Demon Lust

by Raisa Greywood

  "Too much," she protested, panting a little, as the acute feeling of fullness overwhelmed her, her body finally settling on top of his. Her anus ached, clasping tightly to the base of his second cock. The two-pronged assault made her full of all sorts of conflicting sensations, the twin rods separated only by a thin membrane inside of her body. This position made the sensations even more acute, as if gravity—as well as her nipple rings—were pulling her more firmly atop him. Or perhaps Leonard was more well-endowed this time around. Lyana wouldn't put it past him.

  "Beautiful," he responded, pulling the rings upwards now. After a moment Lyana's body followed, attempting to relieve the strain on her tender buds. And then he pulled her back down again, ignoring her whimpers as he began to force her to move up and down on top of him, at a much faster pace than she would have done on her own. Her muscles tightened and her anus burned and flared as her body strained to adjust, stretching to accommodate the large cocks that he was forcing her to ride.

  It was heaven and hell all in one, a mix of the gentle lover that he'd proved to be in his almost-human form and the adept sexual tormenter demon of the night. Unlike the punishment that she'd met at his hands, the pleasure and arousal she was feeling, even in reaction to the pain that he elicited from her, was all her own. Some part of her loved what he was doing to her, accepted and even gloried in the throbbing aches, the stinging hurts. Her blood pounded in her ears as he began to move her faster.

  A chain appeared between her breasts, attached to the rings adorning her nipples, as his hands slid down to her hips. Lyana moaned as the chain bounced, a weight hanging from the center of it, tugging at her and making her nipples pull painfully with every movement of her rocking body. Digging his fingers into the soft flesh of her ass, Leonard began to lift and lower her, watching as her breasts bounced, her nipples being tugged with every lift and fall of the weighted chain. Her body was adrift in sensation that she no longer had the slightest bit of control over, pain and pleasure spiking from all of her most sensitive places. Stretched out above him, her hands tugged at the soft rope encasing her wrists as she undulated and convulsed, tiny tremors rumbling through her with every thrust of his body upwards into hers.

  Talons dug into her buttocks, hard enough to score her soft flesh and Lyana cried out, shocked at the way her holes tightened, the pleasure that shuddered through her even as she writhed with pain. The thought flickered through her head that she could be quite ecstatic to spend the rest of eternity at Leonard's mercy. A trembling shudder went through her as she found her body being hefted and lowered with much greater force, her burning holes had stretched enough to accommodate the assault without extreme pain, and what discomfort was left only excited her body further.

  "Leonard!" she screamed, throwing her head back as the most incredible climax began to pulse in her core, causing her entire body to arch and curl, her muscles seizing with the intensity of sensation that tightened and expanded throughout her limbs. Stars sparkled behind her closed eyes, white streaks across her vision as she found herself riding and writhing, Leonard's movements becoming stronger and more demanding, pushing her climax higher, her sensitive nerves ringing with the continuing sexual rapture that he had thrust her into.

  A searing pain swept through her, starting at one of his fingertips on her buttocks, a burning flash of agony that ripped another scream from her throat even as she was thrown into the throes of another orgasm. Her flesh was burnt, crisped, marked with his brand now burnt into her skin, and the exultation of marking her as his sent Leonard surging upwards with his own pinnacle of ecstasy. Fluid poured into her orifices as Lyana wavered on the edge of unconsciousness, assaulted from every side by incandescent lightness and pulsing, scalding heat. The marker on her bottom throbbed in time with her pulse, and yet she continued to shudder with the contractions of her orgasm.

  The ropes around her wrists unraveled and it was only Leonard's gentle hands that kept her from completely falling on top of him. The chain between her breasts vanished as quickly as it had appeared and he cushioned her descent to his chest, her body still clasped around his flesh as it began to diminish inside of her.

  "Shh," he murmured as he cupped a cool hand over the brand he'd put on her flesh. "Unfortunately, there's no way to heal this quickly, but I can help."

  "What is it?" she asked, trying not to whimper. The chill of his hand did seem to counteract the burning to a degree, which she was grateful for. Other than that, one awful spot of seared flesh, the rest of her felt quite wonderful. Her nipples were a little sore, pressed against his hard stomach, but it was barely noticeable against the much worse pain on the upper curve of her buttock.

  "It's my sigil. No one else can touch you now. You're mine." The last sentence was said with a kind of ferocity that Lyana almost found startling. And yet she'd never felt safer in her entire life. His tone gentled. "No one else will ever hurt you again."

  "That shouldn't sound comforting, but it does," she said, lifting her head to look at him. This strange demon with his mix of gentleness and brutality, his enjoyment of both her pain and her pleasure.

  "Are you satisfied?"

  There was nothing in her old life to go back to. No family. No dreams. No village. Everyone she’d ever loved was gone. There was nothing for her but him.

  "Yes. I'm satisfied."

  The Devil’s Doorbell

  Raisa Greywood

  Chapter 1

  Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?

  Genesis 3:1

  Ruth took off her bonnet and hung it on its hook as the echoes of the evening Recessional faded in the distance. She didn’t have time to bother with her shoes and hurried to the wooden chair placed in front of the television, her chest heaving from her mad dash across her neighborhood.

  She lived too far from the Seventh Street Holy House, but this small apartment was all she could afford with the wages from her job at the small market down the street. If Layman Mark ended the service when he was supposed to, she wouldn’t have to run to make it home in time.

  Sometimes she wondered if he gave long sermons on purpose.

  Her bottom hit the hard seat a split second before the screen flickered to life and she let out a sigh of relief.

  “Joyous and blessed evening, good women of Newmerica.”

  Judith Martin’s voice was as modulated and soothing as it had been when Ruth first bore the woman’s mark of sin almost five years ago, and it didn’t look like she’d aged a day.

  “Blessed evening, Mother Judith,” Ruth replied, the rote response coming without thought.

  “Thank you for joining me for our nightly devotions. It is a true pleasure to see your righteous faces every day and share the Lord’s word with you.”

  Trying not to let her gaze flicker to the red light above the television, Ruth nodded and said, “The Lord’s word is good and we long to hear it.”

  “The Lord’s word is indeed good,” Judith said, a wide smile on her face. “But first, let’s repeat the Women’s Commandments.”

  Ruth clenched her jaw, but tried to keep her expression placid. She hated the Commandments. Six laws designed to highlight a woman’s sin, but never give her a chance for redemption.

  In Newmerica, you could kill a man, and be washed clean of sin after doing penance. Well, a man could kill someone and be cleansed. A woman would be crucified after a public flogging in Punishment Square.

  Mother Judith’s voice pulled her from her wicked thoughts. She straightened her spine and repeated the words.

  “Cleanliness is godliness. My thoughts are as pure as my body.”

  “The blood of my womb is my penance for Eve’s sin.”

  “Unquestioning obedience is the Lord’s will.”

  “I must be steadfast in my piety.”

  “My body is temptation and must be covered.”

  �
��I will never self-rape or touch the Devil’s Doorbell.”

  Mother Judith clapped her hands and beamed. “That was lovely, my sisters in the Lord. Please join me, and let us lift our voices in song.”

  Organ music started and Ruth sang along with the hymn, just as she was supposed to. But the words on the screen were different than she remembered.

  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me

  I once was lost, but now am found

  T'was blind but now I see

  Not grace that taught the word of God

  T’was the might of Reverend Gabriel

  How precious did that man appear

  The hour I first believed

  Reverend Gabriel’s face appeared on the screen. He wore a black cassock, and his kind brown eyes made Ruth squirm in her seat, guilt suffusing her for questioning the change in lyrics. Of course, it was perfect that the words to the tired old song be changed. Reverend Gabriel was the absolute authority on the Lord’s word.

  When the song finished, she waited until the screen went dark before taking off her shoes. The bare floor was cold against her feet as she went into her tiny kitchen and poured instant soup into a pot, mixing it with water from the tap. She set it on the hot plate and filled a glass with reconstituted milk while she waited for it to warm.

  Steam soon rose from her meager meal and she poured it into a bowl. She ate standing over the sink, unwilling to return to that single wooden chair.

  Ruth didn’t mind the lack of privacy in the main room. She felt closer to the Lord there, especially during dawn prayer. But sometimes, she just wanted to be alone and slurp rehydrated noodles without an audience.

  Her apartment was tiny, but it was hers, paid for with her own wages from her grocery store job. She loved her parents and family, as the Lord’s word said she should, but she had four sisters. They’d all been crammed into an apartment barely bigger than this one; now Ruth enjoyed the peace of her solitary existence. Strangely enough, she’d grown closer to her sisters than ever before. A little distance made them cherish each other.

  She had to remind herself that Reverend Gabriel, Mother Judith, and Newmerica itself wanted her to remain pious. The constant intrusion into her life was meant to be helpful guidance to keep her on the righteous path.

  When she finished her soup, she washed her dishes and crossed the main room, flipping the lights off as she went. A small lamp flickered in her tiny cell of a bedroom, giving off just enough light that she could see to hang her white dress and grab a nightgown and underwear off the dwindling pile of clean laundry.

  The lamp in the tiny bathroom was bright, burning fluorescent so she could see every speck of dirt on her body and wash it away. The shower ran tepid. Truly hot water never reached her fifth-floor walkup. Carefully tucking her hair under a shower cap, she stepped under the spray and grabbed the bar of plain soap and a washcloth.

  It was sinful to touch one’s bare body, even when bathing. The rag was a barrier between righteousness and damnation. Grimly, she swiped it between her legs, praying she wouldn’t feel that uncomfortable itch in her core that always seemed to happen when she washed down there.

  It had never made sense to her that the Lord would give a woman that little bundle of nerves if He hadn’t intended it to be used. She’d asked once, many years before, and the memory of the result made her shudder.

  She still had raised scars from that caning, the narrow lines a constant reminder that women shouldn’t question the Lord’s will.

  Drying off quickly, she got dressed in a clean nightgown and underwear. She made sure the split in the back of the baggy garment was closed and knelt next to her bed for nightly prayers. By the time she finished, her knees ached and she was stiff with cold.

  The thin blankets didn’t offer much protection from the persistent chill of her apartment, but they would warm eventually. She turned on her side and closed her eyes. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her shins and tried to sleep.

  Yet the pulsing twitch between her legs never abated. She changed position, relaxing her legs to keep the pressure off that sinful place. The chilly air, her thin blanket, and even her heavy cotton underwear all conspired to tempt her into rubbing the irritation away.

  She could assuage the maddening sensation. All she had to do was rub her sin cavern against the bedding. She would feel very good for a moment or two, and it would let her sleep.

  Somehow, Layman Mark always knew when women had sinned. At least once a week his watery gray gaze would pierce one woman or another, and he would ask in that soft voice if she had anything to confess.

  The woman would announce her sin to Layman Mark in front of the whole congregation, and he would bend her over the altar. He would lift her dress and open the back of her underwear, then give her twenty lashes with his heavy leather strap.

  Yet Layman Mark had never singled her out for penance. Maybe it was because Ruth didn’t feel all that guilty. As long as she wasn’t touching her bare flesh with her fingers, she wasn’t really sinning, was she?

  Biting back a gasp at the sensation, Ruth spread her thighs and shifted her hips side to side, letting her weight press her sin cavern against the bedding. As she rubbed her wet center against the rough cotton of her underwear, she promised herself she’d stop when she was finally able to marry.

  Chapter 2

  The Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptations, and to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgment to be punished.

  2 Peter 2:9

  The crash of wood woke Ruth from a sound sleep and she leaped from her bed, fear rising to choke her. She tried to shake it away. Crime was in the past; Reverend Gabriel had made Leviticus City into a peaceful oasis of the righteous.

  She thought for a moment that something must have fallen in the hallway, but heavy footsteps sounded from the main room of her apartment. Ruth cowered against the wall, her lips moving as she prayed for rescue.

  “Ruth Tyler!” a man’s voice yelled. “By order of the Sentinels of the Word, present yourself for judgment.”

  Her knees buckled and she caught herself on the bed frame before she fell. Why would the Sentinels be arresting her? She wasn’t a criminal.

  But you are a sinner, aren’t you?

  Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes as she forced her feet to move. She grabbed a robe from the foot of her bed, wrapping it tightly around her body before she did the buttons up to her chin. Her face heated with mortification, knowing her hair would be visible, and the Sentinels wouldn’t wait for her to cover it.

  She paused at the door, her eyes widening. They’d broken the door to her apartment off its hinges, and her single wooden chair was shattered into bits. Aside from her bed, she had nothing else for them to destroy.

  They hadn’t touched the television. It was provided by the government of Leviticus City, and was required in every home. The red light of the righteous shone in the dim room.

  Three men faced her, dwarfing the small space as they blocked the exit. They wore black robes, belted with leather, and heavy black boots. Hoods covered their heads, obscuring their faces.

  Ruth had seen Sentinels before. Everyone had. But she’d never seen one so close. They were terrifying, and even the most pious of Leviticus City’s residents avoided them.

  The tallest took a step forward. “Ruth Tyler,” he said softly, “you are under arrest for the crime of self-rape. Reverend Gabriel is prepared to pass your sentence himself to ensure that you receive sufficient penance for your unwholesome sin.”

  She shook her head mutely and took a step backward, but was caught by one of the other Sentinels. His hands bit into her shoulders and she let out a sharp cry. Jerking away, she tried to run.

  Before she reached the door, one of the Sentinels swept her feet out from under her, making her land heavily on her face. Choking on her sobs, she tried to evade their grasping hands.

  They caught her easily. Grabbing
her braid, the tallest Sentinel jerked her up, her scalp stinging at the tug on her hair.

  “Another sin, Ruth Tyler?” He pushed her into the waiting arms of another Sentinel. “You must be in dire need of penance. I’ll be sure to add disobedience to the list.”

  Ruth sobbed silently as fabric tore. Why had she tried to run? There was no escaping the Sentinels. Her dreams of a godly husband and children turned to nothing as quickly as her nightgown turned to threads and tatters.

  They stripped her bare in full sight of the winking red eye over the television. That which no living thing had ever seen was now revealed.

  And would be further revealed. Ruth knew what came next.

  The Sentinels buckled leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. They chained her feet together, forcing her to take small steps, then they linked her wrists behind her back.

  The tall one stroked her head, tickling the short hair that had escaped her braid. Filled with shame, Ruth looked down and squeezed her eyes shut against fresh tears.

  “Unsurprising,” he said, “that you have harlot’s hair.” He gathered it in his fist, tugging her head back and forcing her to lift her chin. “But you’re not going to hide behind it. Walk proudly with your head up, whore.”

  Ruth tried to obey, keeping her eyes averted from her neighbors as the Sentinels walked her down the stairs and outside into the street. Her teeth chattered as the cold January wind buffeted her naked body.

  The tears wouldn’t stop, and when she watched her best friend Sarah sneer and turn away, she broke down and fell to her knees.

  “Stand up, harlot!” a Sentinel barked. A whip snapped, sending a tendril of agony across her shoulders. Again and again, the leather goad cut her skin until she staggered to her feet.