by Zoe Blake
“Do you like what you see, Samael?” she purred as her knees opened suggestively.
Shaken with hearing his name on the demon’s lips, Samael raised his Bible to cover his chest. “I see only a handmaiden of the Devil,” he retorted hotly.
“Now who is the liar? I know you as I know myself, Samael. Your every thought is my own. You cannot hide from me.”
How desperately he wished he could deny the dark truth falling from her lips.
“Who are you?”
“I come from an age with no names. Where there are no gods. Only truths. Those who walk this earth call me Lilith. As you are called Samael. Do you know what your name means? Poison of God,” she taunted. “Your very name calls forth death on your false idol!”
Ignoring her piercing jab about his own name, he angrily protested, “My God is the one true God. Dare you speak his name as false in his own house?”
“He is no more your god than he is my own. You are the liar and blasphemer, Priest! Parading around in cloth which is not your own.”
She spoke to his worst fears that all his study and piety were mere figments, trappings of who he wished to be, not who he actually was in his soul. A warm hatred blossomed in his chest. Hatred of her. Hatred of her truth.
Striking out, his large hand closed about her slim throat. A trace of dirt remained from his work in the garden, black smudges blending with red fingerprints to mar her perfect skin.
She laughed.
He squeezed tighter, feeling the tips of his fingers dig in, pressing against the soft sinews of her throat. Her pulse beat against his palm. Dragging her forward, her body spilled off the pew onto the floor.
Kneeling before him as his forced supplicant, Lilith’s jade eyes still filled with challenge.
There was a roaring in his ears as his body responded to her nearness, to the power he felt holding her prisoner with the strength of his hand. It was as if his very blood was seething, coming to life within his veins.
“Prove to me you are still a man. That this god of yours has not neutered your primal purpose,” she teased as her nails dug into the hard muscles of his thighs. “Or have you forgotten all that I have taught you?”
Clenching his fingers tighter around her throat, he growled a quote from Corinthians, “The women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak but should be in submission.”
Grasping the liquid neckline of her dress, she ruthlessly wrenched it downward, exposing one perfect breast to his gaze. “And how will you keep me silent, Priest?” she mocked with a raised eyebrow.
Reason no longer ruled him. God’s truth had abandoned him. All that was left was the raw, unforgiving law of nature.
Man’s dominion over woman.
Reaching for the clasp of his pants, he tore at the fastening till his engorged member sprang free. Fisting the hard length, he shifted his hand from her throat to her hair. Clawing at the silky strands at the base of her skull, he forced her head back.
“Open your mouth. You will be silenced by my truth,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Forcing the large bulbous head past her lips, he gloried in the scrape of her teeth along the sensitive skin as he pushed deep into her mouth. The press of her hands against his thighs and the sound of her struggled gurgling only spurred him on. Pushing till he felt the soft resistance of the back of her throat, he slid his feet wider, shifting his hips before thrusting forward. Plunging deep, he felt the tight clasp of her throat muscles as they jerked and spasmed around his cock.
Yes, his cock. Not his member. Not a body part.
Not something he had vowed to ignore. Compelled to forget as he entered the priesthood.
His cock. His manhood.
It felt good just to think of it in such brutal and frank terms. Natural.
His cock. An instrument to force submission.
He thrust in deeper, punching the back of her throat with his hard flesh. Still the need to punish, to silence, drove him on.
Shifting his weight, he pushed her body backwards till her head hit the side of a pew. Locking her into place, his hands grasped the smooth wood edge. His hips pushed forward. The slide of her tongue felt almost rough against the underside of his shaft. The bite of her sharp teeth only enhanced his pleasure. He drove forward till he could feel her swallow his considerable length. Her lips stretched thin around the base as her nose pressed into his abdomen. The scrape of her nails along his thighs through the fabric only heightened his sick pleasure.
Her groans of supplication urged him on.
The grating sound of wood being dragged across stone as the heavy pew shifted backwards from the force of his weight mingled with the rattle of his harsh breathing. The familiar scents of incense, wax and varnish dissipated, only the heady stink of musk and burnt vanilla filled his nostrils.
Hearing her labored whimper, he pulled slightly back as he gazed at her. Her beautiful face was distorted by the press of his hard flesh, his cock. At that moment, his balls tightened as the pressure down his shaft increased. Driving forward, he forced the length once more past her swollen lips and invaded her throat one last time before feeling the rush of relief as his seed spewed deep into her belly.
Looking down in triumph, the warmth left his body.
Her eyes.
Lilith’s eyes flashed with emerald defiance and naked truth.
Harsh cold reality crested over him.
She had won.
Instead of silencing this she-demon, he had released a torrent of demons in his own soul.
Chapter 3
“Are you okay, Father Samael?”
Two older women frowned at him as they clutched their purses to their chests.
“Father Samael?” The other repeated as they took a step in his direction.
“No! Stop!”
His voice echoed around the church nave, bouncing off the walls as it condemned him over and over again.
Sinner. Sinner. Sinner.
Tiny blue veins bulged against the white of his skin as he looked down at his hands gripping the pew before him. Feeling the heat rise against his cheeks, he fumbled for the fastening of his pants as he prepared to push Lilith’s body backwards, between the pews and hopefully out of view. A pitiful attempt to hide the truth of his sin. His filthy sin.
His hand closed upon his fastened zipper.
Looking down, he could see his shirt and pants in complete order and once more… Lilith was gone.
As if she had never been there.
Ignoring the questioning glances of the two women, he searched the area. Looking for something, anything to prove what just happened was real. The scuff from a shoe. A torn scrap from her dress.
There was nothing.
“Should we call, Father Michael?” asked one of the women, her brow furrowed with worry.
Running a hand over his face, Samael shook his head no. “My apologies. I must be over-heated. If you ladies will excuse me?”
Without a backward glance, Samael stumbled out of the church.
His Bible lay discarded on the church floor.
The afternoon had turned.
Blue skies shied away as thick black clouds gathered. The wind chased around his ears.
Sinner. Sinner. Sinner.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as a bright flash of lightning rent the sky. An ancient sign of God’s wrath.
Sinner. Sinner. Sinner.
The whispered condemnation by the whipping wind followed him back to his small room in the rectory. Throwing his back against the door, he whipped off his white collar, throwing it away from him in disgust. He didn’t deserve to wear it. It was a symbol of his calling to serve God, of his chastity and faith. He was a fraud.
It was all a fraud.
Poison of God. That is what she called him. Samael. Poison of God.
That is… if she had said it. If she was real. If she wasn’t real, then what? Was it a manifestation of his own guilty soul? A dark apparition mean
t for him to see the truth of his own unworthiness? Or worse, his doubts about God and his master plan for man?
Falling to his knees in despair, Samael clasped his trembling hands together and began to pray before the small porcelain statue of the Virgin Mother Mary he kept by his bedside.
Was he going mad? She was there! The demon called Lilith was there. He would swear it. He could still feel the press of her throat against his palm. The rub of her tongue on his cock. It felt as real today as it did the day…
His mad ramblings stopped their vile dance in his head.
…it felt as real as the day he had taken holy orders.
Yet, there was unmitigated proof that episode was all in his head. The Bishop and congregants would have seen something were it not.
Opening his prayer clasped hands, he gazed at his unblemished palm.
Mine. The word had been burned into his skin.
Yet it hadn’t.
His sin was real. A sin of mind was as bad as a sin of deed. He broke his vow to God. The demon Lilith had tempted him to the ways of Satan and he had willingly followed.
“Oh, Mother Mary, pray for me.”
The warm wet feel of her mouth as it closed around his cock.
“Oh, Mother Mary, hear my sins.”
The sweet release, knowing his cum coated her throat.
“Oh, Mother Mary, most merciful advocate for sinners.”
Imagining the tight heat of her…
“Enough,” roared Samael.
Sweeping his arm out, he sent the statuette crashing to the tiles. Rising up on his knees, he tore at the buttons of his shirt till he ripped it from his shoulders. Next, he unbuckled his black leather belt. Scrambling on the floor, he searched for large pieces from the shattered remains of his Mary statuette. Fisting each piece, he jammed them through the soft leather of his belt until jagged points pushed through the other side. He did not stop till he had covered a foot-long span of leather with sharp-edged pieces of porcelain.
Breathing heavily through his nose, Samael rose up on his shins. Holding his right arm high, he cracked the leather belt over his shoulder.
Driving the broken shards into the vulnerable flesh of his back.
Crying out. He repeated the action again and again.
Sins of the flesh shall be punished by a mortification of the flesh.
Over and over as he stripped the skin of his back raw, Samael repeated the Biblical quote from Romans. For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die: but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live. Thin rivulets of blood trickled down his back to be absorbed in the waistband of his pants. Every movement stung as his flesh was torn open.
His back was on fire. Exhaustion and pain hit him in waves. Dropping the now bloody belt, he pitched forward, the heat from his skin seeped into the cool tile as his life’s blood stained the grout.
As he closed his eyes, hungry for oblivion, his last thought was of… Lilith.
He woke to the sensation of water being poured over his naked body as he lay in bed.
An endless stream of healing water.
As he opened his eyes, Samael realized it wasn’t water but liquid mercury. The silver stream flowed over his body as small beads bounced and slid around the sheets.
Lilith was straddling his hips.
Reaching out to grab her, his fingers just slipped through the metallic fluid.
“Shhh. I’m here now. There’ll be no more pain.” Her lips had not moved. Her voice had come from within his head.
Closing his eyes against the wicked illusion, he desperately tried to latch onto his faith to save him.
He felt nothing.
“Oh God!” he pleaded. “Why have you forsaken me?”
“You sweet fool. The only true god is that of your true primal nature. Why do you fight it?”
Her hips rounded over his own, caressing the growing length of his cock with her cunt.
Her words coiled into his mind as her fingers wrapped around his wrists. Lifting his arms, she brought his hands to her breasts.
“Do you remember, Samael? Do you remember the feel of my breast against your cheek? My nipple in your mouth?”
Her words hissed inside his mind. Memories he knew to be untrue began to flash and bite. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be true. There was nothing to remember.
Still, her words drove the deception deep.
“This is unholy. Unclean.”
“Do you wish to punish me for my sins? Purge me from your soul?”
“By all that is holy, yes! I wish to be free of your demon torments.”
Swiveling on his body, Lilith went down on her knees between his legs. The liquid mercury dress slid over her hips to expose the creamy curves of her ass. Looking over her shoulder, her large green eyes drew him in. Seducing him with word and deed. She reached long fingers back to pull open her ass cheeks, exposing the dark pink puckered hole.
“Then, bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Rearing up, the lacerations on his back forgotten along with his convictions, Samael positioned himself behind her. No longer thinking of his faith, he could only feel the driving force of his own deep-seated nature. She had become an obsession. A stain on his soul. He no longer had the strength of faith or will to resist her wicked temptation.
His mind was filled with the thought of her tight heat wrapped around his cock, of what it would feel like to force himself inside her ass. The thought was dirty, debased… wrong… and his dark soul reveled in it.
Sinner. Sinner. Sinner.
His better self tried to pull him back from the abyss, but it was no use. He was lost.
Grabbing his cock, he pushed the head against her forbidden entrance. Just the touch of his skin against her own sent a ripple down his spine. His own sphincter clenched at the thought of how he was about to abuse hers. It was fitting his first experience fucking a woman should be debauched and beastly.
He pushed in harder till her body gave way.
Watching as her tiny hole stretched and opened to accept his shaft. Swallowing it. Lilith groaned as she pushed her hips back, begging for more.
It was wrong. The basest of all sins. Unclean. A sacrilege.
Still he pushed his cock into her ass. Wanting to cause her pain. Relishing the spreading warmth in his belly, he felt the power he held over her in this moment. He watched as her body was forced to accept him. Reaching forward, he fisted her hair. It felt like a writhing snake in his hand. A sentient being struggling to break free. He held on tight and pulled harder. Her body arched, pushing her ass against him.
He began to move his hips. Desecrating her body. Feeling the soft backs of her thighs brush the top of his own. He watched the play of muscle across her shoulders as she shifted and moved with each of his thrusts.
“That’s it, Samael. Hurt me! Hurt me! Make me bleed. Fuck me, Priest,” groaned Lilith.
With each powerful thrust, he drove his rigid staff deep into her body.
Sinner. Sinner. Sinner.
He thrust in cadence to the damning words in his head.
The pink hole blanched white as the width of his shaft stretched it wider and wider still. It was not enough. Spanning her narrow hips with his hands, he pulled free then flipped her body onto her back. Her thin frame laid beneath the bulk of his own. Once more he pushed his cock past her resisting sphincter. This time he placed one large hand on her belly. Pressing down.
Her mouth opened on a strangled gasp as he pressed harder.
Ruthlessly, he stared into her large emerald eyes, willing them to show him pain… shock… anything but the cold defiance he had seen earlier.
Looking down at his tanned hand spanning the pale skin of her stomach, he wanted to feel the thrust of his cock deep inside her body. Wanted to imagine her delicate organs being crushed from within from the forced intrusion of his shaft. Samael could feel himself move deep within her ass against his palm.
Raising his arm, he slapped
his hand down flat across her stomach. White skin immediately blossomed into a bright red handprint.
Lilith cried out in shocked pain; it was unholy music to his ears.
The same palm she had branded with the word ‘mine’, he was now using to brand her.
Pulling free, he slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her forward. It was now he straddling her hips, holding her down with his weight. With his other hand, he forced her mouth open. Shifting his hips, he dangled his hard cock over her open lips.
“Drink from my cock. Swallow my seed,” he growled as hot spurts of cum coated her tongue, filling her mouth.
“Feed on my flesh. Take of my body,” she sneered as the tip of her tongue shot out to clean his cum from her lips.
The she-demon was quoting the holy communion words of Jesus Christ.
Enraged, Samael wrapped both hands around her neck and squeezed.
“Satan’s whore! I’ll kill you yet!”
Her jade eyes mocked him with the same cold defiance he so despised.
Then she was gone.
Awaking on the tile floor of his chamber, Samael cried out in pain as he tried to move. His back felt sticky and itched from the dried blood. Near his hand laid the belt he had used to flagellate himself.
It had all been just another wretched dream. A terror to taunt him and his faith.
His mind struggled to determine what was real and what was not.
It had to have been a sinful, debauched dream.
He was convinced it was… he was convinced… as long as he ignored the lingering scent of burnt vanilla.
Chapter 4
“The Rituale Romanun. Are you already bored with your priestly duties that you seek the excitement of an exorcism, my son?”
Father Michael had come up on him in the antechamber off the altar inside the church. It was a quiet study, a place for reflection before performing Mass. The room was small with low lighting, large wine-colored leather chairs, wall-to-wall bookcases filled with philosophical religious treatise, and a comforting fireplace. Samael had always found it a soothing refuge, but not today. He felt unworthy, unclean. His body ached from the wounds on his back, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his own mind.
