So, I’m kind of… fucking the Devil. Lucifer himself.
It’s a long story, but the short version is that I learned the hard way to be careful what I wished for.
Many thanks to Tom Trumpkinski, the author who wrote me the original story. I needed our ending to be different. Hope you don’t mind.
I wished, and I made a deal — for beauty, of all things. I bargained my eternal soul, simply so people would think I was pretty. And he came to me, offered me what I desired more than anything else, and bound me with a golden chain around my waist, sealed in my own blood. It bound me to him, compelled me to obey.
Compelled me to offer myself to him in the most intimate ways possible.
In one of his more sadistic moments he told me the truth: that I looked the same. Hadn’t changed at all. He lied to me. He lied, and got my soul. Forever.
To say I was pissed, was an understatement.
But truth be told, the sex was amazing. Mind blowing orgasms every night, for hours. It’s hard to stay mad at that. I may have been compelled, but he knew what he was doing. And he clearly loved bringing me off, prided himself on how many times he could do it. After all, pride was his sin.
He lounged in bed, next to me. The ever-present fires of Hell purred around us. “What shall we do tonight, my darling?” The pet names used to be irritating, but lately, I’ll admit, they’ve grown on me. “Would you like me to flay that beautiful skin off? Then maybe throw you in the ocean?”
My breathing got shallower.
Our relationship had changed when he realized I orgasmed much harder from things that hurt, really hurt, rather than soft licks and nibbles.
It was funny though — no matter what he did to me, I was perfectly healed in the morning. I don’t know, it was some weird supernatural shit. I don’t pretend to have an answer for everything, here. I’m just a girl who makes poor choices. “Maybe,” I murmured.
“I could break your ribs, one by one. Take your heart out and show you.” His voice was deep and smokey, like good scotch.
My hips started squirming. “Please. Yes, please. Make me scream for you.”
His fingers trailed down below my navel. “And what are you going to do for me?”
I smiled silkly. “I could start singing Charlie Daniels.”
He bristled. “Don’t make me rip your throat out.”
I laughed, I couldn’t help it. Even angels have their weak points. “How would you ever get that blowjob then, that I know you’re so keen on?”
He was on top of me in the blink of an eye. His breath was hot against my neck, and I could feel my pulse thudding. “It’ll be slippery enough to still fuck, when I’m done with it.”
I felt myself relax, strangely, into his horrifying power.
I would obey him, do anything he asked. Willingly and lovingly, I would submit. I used to think it was just the chain that bound me. But now… I wasn’t sure.
I drew in a breath, like it might be my last for the night. “Do it, then.” I stretched my neck toward him. “Do it. Rip my throat out.”
His teeth grazed the skin of my neck, as his fingers found my pussy. They slid in with embarrassing ease. “You love this. You’re soaking wet.”
This was old news, but he never seemed to tire of reminding me what I whore I was. For him, and all the horrors he subjected me to. “Please,” I begged. “I need it. Do it. Make me cum. Please, Master.”
“I love hearing that word on your lips. It’s been so long since a mortal showed me the respect I deserve.” He pinched my nipple so hard, blood appeared in a crescent moon indents of his fingernails.
When I was done screaming, he looked at my pussy. A fat droplet of cunt juice dripped down my thighs. “Say it again, for me, slave.”
“Master… please. Please, I’m begging you. Hurt me. Make me bleed and scream for you. Show me how much I need you. Show me how much I ache for you. Lie to me. Use me. Fuck me. Break me. Master, please,” I babbled as his fingers expertly caressed my insides. “Make me need you…”
“Make you need me? Whore, you already need me.” And with that, he withdrew his fingers, just as my orgasm was about to crest.
I cried as I felt it fade and die.
“See? Who else can make you cum like I can? Who else knows what really makes you tick, hmm?”
“No one,” I whispered shakily.
“No one,” he whispered back. “And what are you willing to offer, to feel that again? Just like the day we met, so eager to make a deal.” He tutted softly. “You don’t learn, do you? I’ll always win, because I don’t have to play fair. It’ll just be lust this time, instead of vanity.”
Photo by Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash