Demiurge/Reader Ch.9
Demiurge/reader chapter 9
'Ohfuckohfuckohfuck-'
He meets your gaze of burgeoning fear with an avid expression that further sharpens. In an instant you are hauled to your feet as he abruptly stands, sending the chair toppling to the floor. He releases your waist only to seize your bicep, dragging you along as he strides to the nearest wall.
Your heart is frantic in your chest, a trapped thing crashing against your ribs in effort to escape as you stumble behind him, and you slam on the breaks.
But it's no use.
Suddenly, you are hurled against the surface with enough force to knock the wind from your lungs.
You let out a coughing shriek as he sets upon you like wildfire, burying his fangs into the side of your neck in a startling but non-lethal bite, making you keen in distress like an animal snared. Your knees buckle beneath you as he locks onto the delicate muscle... then sucks. The wall of his body presses you in place, preventing your fall as he rucks your skirt up around your hips.
A strangled whine of protest escapes your throat as his gloved hand slips between your thighs, and you squeal when you feel his middle finger curling up into the scrap of lace that is your only barrier. A purr rumbles through him, seemingly pleased by what he finds there.
Panic spills into your veins as your heels leave the ground and you push against him, a futile effort. You may as well have been trying to shove a mountain aside for all the good it does.
He unlatches his jaws from your neck, and with a surge of force, raises you up, scraping your back against the cobblestone wall.
'What in the actual FUCK is he doing?!'
Higher and higher you go, until your hips are level with his face.
It crosses your mind to try to land a punch when icy hands gather your wrists and pin them to the wall near the ceiling. You glance up and your heart freefalls from a cliff when your eyes meet with the black shadow you glimpsed earlier hanging upside down and restraining you. The edges of its form ripple like a heat wave, distorting any possible features other than its humanoid shape.
Of course this terrifying entity would be real, and on his side, because fuck you, right? Such is always your luck.
"WHAT the Hell is tha-" You start to yelp in terror as your Master then harshly yanks your thighs apart. Demiurge manipulates your small body effortlessly, arranging your legs over his broad shoulders in a reverse piggyback. Your arms jerk in effort to get free, but the shadow creature holds you fast.
"Please, d-don't-" Shock finds you pathetically tongue-tied, and the Arch Devil lets out a growling chuckle before he presses his mouth and nose against your cleft, flooding the sensitive area with his scathing breath and cutting your protest short into a staggered gasp. A fresh wave of goosebumps breaks out over your skin as some dark and buried part of you chants yesyesyes while your rational mind is roaring NO.
"Desire," He hisses, nosing at your pearl before yanking your panties aside. "...is what I smell."
All panic ceases to matter as he crushes his mouth to your slick folds, delving in to suck and lick with all the ravenous hunger of a starving beast.
Your cry borders on a scream and he purrs in response, then slips his tongue lower to snake into your tight opening. Your frightened moans fill the room, along with the wet sounds of his mouth eating at you. You try to arch but can't, finding that you are entirely restrained by both the Devil and whatever-the-fuck the shadow creature is above you.
A nightmare- this HAS to be a nightmare!
Demiurge's eyes seem to glow in the dim firelight of the room as he stares up at you, gauging your reactions. Your heartbeat pounds through your body like struck steel as he runs his clawed fingers along the curve of your ass, kneading the plump flesh in his palms.
It should be unfathomable, what he is doing- especially the idea of being enslaved to him to be used for his perverse pleasures- but the insides of your thighs rapidly grow sticky-wet with alien need as he masterfully plays your body like an instrument.
It's filthy, it's wrong; the shreds of your mind are aghast at your body's response to his ministrations and you're a horrible person for feeling anything but disgust-
...but what he is doing feels so, so damned good. It is utterly depraved, the way he slurps at you, sucking at your slit like he cannot afford to miss a drop of the juices that drip from you like tears.
Never have you responded to anyone's touch like this. Never has it felt like liquid fire, and never before has your body screamed for more.
How can you possibly want this?
You should try to fight back.
"No," You half-heartedly whine, breaching the hazy surface of the mind-shattering pleasure as you try to remind yourself how wrong this is, that you have finally escaped the brothel only for a demon to lure you into his clutches and claim you as his personal fucktoy.
But it is practically impossible as his fangs scrape dangerously over your folds and he laves and sucks, giving, rather than merely taking as every client you were forced to serve had. Those crystalline eyes gaze up at you, and you sink into their white-hot smolder just as his tongue sinks into your clenching heat.
"Yes." He contends, and you close your eyes in defeat, knowing damn well you are powerless to stop him from taking whatever he wants. "You don't have a choice in the matter."
He's right. You don't have a choice. He's too strong to fight back against. But who could blame you for not testing his patience? For playing it smart, and not risking injury by fighting him tooth and nail? For not wanting to jeopardize your new home with a warm bed and a shower?
'I don't have a choice.' So, it's not your fault, right?
He sets a tormenting pace, penetrating you several times before swirling through your tender folds, and using deep, exquisite pulls from his lips before slipping down to pierce you again. All at once it is simultaneously too much and not enough, and you can feel every cell of your body crying out for more of the sinful thing he is doing.
Something is building with every flick of his devilishly long tongue, pulling from the depths of your core, growing bright and pulsing and hot...
Softly whining into the velvety red darkness behind your eyes, both the living shadow and the Devil's claws hold you in place as his mouth sculpts your desire for something you do not even understand into a masterpiece of shameful ecstasy.
You are on the precipice of something; you can feel it...
One of his hands leaves your rear and you vaguely hear a metal clinking through the thick fog that has settled over your brain as he shifts a bit beneath you, and you hesitantly crack your eyes open.
Your whole groin throbs like a beating heart, the rapture excruciating. He gives your seam one long, scathing, final lick and you whimper at the loss of his mouth's exquisite warmth, leaving you wet and cold.
'This is so wrong... how can I want this to continue?!'
He unhooks your trembling thighs, and you're dimly aware that the phantom's grip releases you, causing you to slide downwards and into the demon's waiting grasp, and he gathers your calves around his waist.
In a daze, you find your hands clutching the rock-hard muscle of the Arch Devil's biceps beneath his suit as you cling to him shakily. Overheated blood courses through your veins, flushing your skin and boiling all coherent thought into wisps of steam.
You're so close to him now that you can practically taste his redolence of wildfire, scorched sandalwood, warm, dark spice and lust on the back of your tongue; if the temptation of sin carried a scent...
He licks his lips, eyes glittering like topaz with primal hunger as he shifts again, and you feel-
Choking out a gasp, you blink rapidly at the startling sensation of your folds parting to give way to his hot, thick girth, and can feel every ridge and contour of the flared head of his cock as he lowers you onto him.
Demiurge's lip curls into a cruel sneer and his hips jerk, pushing in another inch, widening your channel as he steals a tortured cry from your mouth.
"Don't lie." He hisses, and pulls your hips down, and you slide further onto his length... and he just. Keeps. Filling you. "I can smell how much you want it- want me."
'Oh gods, he's inside me...' Your mind whirls when he bottoms out. With a shuddering inhale, the demon's eyes pinch shut behind his spectacles as he savors the tight heat which surrounds him.
Your passage seizes around him in shock, and before you can swallow it down, a strangled moan escapes.
Were you capable of thinking coherently, you would likely cry at the way your body so treacherously rewards him for the depravity he is subjecting you to.
You pant with anticipation as the long slide of his withdrawal makes your eyes roll in your head, and then he surges forward to rock into you with a savage thrust, rattling your teeth.
With a feral flash of fangs, he begins to fuck you almost violently, each brutal connection eliciting an abrupt cry from your lips.
The Devil nips at your neck, and the sweet sharp of his teeth pierce with an illicit bloom of pleasure that radiates through your sex. You moan aloud, your head falling back against the wall as your nipples tighten into aching buds when his suit-covered chest scrapes over your breasts.
"Mmm... you like that," He purrs, then swipes his tongue over the indentions before hissing in your ear, "don't you?"
'Fuck, yes!' You refuse to say it, but yes, YES, you fucking love it.
And you hate yourself for it.
Your back bows when Demiurge seals his mouth over the bite and sucks, and when you let out a gasping cry in lieu of a response, he grins against your skin.
"That's a good girl," He croons, letting you draw his body closer when your thighs cinch tighter around his hips and he rewards you with a jarring thrust. "give in to your Master."
The Devil slows his movements to an agonizingly slow grind, and the raging inferno between your thighs dies down from a roar to a flicker, leaving you aching and desperate for more...
...for what you now know only he can give you.
It is sickening how naturally it comes, your pathetic, agonized plea. But the brothel trained you for this, after all.
"Please..." You whisper, and regret it the moment the word disintegrates from your lips.
Never have you wanted anything so badly- not food, not morphine, nor freedom.
"Louder." Demiurge's hiss sizzles over your flesh. "Say it."
Nothing has ever been more of an imperative than the need you have for him to finish what he started.
"Please!" Your eyes never waver from those of the Devil as you beg him to defile you further, and his lips peel back in the most wicked of grins.
"Very good..." His voice is black velvet as his hips curl under yours, smoothly driving his cock up into your sheath, ramping up his pace once more.
The pent-up need and shored tension threaten to unleash, and you sob brokenly in both relief and regret as the delicate muscles of your passage flutter on his rigid length. Raking your nails into the fine material of his pinstriped suit, every muscle in your body tenses in preparation- something is coming, and there is no stopping it.
"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" His voice slices through the buttery-thick fog with a metallic purr, but his words are lost to your sensation-addled mind. "Mmm, yes, I can sssmell your body's cry for ecstasy."
The demon sinks his fangs into your neck once again, and begins pumping subtly in time with both the clenching of his jaw and the throbbing of your body, letting each pulse draw him in deeper.
With every thick glide of his shaft, you soar, higher and higher, until-
You scream, venting your rage and rapture as your head falls back against the wall, and you shatter into a million brilliant shards that sing and bleed with the magnitude of the euphoria that rips through your belly and all the way down the trembling muscles of your thighs.
What is happening?!
Nothing, not even morphine compares to the high flooding your every neuron right now.
Demiurge's claws grip your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. They gleam like crystallized white fire as he glares at you with nearly maniacal possession.
"Look at me," He commands with a honeyed growl, and he fucks into you harder with a raspy groan of satisfaction.
You feel your passage suckle at his shaft with hungry little pulses, and he affixes you with his murderous stare, daring you to look away. But all you can do is stare at him in awe, stare and shake and gasp while clinging to the anchor of his body as the fibers of your very being unravel in his claws.
He adjusts your thighs around his hips, leveraging an even deeper angle that tears an enraptured moan from your lungs when his head strikes at your womb. You're so obscenely wet, and the lewd, filthy sound of him fucking you frays your last remaining threads of coherency.
Your lungs fume, unable to keep pace with the brutal hammering that pounds each breath from your chest. Darkness seeps inward from the corners of your vision, glittering with stars as his hips flex into you with a deliberateness that is designed to decimate any and all resistance.
Your chest rises and falls, feverishly panting with the need for air and you are barely able to see straight. Demiurge's claws clutch your hips in a bruising grip, holding you flush and immobile as he savagely snarls into your neck.
You feel the ventral vein of his shaft contract with a heavy pulse, releasing the first spurt of his come; a scalding stream so strong, it parts you like a liquid arrow, shooting deep into the heart of your passage. Demiurge huffs, his breath a scorching lick of flame against your flesh.
You let out a staggered gasp- whether his pleasure is somehow feeding into your own, you do not know- but suddenly, your body is humming ever so pleasantly with a bright glow, as though liquefied sunshine is alighting through your veins.
All you know is that you relish each throb of his shaft as the warmth of his release seeps into your bones, making your every atom purr.
As if sensing your desire for it, the muscles of your sheath clamp down to tighten invitingly around his thick head, imploring him for more.
"Master," You whine as he continues to flood your body with a tide of fluidic rapture.
He responds with a low growl and another firm pump of his hips, again anointing you from the inside with waves of thick, milky warmth that so sweetly lap into you.
After no less than a full minute, the volume of his hot spurt slowly ebbs, leaving you luscious with his molten seed. Your body falls limp as a rag doll in arms so strong, only maintaining an upright position because he isn't letting you fall.
Eyes feeling heavy, they try to shutter themselves as every muscle in your body melts into a puddle of relaxation.
'Oh... oh, this is just lovely.' You moan softly, and rest your head on his shoulder. The steel of his many earrings brushes your cheek, so nice and cool on your overheated flesh.
Why in the Hell were you fighting this? Fighting him? You never want this feeling to go away. You want to bathe in it, soak it into every inch of your skin. This is your new religion, and Demiurge, your unholy priest.
You were an idiot to want to resist this. This, right here, is nothing short of bliss.
When the lush pulses of his orgasm finally subside, his hand cups the side of your face, so wonderfully warm.
"I'm going to put you to bed, and I want you to stay there till morning." His voice is low and commanding.
Your brow knits with confusion. Did you do something wrong?
'But... I don't want to go to bed.' Your mind feels airy and light but your body feels weighted, detached. You want to stay here with him, and bask his beautiful, sweet warmth.
There's nowhere else you would rather be. You are perfectly content to doze off right here with the exquisite fullness of the Devil still nestled inside you, keeping his release right where it needs to be.
"I... I can't stay withhh you...?" You drunkenly complain, and your head lolls limply to the side, and you feel as though you are drifting, drifting... then sinking down, down, down into a plush red haze.
"You will do as I say, Pet." The demon reiterates, but he sounds a thousand miles away.
The stars emerge and the moon now hovers overhead, their combined light painting the land in hues of indigo and violet. Malphas looks out across his balcony, scanning the length of his territory as he takes a drag from his cigarette.
His stomach growls, and he glances down at his body with disinterest before exhaling a cloud of smoke. Without a Ring of Sustenance, he is growing leaner. A steady diet of bitterness and cultivated sorrow absolves his will to eat, and he sighs heavily while tucking a strand of his shoulder-length hair behind his ear, making the golden rings adorning them jingle.
Normally, his six-foot-six frame of pure muscle mass fills out his collared white dress shirt to where it strains across the breadth of his chest- but after almost a week without eating, it has gained a bit of slack.
It has been too long since he has seen Demiurge, and he can feel that aching chasm where his heart should be, a dry-socket, dark and deep enough to dig his fist into beginning to fester.
The demon's tail twitches with discontent, and the segmented steel plates fail to reflect the moonlight- its natural armor is rapidly losing its luster.
He needs to hunt.
Malphas' nostrils flare as he takes a steadying breath, both scenting the wind for prey and deriding himself for the millionth time for possessing the ability to love... there are times in which he wished he could not feel at all.
A warm, musky aroma, laden with trampled clover and earth reaches his nose; Malphas recognizes it as a Midgardian stag, in the prime of Rut and he debates if he cares to take advantage of the opportunity. The Arch Devil's mouth waters at the promise of bloody meat and he sweeps his tongue over his fangs.
'Your Master would scold you for not keeping up your strength. How else will you care for the Bicorns he entrusted you with?' He goads himself.
Frustration and guilt wins out, pressurizing like trapped steam. The demon leaps fifteen feet down from the balcony, his tailcoat billowing around him like a cape. He lands silently and trudges through the open pasture, slipping off his calf-length coat and unbuttoning his shirt, then draping the articles over a low hanging branch.
His crystalline eyes of sapphire thaw to molten gold, and his fangs elongate to push past his lips. He ignites into a pillar of flame, bathing the edge of the wood in a flickering scarlet glow and birthing a host of shadows. The quick spike of his prey's fear riles the predator in him, a justified reaction to the sight and scent of his new shape. The tongues of flame spiral away from his body with pinwheels of ember spats, revealing the form of a great cat with eyes of Hellfire.