11. Chapter Eleven

11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I went rigid. My heart raced, and my hands grew clammy with sweat. Emotions clashed in my mind—was I enjoying this? Was I afraid? Was this anxiety and anticipation, or was the way my stomach tilted because I found this unpleasant?

I realised I wasn't sure. For me, pleasure had always been rough, sometimes violent; I understood the primal urge better than I understood intimacy. Furfur kissed me slowly, lips urging mine apart to drag its wet tongue against mine. Slowly, slowly, like the first hint of snowfall, a flake drifting to the ground as it's carried by the wind—this was what kissing Furfur felt like. I forgot it was a demon. I felt the brush of feathers against my neck as its wing wrapped around the two of us. It smelt like sea brine and vanilla. The hand around my waist pulled me ever closer, and I—hesitant, shaking—dared to raise my hand to its cheek.

I had never been kissed like this. I had never been kissed without the urge behind it; I had never been kissed for the sake of being kissed.

"You are frightened," it whispered as it pulled away from me, and though its voice curled sweetly with concern, I could see the glimmer of joy in its eyes. It enjoyed me like this—enjoyed that I was vaguely uncomfortable.

"Yes. I. . ."

"You do not have to say it," it whispered, and it turned my head to the side to lick at my neck and my jaw.

It took minutes with me. Took its time. Whenever I reached up to press its head closer to me, whenever I bucked back, urging it to touch other parts of my body, it laughed sweetly and slowed its touches. Eventually, it began to lightly drag its fingers up and down my body. Once or twice, it thumbed over my nipple, but this was the most definitive touch I got for what seemed like an hour. It ran its fingers over my belly, skimmed over my hips and caressed close to my twitching cock, fingertips gentle as they teased. Indeed, Furfur was teasing; I could hear on occasion a gentle laugh and see a pleased smile curling at its lips in my periphery. I tried to hold myself still against this tamed assault, but by Asmodeus, I craved more.

I whined. I bucked and twisted and twitched about; I leaned into this pathetic display to increase my chances of Furfur accidentally touching somewhere that desperately needed the friction.

"Stop that," Furfur growled into my ear, sweet voice peeling back to reveal something more eager, more feral than it was letting on. A hand coiled up around my neck, and it pressed against the sides of my throat. "Lie down."

I went to my knees first, practically thrashing out of Furfur's grip in the hopes of speeding this along. It commanded me to turn, and I did, laying back on the warm stone and bringing my knees up.

Furfur went onto its knees, too, and those beautiful wings encompassed the pair of us like a shroud as they encircled us, a wing coming down on either side of my head. It leaned forward, hands planted beside my face, and brought itself down to kiss me.

The kiss and this position were almost adolescent; I wondered if this was what it would have been like if I had fumbled about with a boy in my youth.

"You are to do nothing but enjoy yourself," Furfur purred to me. "Enjoy yourself to the point of delirium. But do not fake it, little human. I will know if you are lying to me."

My stomach sank. Distantly, I became aware that I had intended just that; to draw on memories and throw myself about in pleasure because the lie behind those actions made them safer to me than my true reactions. It brought a hand to cup my cheek and urged me to nod. I did, resting only slightly against the support its palm offered.

Then, it began to kiss me again. My eyes fluttered closed. It was so much easier that way, easier to relax, easier to pretend I was alone. The act of being seen unnerved me. When I was being had , when I was being used , it did not matter how I writhed or screamed. Those things did not embarrass me because I was there for another's pleasure. But when the focus fell upon me, I grew afraid that all my failings and my ugliness would be on display. I grew frightened that the act of pleasuring me would grow boring or that whomever or whatever was touching me would realise spending time elsewhere would suit them better. I grew afraid that if I let my walls down enough to feel my body and the pleasure in it, I would grow to resent myself. Firstly, for what I had become and the vulgarity of it—for shame still lingered in my blood, no matter how many demons tried to fuck it out of me. Or perhaps it would be revealed that my enjoyment mattered to no one, that my use was in being a hole and nothing more. But more importantly, perhaps, I would grow to resent how frightened I had been—I was almost more scared about being wrong . In enjoying the act of my pleasure, in focusing on my body, in taking the time to touch it and enjoy it for only me, I would realise again how long I had waited. I would learn something uncomfortable about myself during the act, and I would realise I had more worth than the flesh I offered others to fuck.

What then? What if, somewhere in this act, I realised I had made a mistake coming here?

Furfur must have felt the speed of my pulse against its lips; I could practically feel the vein throbbing with speed.

"Shhh," Furfur cooed to me. "Think of nothing but my lips on you. Feel nothing except the pleasure of it. Stay grounded in this moment, little lamb. Do not let your mind grow foggy with your fear."

It—was a hard ask, but I tried. I focused on the way Furfur's fingers touched me, on the smell of its wings and the way those feathers sometimes grazed across my outflung arms. The creature wet its mouth and licked gently down my body, each touch firm and deliberate but without fervour behind it. It took a nipple into its mouth, sucking gently, its tongue rolling over it. The other nipple was placed between forefinger and thumb to squeeze gently, twist this way and that and tugging occasionally, but never so hard I cried out in pain. Just enough pressure to send jolts of pleasure tingling down into my core. My cock grew steadily thicker, and I tried to reach down and squeeze there—except Furfur stopped me, not harshly. It shushed me again and stroked its fingers over my stomach. I let my head fall back, and I closed my eyes as it teased and touched me.

It dropped lower over minutes, tonguing me, stroking me. My breathing went erratic as I shivered and jolted beneath it. Then it moved lower until its mouth was hovering over my cock.

I craned to look down at it. What a thing of beauty. It stared at me through heavy-lidded eyes, its curls tickling my lower stomach and inner thighs. The sight of that alone made my cock throb. It jumped towards Furfur's mouth, which parted slightly. Its lips were stained a pinkish red, and a flush had crept onto its cheeks. I wanted to call out to God, suddenly—for this face was so beautiful, so angelic, I almost forgot where I was and who I had pledged myself to. Very carefully, the angelic-looking demon wrapped a hand around my cock, pulled down the foreskin, and brought its lips over the glands.

I moaned roughly. Furfur only laughed lightly, pulling back to lick sensually at the slit where precum had gathered and begun to ooze free. At my side, I balled my fists, gripping nothing but my own flesh. Anticipation tugged like a string in my belly, and I grunted as I watched Furfur wet its mouth again, pooling saliva on its tongue. It looked up at me and swallowed my cock whole.

" Oh, fu. . ." I bit off the word, hand shaking as I reached down to pull the demon's head closer. At a slow and gentle pace, Furfur dragged its mouth up and down my length, tongue stroking every which way as it went. Furfur moaned, too, each time I did, and its left hand reached up to pat my belly. A touch of. . .affection? Intimacy?

Tears sprang up, not of pain but of fear. I felt suddenly exposed in a way I hated, like the skin of my stomach was being slowly pulled back, and all my insides were being picked up, inspected, and set steaming onto the ground. I could have been sick, then. I almost wanted to roll over and force myself to vomit, though I had eaten nothing but the flower and fluids of demons for however long I'd been there. Anything to expel this feeling in me. Anything to disrupt the vulnerability and the shame and the fear of letting myself relax into pleasure.

"Do not cry," Furfur whispered to me, and it brought its wings even closer to frame my face.

I heard my voice. The wings around my head became like a cave, a chamber within which my voice echoed back to me.

"Enjoy yourself, Alessandro. Enjoy yourself."

I did not understand what was happening, but I heard muffled song behind the blockade of wings, a beautiful choral sound. A thousand angels in unison holding a single holy note; my vision went briefly white, and my body relaxed.

Furfur murmured, " Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning."

It was Pslam 30:5. I think it was trying to tell me my discomfort was a fleeting thing, but the passage meant something different. I opened my mouth to argue, managing, "That's not—" before it swallowed my cock whole again.

I threw my head back. It began to suck and lick in earnest. Saliva fell from its mouth in wet strings, and soon, even my balls were slick. Gently, it moved its forefinger and thumb up and down the base, the rest of its mouth sucking dutifully. I lost time like that, panting and moaning, and every time the pleasure built, it would slow down, start licking gently and out of any discernible rhythm until I grew frustrated and cried out, trying to force its head back onto my length.

Furfur laughed again. The tone bordered on triumphant; it was glad it was making me like this. Then, unprompted, it lowered its mouth—to my prolapsed hole.

I jolted, having completely forgotten about the state of my body.

"I—"

"Hush," Furfur said before it began to suck and lick, tonguing up into the hole. I shivered, confused by the pleasure that overrode the discomfort. I clenched instinctively and felt myself try to tighten. Then, Furfur put its hand against the flesh and pushed.

"Ah!" I gasped, bucking up. It pushed and pushed until I was sure its whole fist was inside me.

"It's back in," Furfur whispered, though it did not take its hand out. It began to move gently, scraping my insides but barely deep. With only this small amount of friction, I was surprised by how good it felt, and when Furfur lowered its mouth again to suck at me, my consciousness and mind went black with pleasure.

The pressure built almost immediately. The feeling of being full, hole clenching over the angel's knuckles, was nearly enough to make me cum. But then I looked down and watched my cock disappearing into that angelic mouth, watched those long eyelashes flutter as Furfur moaned, watched those reddish lips pucker and suck, and I thought: yes. Yes. This pleasure, this desire, was new. I wanted to fuck deeper into Furfur's throat. I wanted to hear the angel gag and groan; I wanted to know what an angel looked like with human seed dripping over its face. And so I bucked up. I grabbed the back of Furfur's head firmly and shoved it down. The angelic body convulsed, wings shuddering, and I heard it gag and splutter. I expected resistance, but the angel—the demon—just took it.

"Oh, you slut," I whispered, feeling as every demon must have felt fucking me. Its eyes rolled back into its head, alabaster cheeks flushed pink and saliva drooling from its mouth. It moaned and tried to move its head again, to choke itself on my cock.

"No," I grunted and held its head in place. "Stay there. Let me use you."

And Furfur did. Obediently, it held its head in place, letting me wrap both hands around its skull to fuck desperately into that warm, wet hole. Sloppy sounds escaped from its mouth, in amongst its groans and my heavy, eager breathing. It brought its wings around me, tighter like an embrace, and I heard in clear detail all my airy moans and sweet sounds. The chorus of angels still sang; theirs a united chorus. I felt urged on in an almost holy way, like embracing this side of me that so obviously desired pleasure was endorsed by the Heavens.

Yes, I thought I heard Asmodeus itself whisper. Yes, look at you, my little priest. Look how desperate you are. Look how pleased this makes you. You take your pleasure from others the same way you ask it to be taken from you. Every part of you desires filth. Go and make whores of my demons as they will make a whore of you. Let us all revel in pleasure together.

This endorsement made me snap my hips even faster until I was forcing myself down Furfur's throat, and its grip on my stomach became desperate. It gagged and convulsed, and I was certain it would vomit, certain I was suffocating it—and it did not matter. All I cared about at that moment was cumming.

" Yes, yes, yes," I began to whisper. The pleasure built and built, and glory fell upon me, and just at the crux, I pulled out to the sound of Furfur gasping for air, and its beautiful lips were wet with stringy saliva, eyes trembling heavenward, and the angel looked so pathetic and wanton that I came violently over its face.

I cried out, and as I did, Furfur echoed me, and in that moment of unity, lightning and thunder crashed around us, the world going bright like Hell itself shivered in orgasmic pleasure, the earth experiencing the delight of my flesh.

I gasped and panted for what felt like an eternity before I brought myself to look upon Furfur. It watched me and carefully began to drag its forefinger across its face, lapping up my cum. One eye had been streaked with it, and its eyelashes appeared sticky and heavy when it tried to open its eye. I moaned again at that sight. I had done that to this angel. To this demon.

Once it had cleaned itself, Furfur dragged itself over me and kissed me. Its breath smelled of cock and saliva and sex, and I kissed it hungrily, exhausted and pleasured and about as happy I had ever been.

And I realised belatedly what Furfur had allowed of me—that how it had made me wanton and begging was to transform my pleasure. It had allowed me the act of subjugating it , rather than putting me in my place, as I had offered it.

It was almost—a kindness.

Except in truth, what Furfur had done was confirm my place here. Gone was the anxiety and the fear of not belonging. Furfur seemed to recognise this itself, for it smiled wide, and its form shivered back to that demonic hart.

I did not care. I let the creature rest upon my chest and stroked its furred head. And in that comfortable, pleasured silence, Furfur opened its mouth and began to laugh.

I was so used to the strangeness of demons that I did not react. I lay there and kept stroking it, even when it began to say, "Human whore. You cannot turn away from your nature."

"No," I agreed. "I cannot."

Furfur sat up then and looked down upon me, its eyes deep reflective pools of black, like polished onyx. "Lord Asmodeus rarely does this, though you are not the first human it has tested. Only. . ."

I sat up after it. "Only?"

Furfur twisted its head to the side and nuzzled against my cheek. Its fleshy, moulting antlers rested against my head. "Only you are different, little priest. You are interesting. And your desire is so palpable it cannot be ignored. It was your destiny to come here. Your destiny to betray God and to give your body to us."

I said nothing to this, and Furfur did not press me. I looked down at its changed form and saw that fluffy cock waiting. I raised my hand. Furfur slapped me away.

"This form is deceiving," Furfur whispered. "But I still lack that desire."

I nodded, questioning silently why I had reached out.

Because you wish to return the favour. Because you can't take for the sake of taking, and you don't know how to act without offering your body in return.

"Tsk, tsk," Furfur said. "You haven't learnt. But perhaps that's what I can take from this: your discomfort. I want you to itch knowing you could not, under any circumstance, satisfy my body."

My lip curled in distaste at that, though looking back now, Furfur was still being kind. Empathy, I felt, was something Furfur possessed, even if it had been twisted drastically over eons in this realm.

"I want to serve Asmodeus for the rest of my days," I whispered, and then I fell silent. Why was I saying this? What did I want? Awkwardly, I cleared my throat. "I. . .do you think that I will. . ."

The hart looked at me. "You will be well used, little lamb," Furfur said. "Well used. The Lord will take your flesh whenever it pleases, and you will enjoy that for the rest of time."

A comfort again, an odd one. Its fiery tail made its furred head glow orange. Then it stood and spread its leathery wings.

"The Lord Asmodeus is making you known to us in this way," Furfur announced. "This is a great blessing, even if you do not understand it yet."

I sat up straighter and opened my mouth, but Furfur launched from the ground and flew away, and the waves below us ceased their noise, and the clouds dispersed, and I was left on that rocky platform alone to ponder.