Crave

by Bonnie Bliss

  Elizabeth wasn’t possessed. She was owned. By the purest form of evil known to all of creation—the devil. The Beast had taken every first born female before her. They all went, willing and obedient. They were educated on him, groomed to become his. When their time came at eighteen years of age, they embraced their fate.

  Elizabeth was an exception to this ‘deal’.

  The moment her parents told her when she was fifteen about the family’s past—how they were so wealthy, and how they maintained wealth through every depression and the rise and fall of the stock market—Elizabeth had been in denial.

  Until the first dream.

  It wasn’t terrible. She just somehow knew. Deep down inside, Elizabeth knew exactly who the male was visiting her in her dreams. It felt like she was in a Nightmare on Elm Street movie. As she got older, the dreams got more intense. He stopped talking and started touching. It was then Elizabeth pushed sleep to only three, four hours a night, if that. She would take powerful antidepressants which seemed to ward him off, and read that fennel plant staved off evil. She started to drink a cup every night before she slept and the dreams stopped.

  She felt free. For the first time in two years, hope surged inside Elizabeth.

  She should have known better.

  College started, and she had a few boyfriends here or there. She was a year off graduating from UCLA when she saw him, leaning against her car. The threat was silent, disturbing, and very real—just the glimmer in his eye, and the wicked smile that curled his lips. So close to a sneer of triumph. He’d found a way around her teas and herbs, and had come to claim her.

  She drove back home to Malibu that day and demanded her parents do something, anything. They called a priest and performed her first of three exorcisms. The devil came to her that night in her dreams. He popped up as her professor in one of her classes. He knew every which way to get to her and it was then she realized she needed to discover more.

  Forum searches on the web led her to a faceless friend.

  Jared253.

  A religious studies minor, majoring in anthropology.

  Elizabeth never knew the guy’s actual name. He’d helped her through everything she was going through. He even found this convent, where she now lived.

  Reaching for a large, rough-looking tome from the mid-shelf, she went back to her seat. The steaming cup of tea looked delicious in that moment. Elizabeth breathed in the calming steam of chamomile. She’d given up on the fennel when the devil started making appearances in her life.

  Flipping through the seemingly endless pages, she scanned through all the known documentations of deals with the devil. They had mountains of these books. It would appear that nearly every successful person this earth had, more than willingly, signed over their souls and that of their families to the devil. Her family seemed to be the only one that signed over the females. They were his breeding ground. His whores.

  Elizabeth knew one thing for sure. She was not going to be a slut to the devil. She was her own person with her own soul. Some fucktard from the past couldn’t make a choice for her future. Her life was her life. She was nearly done with her education. She was majoring in computer sciences and she wanted to get a normal job, have a normal relationship, and have babies—babies that wouldn’t be owned by the devil.

  Somehow, somewhere deep inside, she felt like she was the link that was needed to break the chain. She was the lone descendent that could end all this bullshit.

  Elizabeth remembered being social. She remembered trusting people. Most of all she remembered her last boyfriend. The one she was so ready to sleep with. The moment they had done anything the pain started. Doctor after doctor could tell her nothing. She thought she had cancer; it had been so painful when Robert touched her.

  All that added up to was that HE had never left. Always a part of him was embedded in her life to make her hate him, to make her hate her entire being.

  She hated him.

  And she would have her life back.

  Sweat started to bead along her forehead. Her thick, full mane of dark hair suddenly felt hot and stifling. Elizabeth grabbed it in a messy ponytail and twisted it until she could knot it high on top of her head. The room seemed to still around her. Her vision wouldn’t focus. Heat seemed to consume her. On a grumble she pushed away from the table, but turning around to open up the window, she stilled.

  The window was open.

  Reaching a shivering hand out, she felt the quenching breeze tickle her fingertips. Elizabeth sucked in her bottom lip and turned her back, but the heat didn’t abate. If anything it got worse. She was in tight skinny jeans and a sweat shirt. Normally, it was frigid in this part of the convent. Also, the dress code was ‘keep every inch of your skin covered’. She grabbed the sleeves and shoved them up her arms, giving her body some reprieve.

  Heading back over to the table, she reached for the book, ready to get back to reading, when she heard it. It was muffled, and low, but it was something akin to a—moan. Furrowing her brows, she got back up and headed towards the door. She followed the narrow stone passageways until she heard the sound loud and clear through the church doors.

  Moaning, panting, breathless mewls filled the halls in this part of the convent. There was no way she’d heard right. Fingers trembling, she gave the door a light nudge and slipped in through the thin crack. The sounds came louder. The confessional in the far corner shivered against the wall.

  This could only be two things: a group of teens had gotten in on a dare and were doing this. Or one of the sisters was getting busy in the confessional with one of the priests.

  Impossible.

  Each step felt like lead filled her toes. She didn’t want to move, but curiosity took over and she was propelled by forces out of her control. Looking back on this later, she was almost positive she would notice the flashing red warning signs that blazed from this whole situation. But now—she was consumed and needed to see into that confessional.

  Her fingers reached for the maroon silk curtains that covered the confessor side. She rarely visited the church. You would think someone meant to be the devil’s courtesan would pray until their knees bled. Elizabeth didn’t believe in God, not anymore. No God would allow someone innocent like all the girls before her to be taken by his arch nemesis.

  Right?

  Brushing the curtain aside, she dropped into the tiny bench and peeked through the blurry grate. Sucking in a breath, pressing her palm flat against her mouth, she froze.

  It couldn’t be.

  It was.

  Something inside her own groin fired up and she found herself getting wet at the sight before her. Sister Margaret lay back against the wall, her cornette still perfectly on her head yet the rest of her habit was stripped away, revealing curves that Elizabeth would kill for. Margaret’s breasts were large and pert, the nipples pointing towards heaven in silent worship to what was being done to her.

  Elizabeth pressed her thighs together, fighting off the arousal that thrummed through her body. Nipples poked into her lacy bra, her panties soaked through as she watched the young priest that even she had forbidden eyes for feasting on the sister between her legs. He was growling and snarling against her pussy as she thrust her hips against his face. Her fingers clawed at his scalp as she begged for more. Lapping sounds filled the small space. The scent of sex filled Elizabeth’s nostrils and she fought against her urges.

  Flashes of a man touching her, parting her legs and pinning her thighs to a bed of red silk sheets filled her mind.

  Yes, my sweet one. Feel it, taste it.

  Her tongue swiped over her lips and a salty yet sweet taste burst onto her taste buds. Elizabeth realized in that moment, it was the musky flavor of—female. This female. The sister she trusted, that she’d handed her life over to, was being ravaged by this priest. He tempted her, and all the things she knew to be right and true were exploding in her brain. Her gaze found the man between the sister’s legs again and this time his grey-eyed gaze w
as on her.

  It wasn’t the young priest. No, this couldn’t be right, it couldn’t be him. Her heart punched into her ribcage so hard she felt like she was going to stop breathing at any moment. Her arousal shot up another notch and she reached between her legs to ease the ache that had started to build. She could swear she felt his tongue on her own sensitive clit. His tongue flicked out again and the sister hissed. She mirrored the woman, her head falling back as the building heat started in the back of her neck and traveled down her body. Her fingers found the seam of her jeans and pressed it hard against her aching button. Desire swept through her and she was lost to this wave of heat that teased her nipples, made her breasts swell.

  “Please,” she begged.

  Oh, God, what was she doing? This can’t happen. Blinking her eyes open, she looked up and that wicked, evil smirk was in place on his ridiculously handsome face.

  “NO!” she screamed.

  She backed out of the confessional and fell. Sprawled on the floor, she hit hard, her ass hitting solid stone. Elizabeth crawled back like a crab before finding her footing, using one of the pews for leverage as she got up to her feet.

  This can’t be happening. How did he find me here?

  Chapter Two

  The devil, or Asmodeus as he preferred to be called, stepped out of the confessional, licking his evil, pussy-coated lips. Elizabeth, his future bride, his rampant sexual submissive to be, stood breathing hard, her fingers red as they held on to keep her steady.

  “You will not desecrate her soul.”

  Asmodeus showed his amusement, his laughter drowning out the pitiful voice of the priest, who now shielded his intended with his equally pitiful body.

  “Father, she belongs to me. I have it in writing. I am the devil, the worst of the worst, the lord of all darkness, the king of primeval lust.”

  “You will not have her. I swear by almighty God, you will not have her.”

  “Oh, you poor man, Father. Have you not tasted the sin of a woman, never thought of devouring a female’s delicious cunt? Oh, but you have dreamt it.”

  Asmodeus closed in on the priest and Elizabeth behind him.

  “My sweet Elizabeth.”

  He watched her struggle, her brave attempt to run but she was frozen to the spot, unable to move. Those pretty lips grimaced, her fingertips almost purple as she struggled to pull away.

  “Our priest has craved for the flesh, Elizabeth. He sleeps in his cell at night and dreams of corruption of a voluptuous nun. Sister Margaret, come to me.”

  The nun in the confessional came running, her habit in place once more.

  “The good Father Thomas here wants you, sister. Why don’t you relieve him of his cravings? Take out his willing cock and suck it for him, until it is good and hard.”

  The devil touched the priest on the shoulder and lifted him a few inches off the ground before setting him down on a pew. The willing Sister Margaret kneeled at his side and began to unzip him.

  “Ah, the sweetness of desire. It can make any human lose all senses. Am I right, Elizabeth?”

  He had made it so her lips were sealed. Touching her shoulder, he felt her anger. The fight in her ran through his own flesh and he felt warm inside. Circling behind her, he sniffed her scent.

  “Divine. Do you feel the passion of others affecting you? I feel you; your skin warms and your nerves tingle. I feel the wetness, the sweat running down your back, down the back of your thighs and in the very crack of your ass. Your body lies to your true desires.”

  Sweet Sister Margaret had Thomas’s cock in her hand. The devil grinned as she squeezed and tugged at it, making it hard and wet at the tip. Thomas sighed and his moans told the truth as her sweet lips caressed the purple crown.

  “Oh God!”

  “Ah yes, we all say his name when a whore nun sucks our dick. Your skin tightens, Elizabeth. Your body craves the desire; you want what the nun has, that cock, sliding deep in her mouth.”

  The devil raised his evil hand a couple of inches from Elizabeth’s chest. He moved his fingers, manipulating her breasts in the air, pressing, caressing, pinching her nipples in her eager mind. He could feel her struggle. Her eyes glared at him, yet her body cried out for him, needed to be touched, to be taken.

  “Feel it, how your breasts rise and fall, how your nipples grow hard like pebbles and push against the cloth. Your pretty cunt is dripping wet. Juices flow from it and tickle your folds like cold sweat in an even colder place. Your muscles clench and release. You want it.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes read like an open book. Her body squirmed for him as he sat next to the nun in the pew before her.

  Sister Margaret had such talent. The devil lifted her habit and pushed it high, exposing curves and flesh created for sin. Kneeling behind her, he raised her pretty ass and parted her buttocks. She sucked on Thomas like a prostitute of ill repute. The devil slid his tongue up her crack and tasted her. Her moans affirmed her pleasure.

  “Please, my Lord, fuck your whore.”

  “Ah, such wanton sin from God’s own bitch.” Slipping his tongue out once more, he savored her sweet cunt, lapping at it, tugging at the dripping labia. When he was satisfied, he pulled back. “I think, sister, Father Thomas is more deserving. Sit on him and ride him until he fills you with his salty seed.”

  Margaret wriggled and stood, hoisting her habit high over her head until she wore only her crucifix.

  Asmodeus laughed. He rose and stood on the pew close to Thomas, who now held Margaret by the waist. She bounced on him, needing the sex as much as he did. She rode him hard, her breasts mesmerizing as they moved with beautiful fluidity against the priest’s chest. The devil ran his hand down her back, down the sweet curve of her ass and then fingered her tight anus.

  Margaret moaned in delight as her Lord unleashed his lust. His zipper slid down on its own and her hand slipped inside, pulling out the devil’s cock.

  “Oh yes, God loves dick. Stroke it, put it in your mouth.”

  Margaret did as she was told, fucking her priest while sucking her lord.

  The devil had no ordinary phallus. It was huge and ridged with a swollen crown even males would envy. Margaret served him well, taking it almost whole down her throat.

  “Your body desires lust, Elizabeth.” He could feel it, as if they were one, linked together by centuries of long-dead souls. He wanted her, just as he had wanted her female ancestors before her, but he wanted her more. Elizabeth had tremendous desire but what really tempted him was her true nature, her strong will, the need to fight him and win, to be free. Turning to look at her, he saw that her eyes were filled with disgust, yet her body needed every ounce of the sexual tang that filled the great hall. He reached and touched her hair. Soft like silk, it had a tinge of dampness as the sweat caressed her brow and spread through the tender locks.

  “Look at me, Elizabeth. See how Margaret sucks on my dick. You can’t deny how your body reacts. You want it, and you crave it. You want to taste, to suck it, to feel the hard blood-filled flesh against your lips and throat. Your pussy clenches at the very idea of it between your thighs, rubbing along the ridge of your swollen mounds, before I ease it in that sweet crevice, deep in your pink slit. You want to feel it stretch you as my hands slide over your skin and grip you. You crave me, my hard shaft sliding deep inside you, pounding and pumping you until I shoot my devil’s seed into your needy womb.”

  Laughter and sex-derived moans filled the halls as he felt Elizabeth’s struggle with his demonic grip. She fell away, her fist clenched at her sides as she found her body hers once more. Asmodeus winked at her as she ran.

  Chapter Three

  Panic.

  It thrummed through her body like a living thing. Elizabeth’s heart punched at her chest to the point of aching. Everything she thought she believed was a lie. She released a violent sob as she rounded a corner and slammed into Mother Superior Theresa.

  “My dear, good gracious, what is happening? Why are you sweating and runni
ng?” The sister reached for Elizabeth and she released a squeal and tried to run back.

  Strong arms grabbed onto her wrist. Elizabeth turned around quickly and tried to shove away from the woman. The heat of her salty tears made her cheeks itch only intensifying the panic.

  “Please,” she pleaded with the woman on a sob. “He’s come for me. He is here. Oh, God, I thought I was safe. Oh, my God.”

  Elizabeth scrubbed a hand over her face. She shook her head, attempting to clear the foggy thoughts that collided together.

  Satan.

  Here.

  Not safe.

  Must run.

  She rounded on the woman and shoved the sister against the stone walls. The beautiful face looked back at her with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Of all the blessed beings, Ms. Cromwell, please, you must calm. I cannot help you if you do not calm for me.”

  Trying to make a firm attempt at calming her frayed nerves, Elizabeth pressed her palm against her stomach. Now that she had time to reflect on the moment, her swollen sex seemed to itch and she pressed her legs together tight. She felt bile rise to the surface and she heaved as she bent at the waist and let out the contents of her stomach in the corner of the convent hallway. A pink blush flushed her facial features as she turned back to the pretty Mother Superior.

  They are all good looking. Every single fucking one of them look like fucking models.

  Something isn’t right here.

  The sister reached for her again.

  She jerked her hand away.

  “Don’t touch me,” Elizabeth hissed.

  Theresa righted her posture and gazed down at Elizabeth with a scolding expression.

  “Really, child, all in a huff, vomiting in the halls, sweat all over your body—I need you to tell me what has happened.”