Chapter 6

Itossed and turned for hours.

I’d tucked the tome under my pillow for safekeeping. Or perhaps because I wanted to be close to the demon, or I hoped that closeness to it might award my body somehow. It felt stupid admitting that; the Prince of Lust would not return unless I summoned it.

I slept fitfully. I kept waking up in an intense sweat, sheets slick, and my body shaking. Each time I was rock hard, cock desperate, pulsing under the sheet. The first two times I woke up, I took my cock and worked myself until I came, thinking of the demon’s cock inside me, its grip around my waist, how it could use me like a cock sleeve—use me however it wished. I imagined the way I would be twitching and gaping at the end of it, cum leaking from me. Had, used, and discarded. By the third time I awoke, horny and desperate, I gave up. Relief wouldn’t come; I had been using my hands for decades, and it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough, and now I that had seen what could have been, it would do nothing for me. Instead of touching myself a third time, I sighed and turned over, trying to sleep.

Eventually, a deeper sleep came. I had an hour or two of uninterrupted rest before the dreams.

At first, they were vague. I only saw shapes and some colours, skin mostly, the demon’s hands flashing into view. Nothing really happened in those dreams except impressions of taste and smell and touch, and they flowed through me easily. Then detail snaked into them; the scent of the prince, its fragrant cedar and caramel, with the smell of my own sweat and cum mixed with it. I watched the demon materialise again, growing out of ash and blood like it had when I first summoned it, only now it lunged at me the instant it materialised. It saw me, and its cock hardened and blushed a dark red at the tip; the shaft was thick with bumps plumping to firm ridges as it grew erect. I let it grab me by the neck again, lift me, and throw me against the wall, raking my skin red and raw with its claws.

There was nothing coherent to what happened next, no reality to it. But it felt good to dream. I was pushed against the wall. My legs were spread. I arched down into position with decades worth of eagerness, and the prince’s cock split me apart, slipped inside like I was made for it, ridged and tugging on the warm wetness of my insides. I had nothing of that size to compare it to—it had only ever been my fingers—but my mind translated it as a fullness. A satiation that seemed heavenly and impossible after so much dripping lust.

The demon didn’t even have to thrust to have me close to the edge; I generated enough friction on my own, squirming and grinding back with unstoppered desire. And I couldn’t stop myself, not even when I had the vague awareness this was just a dream. I squeezed my ass and felt the answering pulse of the cock inside me. Asmodeus growled and rammed up into me, and I screamed freely, eagerly, head thrown back as it crowded me close to the wall, yanking my head back by a fistful of my hair. When it kissed me, it felt ravenous; the prince made a meal of me, hammering hard and without mercy, thrusting and pushing. As it came, it growled deep, and I felt the sticky warmth of it coat the inside of my ass. The cock popped free of my twitching hole, and I shuddered through my own orgasm, warm cum from my gaping ass dripping down my leg.

I felt like such a slut. Such a good little slut.

I woke with a start. I shot up in bed and realised I’d cum again and was now lying amongst my own mess. Shame pricked at my skin again, but the embers of desire helped burn it away. Like some sacred or holy blessing on me, like a ward against evil, each orgasm at the thought of that demon had muted those feelings.

By that point, it was probably four or five in the morning. Dawn would come some, and with it, a retribution I dreaded.

I hadn’t interacted much with the new bishop. I knew he was an old, conservative man, but they all were. I had almost expected someone from our flock to be named abbot, but the church had sent another bishop to us—most likely for the evil we protected in the form of those tomes. Still, before he had even arrived, I’d decided not to know him. Bishop Jonah’s ghost still haunted me and I didn’t want to realise just how little I had grown by allowing myself to be, once again, influenced by another of these officials.

But the fear I had, the one that just nearly suppressed my lust that night, was that the bishop would be alerted, he would swoop in and efficiently remove every dangerous tome under the monastery’s care, and then an inquisition would be held to find the culprit.

You see, I wasn’t much worried about that last point. It felt almost inevitable that I would be found out, and I’d developed a kind of numbness around that. It was the thought of the tomes being ripped away from me. Any chance I had to contact Asmodeus, Prince of Lust, again being taken and destroyed. The growing horror that if this demon did not fuck me, nobody would—or no average man would ever be enough.

Really, what was there to be ashamed of? If anything, holding back, pretending this wasn’t what I wanted— surely there was more shame in that? If I could be honest with myself, honest in the eyes of God, then that was better than lying for the rest of my life. It felt more honourable. More blessed. And in all honestly, the dream I had only proved how insidious my desire was. Lust fired through my veins.

A dream was only a dream. But I wanted to feel the real thing.

I wanted the demon to pick me up and throw me around, to use me completely, to fuck every thought out of my head.

Render me nothing but yours. Make me your slut, your hole, your toy; I will be nothing else. Not Don Alessandro. Not a man. Not even that.

Stronger than any covenant God ever made, that feeling. Stronger than shame, too. I said it like a prayer: make me a ruin.

I needed Asmodeus. I needed it right then and there.

I threw the covers off and lit two lamps before I went to the door and bolted it.

The room glowed with light. It was like a small cell, all cold stone. The bed—simple by design—took up most of the room, and the only other piece of furniture was a modest bedside table that housed an equally unremarkable oil lamp. I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at my hands. The palm had been bandaged, but the wound still wept. Pink oozed through the cotton. Gingerly, I removed the bandage and exposed the puckered flesh beneath. It hadn’t been long enough to heal, and in fact, Asmodeus’ forked tongue had pried the cut open even deeper than I had first made it.

What if it made it larger? What if it used that wound to pleasure itself? Made it stigmata, made you holy with every thrust until you were stretched in the form of crucifixion, until you could look at your reflection in its black eyes and see the Son of God looking back?

Desire felt complicated.

I ignored the aching throb of my spent cock and turned to the pillow where I’d tucked the scroll away. I pulled it out, and locked eyes instantly with the sketch of the demon.

I made a low noise. Pathetic. Pathetic—I heard that rebound through my skull in Bishop Jonah’s voice and then in the prince’s. The effect was another aching throb through my appendage. I didn’t have to do much to coax it to attention.

Whilst I still had some control over my sanity, I stood and drew the pentagram in chalk around my bed. I’d slept in nothing, and so, already naked, I lowered myself onto the bed.

I had no knife with me, but I had teeth. I closed my eyes and summoned the demon in my mind. Asmodeus’ forked tongue flicked against the weeping wound. I tasted myself in a new way, shivering at the odd sweetness and the metallic undercurrent. Then, I bore my teeth and pressed the sharp edge of my canine against my palm.

Very simply, it hurt. I squeezed my cock for the slight shuddering pleasure it offered me, and my mind split. The stupid, cum-hungry slut roared to life and started a chorus of quiet, eager moaning. Yes, yes, yes—I gnawed at my palm, and that part of me revelled, knowing that when I bled, when I touched myself, when I thought of it, Asmodeus would come to me. The other part of my brain was the base, fearful primitive. Pain shocked it to life, and it reared up with a scream. What are you doing? You’re hurting yourself—stop it. Stop it.

I did not stop it.

Not until I tasted blood.

That time, instead of working my cock, I dipped my fingers in the oil from the lamp and edged those warm, blood-slicked fingers to my own ass.

I pressed in.

There’s always a moment at the beginning where one’s body tries to reject the interloper. It happened to me then—a pushing sensation, a bodily refusal, but I didn’t stop. I put another finger inside, scraping it over my own prostate, shivering at the jolt of feeling. I fucked myself.. I degraded myself for the act of it—I was a slut. By sunrise, every priest in the place would know what kind of sick man I was. By that point, it wouldn’t matter. I’d belong to the demon, not to God.

I bounced on my own fingers and called its title aloud. Prince of Lust, Prince of Lust. I touched myself sparingly, like the sacrament—this orgasm would be given to me by the prince itself and not my own mortal hand. I thought about the filthy things I wanted it to do to me—the things I might have let it do if it wanted to, if it asked me. The complete and utter surrender I would offer it, even when partaking, would send me straight to hell. I’d held it at bay for years, but now there was no stopping it. One taste of my fantasy, and it was all I could think about.

Please, I prayed, please, please, please, please.

Sulphur. Cedar. A pleased, airy laugh.

“Virgin on a technicality alone,” a deep voice said, amused. “You have desecrated yourself many a time. You desecrate yourself now.”

“Yes,” I said. I opened my eyes, and there it was: monstrous, hungry, watching. I slowed my movements and started to pull my slick fingers out of myself, but Asmodeus hissed. Its face crumpled into fury, and it rushed forward, slamming its fist against the wall to my left. I jumped and shuddered, sliding further down onto my fingers with a protracted groan. The force of its punch was so strong that brick indented around the large fist. Dust fell to the floor. I gulped and slowly met the demon’s gaze.

“Never said stop,” it hissed.

I moved slowly, doing as I was told. I started bouncing, and it tutted me. That liquid-quick tail lashed forward and sharply edged beneath my chin. The skin seared as the pointed tip carved a cut through the soft flesh. I winced, clenching involuntarily around my own cramping hand.

“Slowly, boy,” it whispered. “Show me how much you want it.”

So, I showed it. A natural nervousness washed over me at first, and I had to close my eyes to move with such intentional slowness. But the demon made a pleased noise, and it opened something in my gut. Another one of lust’s cousins: compliance. Submissiveness. Obedience. It dawned inside me the way desire did, growing steadily hot until I was in a haze. I drooped forward and spread my legs, angled so the demon could watch.

And it was watching. Very intently. My cock was twitching, the pink head swollen and dripping precum down onto my twisted thigh. The demon approached and I watched it from underneath my lashes, panting shakily as one of its fingers glided up my thigh. The claw scraped at the skin, but then it pressed the round rise of its finger over the pooling precum and put it to its lips.

“You summoned me again,” it said with something akin to wonderment. “You must really be desperate.”

“Yes,” I told it. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m desperate.”

“For what?”

“For cock. For your cock.” I mindlessly rode myself faster and started babbling. “I want you. I want you to scrape my insides. Fuck me. Use me. Make me your slut.”

It grabbed my face and squished my stinging cheeks. “You already are my slut,” the prince said. I glanced down at its cock, which was swelling now. The ridges rose slowly until it bumped in a beautiful way. My mouth opened.

Asmodeus moved one large hand to the back of my head. Its palm encompassed me, warm fingers pressing on either side of my cheek. “Pathetic little whore,” it murmured, pulling my whole body towards it. My fingers popped out of my hole, and I splayed both hands on the bed. My head was hot and empty and wanting. Asmodeus smiled at me, handsome face twisting up with sadistic glee. Then it gripped my hair so tightly I screamed. It shook me. Happy at how limp I was, the demon laughed, and shoved my mouth down onto its red, twinging cock.

My screaming moan was muffled and then choked to death in my throat. The prince was neither kind nor slow with me; it rammed into my mouth. The girth ached my jaw, and I felt the tip slide over the opening of my throat. The ringlike muscle caught it, and Asmodeus forced itself deeper. Barely half of it could fit. I gagged. Thick, stringy saliva pooled out of my mouth around it.

“Such a fucking slut. Listen to you,” it hissed. “No godly man would love this. No good man would want it. Tell me.”

It dragged me off its cock by my hair. Saliva dripped onto the sheets. I coughed and spluttered, and the prince shook my head like a doll.

“Hm?” it prompted. “Say it.”

Rasping, I said, “I love it. I love it.”

I wished I could’ve taken it all. For a moment, Asmodeus’ grip on my hair slackened, and it let me do as I pleased—and pleasing it is what pleased me. I laid the head of its cock beneath my tongue like holy communion and let the precum seep there. I took it into my body spiritually, and I felt it. I felt then what my brethren had claimed to feel all along. God’s voice in their ears, God’s light, God’s love. I had this. I had Asmodeus, Prince of Lust. I had the ecstasy of sex and I worshipped it gladly.

The demon let me suck and lick and moan, and when it wanted more, it grabbed my hair again and shoved itself deeper into my throat. I gagged and spluttered and splayed my hands against its stomach, pushing weakly and half-committedly against the firm muscle. Then I gave in; I slacked and relaxed and did my best to be a good slut. I let it have its way with me, and my moans became infrequent and reactive as my eyes rolled back into my head. I left my body. I felt warm.

“I could do whatever I want to you, couldn’t I?” it murmured. “My sweet little priest.”

I was barely conscious of its words, but heat rushed to my groin again. I loved the way it spoke to me. I love how it could see how desperate I was.

“Fuck me,” I begged. “Please. Please, my prince, please, fuck me.”

I knew I was a mess at this point. Sweat smeared my hair to my forehead, and my mouth was covered with thick, ropey saliva. I was near bowing before this demon. But I wanted it. A near pain spasmed through my cock, and I rutted pathetically against the bed for the friction it offered me.

The demon laughed at me. “Pitiful whore.” Its hand slammed down over my neck and I collapsed into the pillow with a high cry. It moved a finger down to the left of my ass, claw dragging slowly over the sensitive skin.

“Wait,” I said automatically. I squirmed but it just held me down with more pressure. “Wait, wait, your claws—”

“Shh,” it hushed me and pressed inside.

I whimpered, first from the bright and sharp pain and then the feeling of it dragging in and out of me. The demon moved slowly, and I’d already opened myself on my own fingers. This wasn’t about preparation. It was about the pain. The process. It added another, and then another, and worked me like that. I loudly moaned into the pillow, trying to keep my body relaxed. When it grew bored of this, it pulled its fingers free. I clenched on instinct and it laughed.

“Only a whore’s body would react like this,” it told me. Its big hand slapped down on my back several times. Its voice sounded warm and pleased. I grunted with every slap of its hand, the force thundering through my chest. “Masquerading as a priest all these years. I can’t think of a greater sin. Not when your hole is hungry.”

Two warm hands clamped down on my hips and shifted me, dragging me back onto my knees. I braced myself and closed my eyes. It was happening. Finally, finally—and then I howled.

Whatever entered me was not the firm, round girth of a cock. There was a sharp sting and a thin, rope-like wiggling pulsing in and out of my body. Every jutting stroke glided over my prostate, and my body fell helpless. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, I drooled with an overwhelmed pleasure, and I let myself be fucked like that.

“Oh, look at you,” Asmodeus said. “Helpless. Shameful. Defenceless.” Its fingers darted playfully across my back. I moaned when it picked up the pace, tail whipping into me. I squirmed around, my body arching off the bed. The prince pulled my head back. “Little priest, you are the most willing piece of meat I’ve ever fucked.”

God. God. I couldn’t even pretend the demon was wrong. Every thrust had me jolting.

I realised belatedly the thing fucking my insides roughly was its tail. It pressed further inside, and that sharp tip knicks something soft and sensitive—I rolled forward with a strangled scream, and the tail slid quickly out of me.

With one strong, fluid motion, Asmodeus flipped me. It pinned both my hands above my head, crushing against my wrists. My legs were levered apart, but when it bucked at me, I raised my legs obediently until it had folded me into an exposing press.

I still had the awareness to flush.

“I think we’re beyond embarrassment now.” Asmodeus’ tongue licked out, sucking at my earlobe. Warm breath tickled at my neck; every exhale laced with a deep-throated growl. I knew it wanted me, which made me rut against nothing but the cold night air. The pressure left my wrists, and it pressed down onto my chest, moving its head to lick at my underarms, to raze its teeth across my chest, to suck and bite at my nipples. My cock trembled, and Asmodeus didn’t touch it once. Not once.

“Please,” I whined. My hole twitched. The urge to be filled was one that grew from the core of my belly and pulled like gravity. I’d take anything. I’d take its tail again. Its clawed fingers or my own hand.

But, dear God, I wanted its cock.

Asmodeus reared back and scraped its hands down my naked chest. Red welts rose immediately and it smiled, broad and happy at the sight. When its cock slapped against my belly, I froze. My whole body reacted the way I might before an angel. I felt frightened by its age; felt the edges of my own mortality.

Gently, teasingly, it rubbed itself against the down of hair on my stomach, catching the side of my own cock every few strokes.

I dropped my head back into the pillow and groaned, frustrated. Please. Please. I’m breaking—can’t it tell? Can’t it tell?

“I’ll do anything,” I whispered, and I meant it. “I’ll do anything, just please.”

It raised one pointed brow. “I believe you, slut,” it whispered, almost sweetly. “Such keenness in your face. And your body. . .” A finger pressed to the throbbing tip of my cock.

“Fuck.”

The prince chuckled and glided its fingers up my chest with awful, playful slowness. Then it pushed the pad of its finger into my jugular and leaned forward with a hungry, malignant gleam in its eyes.

Its dark eyes encompassed me. “Are you God’s bitch?”

I stared at it. I felt compelled to keep my mouth shut. A snarl crossed the demon’s face, and it pressed closer to me, folding my legs even further so my feet bobbed in my periphery. It slid its cock against me and pressed against my hole—pointedly, not enough to push inside, but enough for my body to react. Frustration and something more sinister—the same kind of violence that filled me when Oliviero interrupted us—entered me now.

“Fuck me,” I told it.

It slapped me. Hard. My head sprung to one side. Pain blistered across my cheek, but when I opened my mouth, I was smiling. Self-flagellation is not new to me, and this? This felt not like religious discipline but ecstasy.

“I said.” The Prince of Lust growled and whispered against my ear. “Are you God’s bitch?”

I shivered and felt its cock throbbing against me. I was inches away from losing my mind to this beast, seconds from irrevocably changing my life and letting myself be free and wild and filled.

I glanced up at it. I made sure it was seeing me—and seeing me truly. It tore God’s collar from my throat, and I didn’t pick it up. I risked title and station and honour, my very life, my mortal soul, to summon it into existence. I haven’t been God’s for a while.

“No,” I told it. “I’m yours.”

It grinned. Then, both giant hands pressed against my inner hips and pushed my legs apart as far as they would go.

My breathing went erratic, eager, wanting. My groan was low and long as the demon’s cock slowly slid inside. I tensed around it, and then I howled.

There’s nothing else for a moment. My body was hot and full—full to bursting. I kept clenching and unclenching instinctively around the thing twitching inside me. Asmodeus rolled its hips and ignored whatever high-pitched whines I was making.

“Wait,” I murmur, “wait, I can’t—”

It slowed, dragging itself all the way out so I could feel my hole twitching and pulsing around nothing but the air. Then it plunged back into me. I screamed and snapped back against the sheets, fingers twisting desperately for purchase.

And then it started slamming me.

I nearly passed out. I was breathing short, shallow breaths. The air struggled into my lungs and was half of it expelled with every brief, reactive moan. I slid into a different state. The world fell away until I could feel only my body—but I had no control. I felt everything happening to it, and could do nothing by take it. Each slam rocked me back and forth over the ridged cock. My body relaxed into it with a shiver. Discomfort became an instantaneous pleasure. I let it thrust wildly into me and loved it.

It was like I was realising my true purpose for the first time. All I was meant to be, all I was good for, was being this demon’s slut. Its sex toy. Meat, a hole, nothing but this. Asmodeus would use me like a cock sleeve and fill me up, and I would thank it when it was over. Beg for it to do it again. Beg for it to use me until I couldn’t be used at all.

My body writhed, and I grabbed the back of the prince’s thighs and ground up into it. It sank into me until it was rolling its hips, balls slapping against my own with every movement. My hands quivered. I didn’t want this slowness. I didn’t want its teasing.

I said, “I’ll never say another prayer to God in my life if you fuck me hard. I want you. I want all of you. Make me a fucking mess.”

Asmodeus’ smile was slow and malevolent. “As you wish.”

The pace quickened and then doubled until every slamming fuck was crushing my lungs. I screamed. Warm hands wrapped around my throat and pressed. No air—nothing but the devastating pressure. Hands crushing my windpipe. Lungs straining, then burning. Hands went limp at my sides as my body flopped around, moved only by the prince’s cock. My eyes rolled. Vision began to blur—I was dying. I was going to be fucked to death. My straining cock quivered.

This was it. I was consumed by it—I was such a slut, just something to be used, and I loved it. With my life edging out of me, I had never felt closer to true bliss.

The pressure released, and I gasped raw and red. Air seared down my bruised throat—and the thrusting didn’t stop.

“Take it,” it roared at me. I was babbling beneath it. My feet bobbed pathetically. My moans pitched higher and higher. The demon thrusted, grip firm on my shoulder, grazing my prostate with every hard slam. I felt it in my stomach, felt it deep inside my body. Everything ached. Everything hurt. I was pulled roughly out of ecstasy into a screaming fear—I would die to this ruthless fuck.

“Please,” I whispered.

I cried out, hands burying into Asmodeus’ hair, pulling weakly at it, writhing, until I screamed, “Mercy! Mercy, mercy, mercy.”

It stopped. The suddenness frightened me. It dragged that wide, ridged cock out of me, and the emptiness was a shock. Sudden tears welled in my eyes.

“Mercy,” Asmodeus repeated. It thumbed over my lips, leaned down, and kissed me. Its forked tongue levelled open my lips, licking at the tear its earlier slap had created. Then it slipped into me and moaned into my mouth. The kiss was heated, full, but gentle. I relaxed minutely under it.

“You’re doing so well,” it told me as it pulled away. “So, so well, little priest. Let yourself go.”

“It hurts,” I whispered.

“Yes,” the prince told me. “But don’t you love that?”

I shivered. I do. I do—I wanted the recklessness, the anger, the heat of violence. But I’m—

“Do not be frightened.” The demon edged my chin up until I was craning to look at it. Then its hand wrapped around my cock. I thrusted up into its palm with a stilted moan—I was close to that touch. Oh—I had softened to Asmodeus. I soften to its wants. Its slow, determined strokes left me panting.

The Prince of Lust told me, “I do not want to kill you. I want to fuck you. I want to use you. Until you can’t take it anymore. For eternity. Isn’t that what you want?” Its voice turned to a whisper. “To be mine? Mine to use? Mine to keep?”

“Yes,” I spoke involuntarily. Whatever Asmodeus unlocked in me was the thing answering. The basest desires. The filthiest wants. Yes. Yes. “I want to be yours.”

My groan was low and long as the prince’s cock slowly slid back into me. Every second stretched my hole, opening easily now to the demon’s girth.

“That’s it,” Asmodeus murmured. It cooed at me, gently turning my face this way and that as it rolled forward. “Don’t resist me. Don’t hold back.”

Its thrusts grew more insistent. More incessant. I let myself be fucked until I reached that place beyond the body again. Language left me. I was incoherent, blabbering nonsense, barely forming pleas and moans. A godly hymnic chant: my prince, my prince, please.

It fucked me harder, harder, faster, faster, and —

I arched as my body seized, ignited by the sudden orgasm that shuddered through my body. I fell limp; my soul was outside me, in Heaven, blessed and blinding white. But I was still in the demon’s grip, and it didn’t relent. It fucked my tired, listless body mercilessly, thrusting madly into my ass, and when I found my voice again and started mumbling, all cock-drunk and stupid, the demon shivered and came too.

All the demon’s hot, built-up cum shot out into my eager body. Asmodeus groaned and threw its head back, exposing that graceful, tense neck. Its tail whipped around the stone room, unable to contain its ecstasy.