Asmodeus - Demon of Lust: Pt. 04
A/N -- Hello everyone! I hope you guys are enjoying this series as much as I enjoy writing. Please, please send me some feedback if you liked it (or even if you didn't) and let me know if you guys have any suggestions for what should happen next, all ideas are open to consideration. Happy reading!
Get up! No use moping; crying will get you nowhere.
I push myself off of the wet rock, slipping and scraping my arm as I struggle to control my shaking body. Focusing on the icy pain, I encase my heart with that same cold, feeling it harden and add steel to my reserve. It seems silly, but blaming Asmodeus for this latest injury makes it easier for me to envision hating him. He did this to me.
While I haven't quite managed hate just yet, I feel some satisfaction that my fear has -- at least -- turned into a soaring anger. I let it rage within me and my breathing speeds up. Curling my fists and squaring my shoulders, I resolve right now to return to my family as soon as possible.
But how to do that? Think Selena.
I know better that to hope I will find some magical, secret exit. If I ever want to leave this place I'll have to be pretty fucking smart. I have to find a weakness of his somehow, something he's said or done which will help me figure out a way to leave safely. Think, think! There must be something, a weak spot, an escape, a loophole; something. If I could find that one thing, I know I will be free.
As soon I realise his weakness, the loophole blares sharply in my mind and a plan forms under the idea. Suddenly, I have it, that one thing that will guarantee me safe passage home.
Right, first things first; get dressed.
If I have any hope of my plan working out, I have to let Asmodeus believe that I'm still under his spell. That means getting dressed in one of those ridiculously elaborate gowns and parading before him as if nothing is wrong. That is, until he slips. Then I'll have my freedom, away from this wretched, volcanic prison and its gorgeous demonic warden.
I bite my lip, berating myself for that last thought. I've known since its inception that my plan's fatal flaw is me. There's no telling what my pathetic heart will make me feel when I see him; or what my treacherous body will make me do.
Best not to think about it. I'll deal with those obstacles as they come.
Deciding that this is the best course of action, I scrub my body thoroughly with the earthy soap and lather some of it into my hair, washing away dirt, sweat, blood and tears. When I'm done, I step out of my waterfall shower and stand shivering for a moment until I register the sound of air rushing through a gap somewhere. Following the sound to its source, I find a large vent opened up in the ceiling.
Excitement courses through me. Could this be a way out?
Clouds of dust swirl beneath the spot and I wait for it to clear before standing directly below. The air pressure is so great however, that I cannot even look up from underneath. My heart sinks as I realise that even if the airflow was slower, I wouldn't have a way to reach the gap anyway -- it's just too high up. The air is warm though and steadily begins to dry me off. Letting out a resigned sigh, I relax as the vent dries my body and focus again on my original plan.
As my hair dries, I wish for a comb to untangle the snarling mess. In the blink of an eye I notice a dressing table begin to rise from the stone floor. Slowly it ascends, finding a place next to the chest of dresses, the rock rumbling and scraping against the cave wall. After it has fully formed, a small stool of sorts rises before it and a crude box grows on top of it.
Stepping away from the relentless blast of air, I walk over to inspect my new furniture. Stopping at the table I run a hand over the rough edges of everything I have just created. I know it's my work because it isn't as beautiful as Asmodeus'. Lifting the lid of the box (which looks like little more than a miniature mud hut) I find a curved, primitive looking -- though slender -- ivory coloured comb. With only five teeth, it will barely do the job but it's better than nothing I suppose.
I take the comb with me back over to the air vent and loosen the knots in my hair as it dries. The comb feels smooth and strong, and while I run it through my fine waist length hair, I find myself wondering what it is made out of. I've felt this texture before, I'm sure of it. Shrugging, I focus on combing out all the knots; I have to seem as if I still want to look good for my captor.
When my hair is dry, I head back to the dresser, expecting to find a mirror behind it. Like the one in my room at home. My brow knits in sorrow and I fight hard against the lump in my throat. No time for that.
I swallow my tears down and will a mirror to appear before me.
Cracking and wind-chimes sound as iron grows out of the wall, framing the polished silver and glass mirror which obediently shows me my naked reflection. Sitting down and staring into the mirror, a chocolate coloured heart shaped face stares back. Rich brown eyes glint in the red glow of the cave; freckles pepper flushed cheeks and dot a button nose and full, well-shaped, dark pink lips are set in a frown of fierce determination while silky straight ebony hair frames it all.
I look different. Beautiful... When did that happen?
I know already though, it happened when he loved me. When he showed me what it felt like to be beautiful and what it meant. I couldn't see it before, not on my own but I do now. Because he loved me, I can finally love myself.
The sharp brown eyes soften, then freeze, hardening once more as I realise that I'm doing exactly what I feared I would. And I'm not even near him yet!
I yank the comb roughly through my hair again, sharp, jagged strokes which rip out a few strands. Furious at myself, and at him and at this stupid comb I slam it against the stone dresser, breaking off a tooth. The sharp shard flies at my face and I duck just in time to avoid losing an eye. Sitting up again only when I hear the shard clatter harmlessly on the floor, I examine the damaged comb. The mysterious material of which the comb is made still bugs me and after I run a finger over the broken edge, I realise why. The comb is made from bone.
It takes all of my effort not to scream as I fling the hideous object as far away as possible. Letting out instead a horrified gasp, I try in vain to convince myself that it was an animal bone. Somehow though, I just know its human and the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I take a deep breath and try not to think about where the bone could have come from; while an awful image of the bleached human skull from high school biology floats through my mind. This place is a nightmare come into reality.
All the more reason to escape... And soon.
Banishing my nausea, I push myself up from the little stone seat and pull out the navy silk dress from the chest Asmodeus made for me. Slipping into it, I shiver as the silver lace caresses my back. Struggling, I finally manage to tie up the ribbons at my lower back, only to find myself stumped as half the lace hangs unknotted, having previously been held up by yet more hidden ribbons.
Unable to manoeuvre the crisscross pattern at the right side of my mid back, I throw my hands up in exasperation and admit defeat. My captor will just have to tie it up for me. Dropping back down at my dresser I huff in annoyance as the lace whips against the bare of my back.
Something soft whispers against my ear and my heart races while I strain to hear over the roar of the air vent. When I wish it shut the noise stops instantly as the gap in the ceiling closes off. I listen intently to the delicate zipping sound of silk sliding through metal and when I feel my dress tighten comfortably, I know that it's closing itself for me.
Pleased, I rise again and study myself in the full length mirror that Asmodeus conjured for me.
The navy blue dress complements my brown skin perfectly, affording me a sinister sort of beauty, bewitching but deadly. When I twist my body around, the lace radiates femininity, contrasting beautifully against my skin and showing off a taste of what is hidden beneath the silk and silver. The plunging neckline showcases just the right amount of cleavage, making my body ooze sensuality, the dark twin of Marilyn Monroe at her prime. I feel beautiful and sexy and dangerous all at once. This is the perfect outfit, the perfect armour against my captor, giving me strength before the dreaded war for my freedom.
All that's missing is a little battle paint...
A clinking sound over at the dresser reminds me that my wish is the cave's command. A small glass container sits next to a fine, short bristled paint brush. Taking a seat I open the little jar and lightly rub my finger over the thick black cream inside. As I expected, the black kohl sticks to my finger. Conjuring a small silk cloth I wipe my finger clean and pick up the brush, dipping it into the creamy liner.
Its only animal hair, I tell myself as I brush the soft bristles onto the border of my bottom eye lid. The effect is instantaneous; a little eyeliner goes a long way, enhancing the dangerous gleam of my eyes. Looking at the woman in the mirror, I know she means business.
I add a coat to the top lids as well, painting a line above each set of lashes. Wishing to add a little more colour to my face leads to a yield of even more containers, this time made of metal, each containing a loose mineral powder in differing shades. Wiping my liner brush clean, I shadow my eyes with black, silver and navy powder, creating a smoky look which also matches my dress. Finally, a small glass tub appears on the dresser, similar to the one which brought me the eyeliner. This time it's filled with a rich mauve lipstick, which I apply lightly before heading over to the full length mirror again. Before I have the chance to examine my handy-work however, I feel the wall behind me begin to rumble.
Whipping around, I watch with mounting fear as an opening appears, melting into existence from the solid rock wall. My heart pounds in my ears as the thought of seeing him again so soon sends me into a panic. I'm not ready! All the confidence I felt not two minutes ago fades with alarming speed as I realise too late that it takes more than a sexy dress and a little make-up for me to be his equal, for me to be able to stand up to him.
When the entrance finally reveals itself, it isn't Asmodeus who stands in the doorway. My relief is immediate and I let out a soft sigh as a demon strides through, clad only in a filthy cloth tied to his waist with a leather belt. I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin up high as he strolls confidently towards me, practicing my new 'femme fatale' façade before I have to see the King again.
Feigning indifference to his presence, I glance casually at my nails, as if the creature does not frighten me. He's one of the less horrendous looking ones sure, but he's still a demon. It doesn't help either that at the sight of me; his prick begins to stiffen, straining against his loincloth. Guess I won't have to check myself out in the mirror after all. Ignoring his state of arousal, I look up at his face as he moves ever closer.
"Has it been an hour already?" I ask, in what I hope is a bored voice.
"It has been half an hour. My master sent for me to retrieve you later but I thought I'd come early and have a little fun first." A lecherous grin spreads over his face as he draws a sinister looking dagger from a sheath on his belt.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest as I force a sneer at his words.
"Don't be an idiot, you can't touch me," I level my gaze with his, finding strength in the truth of my next words, "he'll tear you apart."
Undeterred, the demon stalks toward me, knife poised in front of him, disgusting grin in place.
"What Asmodeus doesn't know can't hurt me; and you won't tell him will you bitch? I can do whatever I want with your body and you won't tell a soul because if you do, I'll gut you while you sleep; even if you happen to be sleeping in the King's bed at the time."
I swallow painfully, slowly backing away from this monster, knowing that either way Asmodeus cannot help me now. Even if I tell him that this demon raped me, it won't save me from being raped.
The back of my heel slams against the rocky stool at my dresser an I'm cornered, unable to move away from the demon that stalks ever closer. Blind panic overrides my logic and I can't think let alone move. I'm shaking from head to toe as he laughs, savouring the taste of my fear. His putrid breath washes over me as he presses his body close to mine. Slowly as if to caress me, his rough hands slide up my arms. Then one tightens like a vice, causing me to cry out as he spins me around and slams me into the wall.
He forces me harder against the wall, the pain of being constricted adding to the ache of a bruised arm and the throb of my busted lip. His hips thrust toward mine and he uses them to hold me in place. His hands, now free, move in opposite directions, one squeezing my breasts painfully through my dress and the other pinching my bare inner thigh. A finger brushes against my most private place and I cry out in horror. Tired of playing with me, the bastard whips me around again wraps a hand around my throat while the other reaches for the belt of his loincloth. My body trembles so hard that it feels as if the earth itself is shaking.
Only when the smile slips from my assailant's face do I realise that the earth is shaking. My fear has literally caused the cave to quake.
He launches himself away from me as chunks of rock rip free of the ceiling and crash deafeningly to the ground, cracking and crumbling. The terrified demon dodges them in a sick game of tag, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the large boulders or impaled by falling stalactites. All the while I have my body pressed against the wall next to my dresser, fighting to regain control of my body and end the bombardment of the cave.
Cowering against the wall by my dresser, I watch as a smaller stalactite falls too quickly for the dodging demon to notice. It is only when the shard -- as large as the pins which originally held me captive -- fixes his foot into the red earth that he pays any attention to it. His scream of pain is deafening, even louder than the din created by the falling rocks. The sound of it yanks me away from my fear as I realise that he can do me no harm, trapped as he now is. The rumbling and shaking slows and eventually stops until the only sound I hear is the demon's low moans and gasps of pain. I stride confidently toward him, my fear forgotten and replaced with a rage unlike anything I have ever experienced.
Seething anger rolls off me as I stalk around the immobile, kneeling figure of the creature who would have raped me. My breathing is short and fast, air expelled in furious huffs and inhaled through flared nostrils. I feel as if I could breathe fire and I want to, if only to burn this worthless sack of shit to a crisp. I lick my torn lip, letting the burn add fuel to my rage, until I realise that I've healed myself. Interesting.
When I stop in front of the demon, he begins to whimper. He knows that I caused the earthquake (and its subsequent rain of deadly rocks); he can see the power in my eyes. He begs for forgiveness.
His cowardice forms a disgusted sneer on my lips. I lean forward and caress his cheek.
"Aw, what's the matter honey? You don't want me anymore?" I mock, using a faux-sweet voice and laughing outright when he flinches at the touch of my hand.
"Don't tell me you've given up already! I thought we were only just getting started. Weren't you telling me a few minutes ago that you wanted to 'have a little fun' with me? What's the matter?" I taunt, "Can't get it up?"
Using my will, I force the spike into his foot further still and he howls while I laugh.
"Please, my Queen, have mercy," he croaks, panting hard and wheezing.
"Oh, so now I'm your Queen? Silly me and here all this time, I thought I was your bitch. Boy, do we have communication issues! That won't do. If I am to really be your Queen, I need to work on my communication with you lesser folk don't I? Hmm?"
"My Queen?" he asks uncertainly.
"I need to send a message; one which clearly illustrates that I am not to be fucked with." I pause, all sarcasm aside. "You'll do nicely."
* * * * *
After I'm finished with my 'message' I decide to leave him in the cavern to be found by his kin. A deadly calm has washed over me and I feel absolutely no remorse over what I have just done. In fact, I find the blood spattered cave chaotically beautiful. My dress has become more than just symbolic armour; it showcases fine smatterings of crimson death, painting me horrific. Nothing will stand in my way.
Have I finally proven to myself and soon the entire hordes of hell that I am a force to be reckoned with? No-one would think to challenge me after they find the scene I left waiting for them in my chambers. Not that I intend to be here for very long, but still, it pays to be prepared.
I open up the cave and leave it unsealed to make it easier for them to find my victim. With Asmodeus on my mind I walk the passage ways unhindered, as if they were leading me directly to him. Indeed, it isn't long before I stop at the entrance of a large dining room.
Opulent as is possible in such a grungy setting, the room is as well decorated as a rich housewife's would be. A large candle chandelier drips hot wax onto the massive stone table, forming a ring of miniature red stalagmites around the centrepiece; a metalwork sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure. The detail is exquisite.
The naked figure is kneeling; her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. Her mouth is opened in an eternally silent scream of ecstasy. One delicate hand caresses a silver breast while the other is pressed firmly against her mound. Two fingers disappear into the life-like metal folds. As I examine her, I feel as if I am a goddess, watching over little humans and witnessing a real event, frozen in time. The image is so realistic and erotic that my clit twitches and a small shudder rolls through me.
"Do you like it, my love?" Asmodeus' voice startles me. "My thoughts were on you as I created it."
My heart races as I meet his gaze and my breasts heave as excitement tickles my belly. He is waiting at the end of the huge table, as beautiful as ever, leaning against an iron dining chair. Even more startling than his voice, is his state of dress. Instead of his usual, stark nakedness, I am pleasantly surprised to see that my demon King has decided to play dress up with me. He's wearing a black suit and dress shirt, with a red tie tucked into a vest with silver trimmings. He looks mouth-wateringly delicious.
All thoughts of defiance or escape flee my mind. Without hesitation, I cross the room in a few brisk strides and wrap myself around his hard body. Running my hand down his side and feeling bold, I reach down and squeeze his perfect ass through the soft material of his pants, while my body begins to heat up in anticipation.
"Well this is unexpected; I believe I have just been sexually assaulted." His laugh is masculine and sexy beyond all reason.
Chuckling, my King lowers his head down to mine and pulls me in for an enthralling kiss. When we break apart, I am drunk from it, giddy and aroused. Before I can jump him again, he pushes me back gently and eyes me appreciatively from head to toe.