by Alana Melos
How to describe perfection…? He was. He was perfect. His face could have been carved by Michelangelo as the perfect male. A strong jaw, strong nose, smoothly masculine brows and high cheeks… he was every model’s dream. Sure, there was a small scar on his chin, but the imperfection only served to highlight how utterly ethereal and perfect the rest of him was. His long, lush black hair rolled down in gentle waves from a part in the center, framing the living whiteness of his skin with midnight black. His eyes burned blue, bright, as if lit by some inner fire. He almost always wore a button up shirt, though he never buttoned a single one, leaving it open to frame his perfect body. His skin shone with lustrous pearlescence. Every groove of his gorgeous, cut frame stood highlighted in dark shadows and bright light. Today, it was a black silk shirt, and I couldn’t tell you which looked softer to the touch, his skin or the silk.
Complete with that was leather pants, which never seemed gauche on him. They fit him like a second skin, highlighting his lower body. Simply taking in the sight of him caught my breath, my body responding to the appearance of his. While I admit I liked people who worked out and stayed cut and trim, looks honestly didn’t matter that much to me. When I fucked someone, it was because they felt deeply, making the experience more intense for me. Take Nosferatu for example: he was ugly as fuck, but I still wanted him. Or Mike. Both of them. The body never pulled me like their emotions did. However, without my telepathy, all I had to go on was straight physical attraction. It hadn’t mattered in the last couple of days without it, but suddenly… even though I knew his mind was old, ancient, seeming to lack any sort of emotional depth at all except for boredom, that insight was pushed aside in his breathtaking angelic glory. He was a demon, you see, one of the Fallen. Before that, he’d been an angel, and he still held what I assumed was an angel’s beauty.
Caught unawares by his appearance, I stood there, my body responding to his. Desire bloomed to life. While I’d played around with the idea of wanting him before, even though I knew his angelic face hid a demonic beast, he’d never pulled me quite like this. Not in the fantasy he’d shared with me, not in real life, not in his mind… nothing. Trapped, I stood there, trying to remember to breathe.
If he had just stood there, we probably would have stared at each other all night. Instead, he grabbed me by the throat, lifting me with ease. He turned, taking me with him as my hands flew to the iron grip he had around my neck. I tried to pry his fingers off, but all I ended up doing was clawing my skin. His fingers were made of stone; I made no dent in them at all.
Slamming me up against the wall so hard the back of my head bounced off the tile, he snarled, voice low and menacing, “Twice tonight, Whimsy, when you know you’re banned.”
The sucky-bus behind him tittered. His grip eased just enough that I could breathe. “I need your help,” I rasped. “The City--”
“I don’t give two fucks about the city, Whimsy,” he said, his voice low and his breath more foul than I would have believed. He pulled me close to him for a moment, then slammed me back against the wall. “You violated the rules, and now you’re mine.”
Pain lanced through my head from the impact. My hands slid up his arm, feeling the velvety hardness of his skin as I tried to push him away. Rattled, it took me a moment to try and use my telekinesis. When I did, nothing happened. I concentrated harder, fighting through the pain, but nothing kept happening.
He smiled then, a terrible, wonderful smile. “I told you that you are mine now,” he purred, then lowered his head to my neck on the side where his thumb was. He planted a soft kiss on the skin between my neck and shoulder, then bit down while laving his tongue over the skin. At the same time, he squeezed my throat even harder, choking off what little air I’d been getting. The confusion of sensations fought each other, heightening both panic and pleasure. My sight grew dim, and he turned. The walls and floor melded together in my vision, growing darker as color swirled in a confusing pattern. Malech let go of my neck with his mouth and straightened, only to throw me down on a couch which hadn’t been there before. I held my throat and coughed, trying to suck air back into my lungs. My vision crept back, but the room was darker than it was before… no, we were somewhere else. We’d teleported to his office over the main dancefloor in the Underground.
Windows rimmed the entire office, save where one single door stood. The glass was darkened, so even if someone was flying above the dancers, they couldn’t see anything but black. The office space looked larger than I remembered. Maybe smaller. It shifted when I wasn’t looking, but his desk still stood in the place I remembered it. The couch he’d thrown me onto was large, with more than enough room to lay down on it and not touch either end. The leather cushions soaked me up, plumping up around me. Comfortable, but suffocating. I coughed and choked, holding my hand up indicating to give me a second, let me catch my breath, that I had something to say.
“Oh, Whimsy,” he said, his voice not dry and bored like I remembered it at all. He sounded darkly excited, predatory. “Oh, my sweet Whimsy. What fun we’re going to have.”
My body thrilled with excitement. My pussy was wet, ready for him. My mind recoiled from the thought and the situation. He towered above me in black and white aching perfection as I struggled to sit up. “I’m here on business,” I croaked when I was able.
In a second, he was on me, pushing me back with ridiculous ease and straddling me. I still wore the armor from earlier, but he moved his hand back, showing me gleaming black, razor sharp talons tipping each of his fingers. They sliced through the Kevlar like it was nothing. He peeled the armor open, stripping me with sensuous slowness, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure.
“Get off of me,” I said, my voice stronger now. Desire and revulsion rolled through me at the same time… but the desire was great, and the revulsion too small. I wanted him. I’d wanted him before. As he peeled the strips of armor off of me and discarded them to the side, my hands went to his arms, reveling in the touch of him. His skin was soft, so soft it made me want to cry. Everything about him did, but I couldn’t tell if it was from joy or terror.
“You’re mine, Whimsy,” he whispered, his lips barely moving. My chest piece disassembled, he forewent touching anywhere else except to pull me up to him briefly so he could rip off my trench coat, leaving it in tatters on the floor. After that, the back piece went.
So close to him, my heart pounded, making the back of my head ache even more. The room still spun. I probably had a concussion. The temperature rose, making it warm and thick. The sickly sweet smell of him filled me, pushing out conscious thought and pain. Instead, there was only him, the warmth of his burning skin on me, the heat of his eyes, his scent intoxicating me, reminding me of the hottest sex I’d ever had.
His talons sliced open my shirt with the utmost care not to prick my skin. Underneath him, I stared up, longing to draw my mouth over his neck, to taste his skin. My shirt fell to ribbons as I panted, losing myself in the heat of the moment. My blood pounded. My pussy ached. I followed every movement of his as he picked off the shredded cloth with a prissy touch.
Shifting his hips, he rocked to one side first and grabbed my leg to loop it around him, then the other until he wasn’t straddling me, but pressed up against me with my legs around him. I pulled him closer. The length of his cock was impressive, hard, firm, and unyielding. At the touch of it, I began moving wantonly, rubbing myself against him, even though clothing separated us.
The demon stayed still, watching me, urging me on in his soft, seductive voice. “That’s it, Whimsy,” he coaxed. “Come, come for me. Think about what you want to do to me… and what I’m going to do to you and come.” Thoughts filled my mind about the two of us fucking in every conceivable position. His cock grew even more as I rubbed against him, moaning into the leather cushion as my head tossed back and forth. The orgasm hit me fast and hard. My mind exploded into a thousand shards, each of them reflecting some depravity we were about to do. It rolled through me, on and on, growing in intensity. I cried
out, which trailed into a whimper as the sensations continued, leaving me a writhing mass of lust.
Malech continued to undress me, shredding my slacks and removing my boots as I continued to come, helpless before him. Pleasure, hot and pure, sliced me like a knife. He left me in my underwear and, as he watched me come, he ran his talons across my skin, heightening the sensations. It didn’t truly ebb, but as it went on, my mind and body adjusted. I was breathless in my ecstasy, but thought returned to me in dribs and drabs.
He leaned into me, crushing me with his weight. His lips tasted mine. I kissed him out of sheer instinct, wanting more of a connection with this thing which gave me such pleasure. He pulled again, laughing at me. “So easy,” he said, a sneer in his voice. “Pleasure makes weak even the strongest foe.” He leaned back so he could fit his hand around one of my breasts, the tips of his talons digging into my flesh and drawing blood. Yet that was ecstatic to me as I craved pain almost as much as pleasure. “I’m going to fuck you to death, over and over again,” he said, and I heard the gloating in his voice. “I’m going to break you in ways you never thought possible. You are mine, sweet and stupid Whimsy. Mine until I grow bored of you.”
The gloat cut through the pleasure. The words rang in my ears and, though I continued to be swept under the waves of desire assaulting my body, those words dug into me, pricking me with their hooks. It stirred my anger, the rage which was always within, just waiting to erupt. A heat of a different kind swept through me. My eyes flew open as I felt his cock jab against the seat of my panties. He was naked, gloriously, wonderfully naked, and his cock was huge. Bigger than I’d ever seen. Bigger than anyone could take. Big enough to split a person apart.
It didn’t matter. Having had such intense pleasure with Gerard many times, I had grown a sort of immunity to it. Immunity wasn’t the right word… perhaps resistance. The biggest push over with, I adjusted to the lust crawling over my skin and dark thoughts marred the visions. It wasn’t ‘That cock’s too big’ or ‘Damn, he’s hot naked’, but rather ‘How dare he think that he owns me?’ Spurred on by that thought and my rage, I slapped him, even as I moaned. His skin felt like a slapping a brick wall. His head jerked to the side with the force of the blow. Centering back on me again, he grinned, revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth.
“You want to play rough, lovely Whimsy, we’ll start rough then,” he said. As he did, his talons sank into my chest, causing me to cry out in pain. It wasn’t the pleasurable blood letting I wanted. No, he dug into my beast as if he was going to rip it off. His mouth widened unnaturally in a twisted grin and his eyes burned ever brighter. At the same time, he jabbed me again with that monster cock, sliding it along the cloth separating us, sending shivers of lust through me even as I screamed in pain.
“Your club is going to be overrun!” I screamed, as the pain washed the pleasure away. The climax I’d been experiencing faded as hot, searing agony poured into my chest as he rotated his hand slowly, carving in a clockwise motion. He did intend to rip it off.
“That plant outside?” he sneered. “Do you really think we’re in Imperial City right now? It can’t enter my temple. Don’t worry your precious little head on that, my wonderful Whimsy.” He pressed in tight as a long tongue snaked out from between his lips to lick at my own.
My mind raced, trying to think of something which would dissuade him. The demon continued to thrust against me obscenely as he carved my body. My chest burned with liquid agony, and he laughed. Oh, that mother fucker laughed. Then, I hit on it: the one thing which would make him stop.
“The people who come to the club,” I gasped. “They’re all going to die if you don’t let me go.” Was it my imagination or did the carving stop for just a millisecond? “You won’t get what you need from them.”
It was a long shot. A really big long shot. He eased the pressure on my chest, though his huge cock stayed pressed against my wet, overworked, yet still extremely sensitive pussy. “Imperius will stop it,” he said, sounding confident. “The heroes always do.”
“Not this time,” I said, forcing the words out in a rush. “Not without me.”
That caused him to stop his fingers still halfway into my chest. They burned me, making me writhe in place for an entirely different reason than the previous pleasure. “Why say you this?” he asked, his voice without inflection, but the words striking an odd chord to my ear.
“There’s a plan in place, but there’s not enough people to make it happen,” I rushed, then sucked in a lungful of air. That made me cough. It rattled my body, and blood slipped up my windpipe. He had punctured a lung in his enthusiasm. Briefly, I wondered what it would be like to drown in my own blood. The thought danced around, making it hard to concentrate on my words. “I was to get… get criminals, metas,” I gasped. Grunting then moaning in pain, I pressed on, “He won’t go forward… he’ll fail... with… without me.” I didn’t know for sure if that was true, but I thought it probably was.
“Nonsense,” Malech said, his lip curling up, the sneer making his handsome face ugly, but more real. He continued to twist, and I screamed. I screamed until I coughed up more blood, spattering his white face with it.
“T-truth,” I whispered. Life was leaving me, fast. He hadn’t done that much, but now my chest felt heavy and thick, like something was weighing me down. I struggled for breath. My mind raced. He wasn’t going to let up. “What are… you going to d-do… with no more customers?”
He stopped, his eyes narrowed. I’d just been flailing around looking for something which would make him listen to me. It had been a long shot, but with all the rumors and folklore about demons stealing souls, I guessed that was why he had the club.
Every once in awhile--not often--I do get lucky.
“Nothing can take out the city, short of a nuclear explosion,” he said, fingers still in my chest. Doubt had entered his voice on the softest of tremulous vibrations. “And I doubt even that.”
“Without enough people,” I whispered, unable to raise my voice. It had a nasty gurgle in it, and I tried to swallow any coughs, unsuccessfully. “Imperius won’t be able to… get e-enough of the plant… I-Imperial City… a-a waste… wasteland….”
He leaned in my face, a rotten smell coming off of him, which damped whatever remaining desire I had for him down to nothing. Staring into my eyes, Malech’s own burned as he studied me, searching for something. After an agonizing length of interminable time, he leaned back and took his hand back with a wet sound.
“You’re telling the truth,” he said.
“I-I don’t... lie,” I whispered, angry at the inference. More blood erupted from my cough, which ruined any sort of bad ass impression I was going for.
The demon continued to stare at me, then got off. As he rose, his clothes reappeared and my blood on his hands and face faded until he looked as smooth and unruffled as ever. The crushing pain in my chest eased, then disappeared altogether, though the blood remained. I ran a hand over my chest. It was whole and unblemished, and I breathed a clear sigh of relief, the blood gone from my lungs.
“Then you’ve work to do, Whimsy,” he said, his voice cold and hard. “This once you get a reprieve.” He stood there, looming over me, the only light in his room came from his eyes, two spots of blue fire in the room. “Next time, to quote a favorite movie of mine, I have such sights to show you.”
I knew which movie it was from, and shuddered at the thought. Though fear wasn’t unknown to me now, this revulsion which welled up in me was. It was more that fear, though that was there, and more than disgust. I felt dirty. For the first time in my life, I felt used and dirty. My savior, as ever, was anger. Rallying around it, I sat up and wiped my bloody hands on his nice couch.
“You ruined my outfit,” I said. “What the fuck am I supposed to wear?”
He waved a hand lazily as he turned away and moved to the door. “Whatever you find in the closet,” he said, stepping into the elevator. “Next time, Whimsy.”
The demon
left me there fuming on the couch. In the next minute, I knew I would be congratulating myself for not only living, but also finding a way to get what I wanted. Right that second, all I wanted to do was rip his throat out with my bare hands. “Asshole,” I muttered, then took a breath, steadied myself, and got up to hunt for clothes.
Chapter Eighteen
A person could have colored me surprised at what I found in his endless wardrobe. Not only were the damn sexy knee high leather boots, painted on black jeans, black tank top, and blood red silk shirt all in my size, they molded to my body as if they were made for me. To complement that, I found another trench coat--this time a dark and smokey grey--which had sword sheath hidden inside like my regular red leather one. In the pocket, I found a note which read “To replace what was lost. Malech. XO” I crumpled it up and threw it on the floor, my anger at him flaring up to dangerous heights. I had no time for bloodlust, nor the opportunity. Not here. This was his playground, and I had a feeling it was a place completely and utterly in his control. He always seemed to know what was going on, and showed up just after violence was done, breaking his rules. Some people had disappeared from here, never to be seen again. Like everyone else, I’d heard the rumors, but brushed them off. Maybe they just didn’t like the place and come back. Or maybe they’d run into someone bad on the way home. Those rumors got a new life in my head, and I wondered how many people had broken his rules and what price they’d paid.
I shuddered thinking of how close I’d been to finding out firsthand. Pushing the thoughts away with some effort, I focused on the task at hand. When I wandered to Malech’s desk, I spied a push to talk microphone on a small table nearby which appeared to be hooked up to the PA system. During my previous visit, I hadn’t noticed it there before. Then again, I hadn’t noticed a huge black stained oak wardrobe on the other side of the room either. His place, his rules, I reminded myself. I spent a couple minutes scribbling out a public service announcement for the villains who were here tonight. I glanced out the window, and the place seemed to be packed, even more than normal.
