Red and Redhead Ch. 03

Author's Note: Apologies all that even this sad excuse for a third chapter took so long, but other affairs kept me away from this fun little adventure I'd started on. This is just a teaser so you know I'm back, and more chapters are to follow-both longer and with perhaps more graphic content than those you have available to you. Thanks for your support and I hope you enjoy it as we move right along with the demon and his witch.

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The front door slammed shut hard, rattling the windows of the building just a tad. More importantly, the hideous bang rattled me, engaged as I was in staring at the ceiling of my jail room, tossing a conjured wood ball up in the air and catching it over and over again, long since drifted off into bored vegetation. I swear to god I'm a vicious destroyer, a powerful entity whose might can overwhelm thousands of men in mere moments. But all caged up I mostly feel like a cat, waiting to be let out to play. Lucky me, my cute little mouse is headed straight for me. I can't help but let a rueful smile slide across my features as she stomps into the room. I can hear her setting up her traps and protective wards. Oh little witch, how blind you are to the simple truth that you are my prey-and I the predator just waiting for one last crack in your defenses.

In an instant, I was full upright and familiar, only feet from my captor. I took a chance to survey her emotions as she fumed and let out wordless groans of frustration. The poor thing, she's so upset. A thing I've noticed about humans, almost all of them, is that they let their emotions control them. Her feet pattered against the floor as she spun in a furious circle, stamping her feet, each heel against the smooth wood dangerously closer to the edge of her pentagram than the last.

Oh come on Sarah, out with it. I can't stand this kind of pageantry, you know what I'm talking about? Like, I swear, I bet you do the same shit, reader: playing up your life for drama as if it's a fun thing for anyone but you. I get it, it's cathartic or something. You'd think I've been around for so long I'd be used to the quirks and annoyances of humanity, or that her pouting can't have taken much time compared to the infinite spans and wastes of existence my illustrious being has graced. But no, it gets old when you've seen it for thousands of years. Everyone thinks they've got their shit the hardest, and I could guarantee in no uncertain terms that the importance of whatever the little witch was about to say would pale in comparison to even the most trivial of my own accomplishments and woes.

"I talked to Elizabeth after classes today," she started, half mocking and half seething. I'd like her to try that tone with me in different circumstances. I'm sure she'd show more respect with her pale, soft ass up in the air, reddened by a good leather strap. "You know what that whore said?"

I pulled my armchair from the Mist and crashed backwards into it, sighing deeply, making a grand show of utmost boredom and disinterest, as if my ball-handling skills were vastly more interesting than anything she could say.

"No, Sarah," I said, mustering as patronizing a tone as I could manage. "What did she say?"

"She said your little rendezvous is off."

Alright that has my attention. Not because I care about Ms. Elizabeth Tortures-With-Voice, but because fucking her was a solid step forward in my plan to get free. This was going to complicate things, and not in a fun way. This was going to complicate things in the headache-inducing, 'this is going to take far longer for me to get the hell out of this situation than I ever intended' way. I really dislike that way.

I closed my eyes tight and rubbed my temples. Both, clearly, ineffectual. They're just mannerisms I've picked up from various wizards and witches over the years. As one might expect, the guys wielding extreme supernatural power and enslaving servants from beyond the human plane of existence tend to be a pretty paranoid, stressed-out bunch. They had a real rough time before Xanax, I can tell you that. Of course, post-Xanax didn't fare too well for them either. In the great Russo-American War, I worked for (read: was enslaved by) one gentleman who had a tendency to succumb to panic attacks. He used some kind of benzo to keep it under control, and all it took was one pill too many; he walked into the vault where I was being held and flubbed a few words in his ward chant. When I finished eating him, I got a nice, gentle buzz from the undigested pills in his gut, and from the free-floating substances in his blood. And that's the story of how Xanax lost the war against Russia.

God dammit ok where was I, I always get sidetracked on these little stories and forget about this fire-headed girl standing opposite me, arms crossed-I was pleased to note-under her bust, pushing her breasts up and together to quite an enjoyable effect. Sadly, that part of my plan would just have to wait, although I made note of the distance from her straining top to her soft, pink lips and filed the information away. Research purposes.

"Did she say exactly why she called it off? I mean what the hell she was practically ready to drop to her knees right there in the courtyard when we were talking. She absolutely reeked of lust, like I'd put her into heat."

Sarah straightened up uncomfortably.

"You can smell that?"

I winked and lit her up with a playful smile, all bravado.

"You would be surprised at the things I know, Princess."

One point, team Cael. Her white skin flushed a deep red and wet her lips. Conscious or unconscious, still a small victory. Best to condition her to it now so it's as much her decision as mine when it comes to reversing the terms of our partnership later, right?

She took a full breath and exhaled hard, shaking her head lightly as if to brush away some distracting thoughts. I wanted to laugh, but it'd break the tension. I needed her to stow her fantasies away herself and label them as a temptation. Avoidance of a temptation is short-lived, and giving in becomes little more than an inevitability. I just needed to lay the groundwork; I knew her imagination would do the rest. Humans are so easy to play with. I tilted my head, looking her up and down. That's the right phrasing, 'play with.' Given time, she'd be mine to play with too-my own obedient, redheaded little toy.