior in every way, but she was going to make him spurt, make him lose control, make him shudder and explode. And enjoy every moment of it.
With an oath he pulled free from her mouth and dropped to his knees beside her on the mat, his skin slapping against the vinyl as he grabbed her around the waist and pinned her with the ease of a seasoned wrestler. His other hand found her cunt with unerring accuracy and he pushed an unhurried finger inside her. Leisurely exploration was soon replaced by intent as he withdrew his thick, blunt digit with a slow and sensuous twist and then added another finger. Unable to wriggle free from his unyielding grip, she endured with panting curses as he drilled his fingers deep into her pussy with long, gliding strokes and treacherous twists, a growl of approval escaping him at the juices flowing from her and easing his path. With a turn of his hand, the pad of his thumb found her clit, working it with unquestionable skill, and a dangerous heaviness built inside her. How could she save this situation?
If she rode his fingers as she wanted to, countered his thrusts and fucked herself on his hand, the test would be over for her in minutes. She was already perilously close to joining in the chorus of moans wafting through the gym hall like a chant.
‘Do you like my fingers in your wet cunt?’ His whisper tickled her ear and she squirmed, her pussy clamping down on him. ‘Oh, yes, you do, don’t you?’
He liked to talk; perhaps she could use that. Calling upon the hundreds of hours of B-grade porn they’d sat through in class, she conjured her breathiest starlet-cum-whorelet voice. ‘Oh, please, take me with your cock. I need you inside me. Please.’ Too corny?
