4 comments/ 36788 views/ 17 favorites Satan's Whore Ch. 01 By: ktmccoll Following the events related in the series "Incubus", the succubus named Kat goes into voluntary exile. This is her story. *** "Why me? I'm at the end." The elderly man was half asleep and his words -- thin, dusty syllables -- seemed to come from a great distance. What could she tell him? That she hoped that her stain on him might be less than on someone younger and with more of a future? That a merciful god might overlook this recent taint. If God weren't merciful, there wasn't much she could do about it other than hope that his transgressions were more numerous than a moment with her. Let damnation come to those who truly deserved it. "Surely there are those more willing and better able." "You were more than able. And willing." Kat winked. The old man smiled. "Surprised the hell out of me that I still could at my age." Kat placed her hand on the man's cheek and it reminded her of waxed paper. She left it there for a long moment. "You're so pale," the man said. Kat was surprised that his rheumy eyes could distinguish her pallor in the darkness of his room. "I don't get out much." The man closed his eyes and Kat couldn't bring herself to remove her hand. The man smiled at this simple contact or perhaps at the memories it evoked of other hands that had rested there in the distant past. His memories swirled in Kat's mind. A French girl during the war who'd foolishly fallen in love with a young German soldier. What had happened to her after he'd been sent back to the fatherland when it was certain that the war had been lost? Had she lived? If so, how long had she been shunned by her countrymen for obeying her heart over her brain? Other lovers, better times. Wraith-like memories like milky photographs. And finally a wife, his rock for over five decades, now gone. He longed to be with her again. This cheek had felt many hands, some in anger and others in tenderness and love. "Why me?" he asked again. "Your energy is like watered wine." The man regarded her again, this impossibly young wisp of a thing whose name he didn't know, who had given of herself in a way no one had in far too long. A gift she'd given him, a recollection of vitality and life and of an intimacy so profound that it had momentarily robbed him of his breath. "I don't understand, but I thank you." He won't make it through the night, thought Kat. I hope that he thinks of his loved ones when he breathes his last, rather than of me. I don't deserve that. "Sleep," whispered Kat. "You'll be back? Tell me you will." "I'm sorry." The man sighed, having already lived through so many exits and recognizing the signs. He knew that the gift would have to be enjoyed in memory. Like all gifts in the end. "Sleep." The man soon did and Kat finally removed her hand. *** She exited the building that housed the palliative ward with less furtiveness than she'd entered. She stepped into a warm summer night. The moon rode high above her, accompanied by the same stars with which it had shared the heavens for time immemorial. This part of town was quiet. Here the city slept. But for the distant hum of a lone automobile in the distance, all was silent. Kat took a deep breath. She was tired and still hungry, though the old man had taken the edge off the latter. "Ah, so here is my dark angel of the palliative ward. I can just imagine their surprise -- expecting the reaper and getting you instead. I bet they think they've died and gone to heaven." It was a voice that Kat recognized instantly. She soon found him. Jean-Paul leaned against the wall. A shadow among shadows. He disentangled himself from the darkness and approached her with that lazy, shoulder-rolling walk of his. "How did you know where I was?" "When geriatric lust is in the air, I know that you can't be too far away." Kat punched him hard on the shoulder, but he only laughed. Jean-Paul was tall and solidly built, a poster-boy for square-jawed Nordic types. Kat tucked her arm in his and fell into step beside him. In the confusion and upheaval that marked her first meeting with Jean-Paul, she had instinctively disliked him. Brooding and gruff, Jean-Paul had seemed unapproachable and dangerous. She saw in him an old-world demon against whom she could no longer measure up. Over the subsequent months, Kat had revised her first impression. The veil of animosity had gradually lifted, revealing an affable and generous spirit. She now counted him as a friend. "Come with me. I'm about to feed." "I'm not hungry." For all of his lightheartedness, Jean-Paul took his duties of incubus seriously. His was a single-minded devotion to his master. When hungry, Kat knew that Jean-Paul could be cruel and terrifying, reveling in the gradual debasement of his prey. Kat had no interest in seeing him feed. "Come on. You can't tell me that your husk of a friend satisfied you." He hadn't. Kat still felt hollow and listless. How long had it been since she'd truly sated herself? She couldn't remember the last time. Not since she'd left Damian and Britt. Now she snacked on those whose souls had already been sacrificed, or those so old that it really didn't matter anymore. They turned onto the main street. The Heidelberger Schloss -- Heidelberg Castle -- loomed on the hill to the right. A great brooding ruin, twice struck by lightning and partially destroyed by the resulting fires. No wonder the court had decamped to Mannheim, not wanting the finger of God to point to them a third time. Bars did a booming business in the old town, even at this late hour. Tables spilled out onto the street. In contrast to the quarter they'd just left, here was life. Laughter, music, and the clinking of wine glasses and beer mugs assailed them from every side. She was transported back centuries to when she'd also walked these streets. Here was life, now as then, despite its fragility, brevity, and occasional meanness. "It might whet your appetite for younger fare," said Jean-Paul, continuing their conversation as though it hadn't been interrupted, bringing Kat to the present. Kat shrugged. They passed the Hostel-Pension-Sudpfanne, a hostel with a few tables out front. A few students, arguing in English, occupied them. He squeezed her arm. "Don't look now, but you're being ogled." "I doubt it," Kat lied. In fact, she'd felt the sudden interest like a prickling wave of heat. It wasn't like the way people normally responded when an incubus or succubus projected. Kat hadn't been projecting, for one thing. This reaction had come unbidden and intensely focused as though someone had homed in on her. The response was filled with the usual yearning and tension, but at the same time imbued with purity and an unexpected knowing. "Give yourself some credit; you're hot, even among the non-geriatric set. You walk as though the world is your runway." Kat ignored him and scanned the crowd for anyone paying her more attention than usual. She couldn't identify the source. Frustrated, she walked more slowly, guardedly reaching out with her mind, a fine tendril that probed here and there for the source of this sudden interest. She couldn't get a good fix. This was a student town, after all, and it was late at night. Fuelled by alcohol and hormones, there was enough carnal expectation in the air to make it difficult to get a read on anything. She and Jean-Paul turned the corner and the feeling dissipated. Kat shook her head to dislodge the sense of unease that had settled over her. "Where are we going?" "One of my pets," said Jean Paul. A pet was his term for someone he'd visited more than a dozen times. Kat pitied them. They'd feed him until they were useless to themselves or anyone else, worn and hollowed out by temptation and fear and a hunger that could never be sated. At best, they'd become the perpetually dissatisfied, absorbing the energy of those around them like black holes, until they found themselves bitter and alone. At worst, they'd become the prostitutes and junkies, the mean and dispossessed, the dark army that lurked in the shadows and spawned their own flavor of temptation and debauchery. But a demon had to feed. *** They entered a building that had once been the home of some successful businessman or minor nobility. The building had long since been gentrified and converted into flats. They climbed to the third floor. "I may need your help tonight, Kat." "Sure. Whatever." She didn't want to be there. "She's getting used to me. Having you there might spice things up a little." Kat shrugged. "And who knows," continued Jean-Paul, "maybe you'll get your appetite back for fresher fare." She seldom hunted with another demon and wasn't particularly interested in women, but she didn't have the energy to argue. It seemed that whatever sustenance she'd derived from the old man had been spent already. The hunger gnawed at her again, but by now the hunger was an old friend. "Her husband is away most nights, drinking with his buddies." "Alright already. I'll ride shotgun." They entered the silent flat. Jean-Paul already looked wraith-like and insubstantial, bleeding at the edges. A phantasm. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She'd similarly shed much of her physical being. She looked like a figure in an old photograph, time having robbed it of definition and vibrancy. She could just make out dark eyes that seemed to float over pale but firmly-defined cheeks. No doubt her pallor derived partly from the thin gruel she'd permitted herself over the last months. In this state, her full lips bore little of the deep red lipstick she'd applied before setting out. However faded, it was still the only splash of color on a monochromatic canvas defined by luminescent flesh, raven-black hair, and dark, haunted eyes. Even in his insubstantial form, Jean-Paul looked vital in comparison. They eased into the bedroom. Jean-Paul hesitated. "The husband's here." Kat noticed a large shape in bed next to the woman. She scowled at Jean-Paul, who should have known that the woman hadn't been alone. Hell, she should have known too. She was losing it. The woman was already responding to Jean-Paul's presence, habituated like a junkie to the ecstasy and the terror. "Make sure you keep him quiet, would you?" Before she could respond, Jean-Paul had drifted to the woman's side. She had already swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat on its edge, blinking sleepily, searching for the nocturnal visitor she both needed and feared. Jean-Paul seated himself on a chair in the corner. "Come here, mein Schatz," he whispered. The woman's gaze swiveled to the source of the summons. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense. Her face seemed incongruous, there was no other word for it. Individual elements -- eyes, nose, and lips -- were beautiful, but the whole didn't appear to hang together. Illuminated by little more than the light of the moon that seeped between the slats of the blind, Kat could discern her shape beneath the filmy material of her nightgown. She was thin. Small breasted and narrow-hipped. She approached Jean-Paul with tentative steps. Unfocussed eyes revealed the unconsciousness of her actions. High, arched eyebrows lent her a look of perpetual surprise. She obeyed hesitantly, but her caution could not hold her need in abeyance. She came to a stop between Jean-Paul's splayed legs. There was no mistaking her hunger. Kat wondered what had brought her to this point, of having attracted the attentions of an incubus. Was it unfulfilled desire? A self-destructive impulse? An unconscious willingness to court danger, whatever the cost? The woman knelt between Jean-Paul's legs like a supplicant. Her slight breasts pressed against the sheer fabric of her night gown, rising and falling with each breath. Kat could see her nipples, proud and erect against the fabric. Tentative fingers reached for him and unbuckled his belt. With more urgency now, they unfastened the button of his trousers, lowered the zipper, and pulled. The object of her desire sprang free and she held it in her delicate hands like a totem. "You're as hungry as I am, aren't you?" asked Jean-Paul. Kat didn't know to whom he was speaking. "So hungry," whispered Jean-Paul. Kat caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. The husband reached for the spot vacated by his wife and found nothing. Kat sensed his sleepy confusion and anger at her absence. "That's it," whispered Jean-Paul. Kat wanted to turn away but couldn't. These were the opening steps in a dance that had changed little in countless centuries. The music was the ebb and flow of lust, the point and counterpoint of action and reaction. The woman lowered her face to Jean-Paul's thickening member. Already he was large. "Cold," the woman whispered, commenting on the temperature of the incubus's organ. "Give me some of your warmth, then." The woman's tongue appeared between her lips, extending until it touched the tip of Jean-Paul's penis. The contact caused the woman to shudder with either bliss or dread. A low moan rumbled in her throat. Both hands now grasped Jean-Paul's girth. They appeared impossibly small in relation to him. Her delicate, pale hands appeared to glow against his dark and thickly-veined staff. The woman settled on her heels and opened her lips for him, teasing the tip of the glans into her mouth. Kat marveled at the thrall in which Jean-Paul held her. She can't possibly manage it, thought Kat. The woman lowered her head until her lips slipped tightly over the base of his head. Jean-Paul grew within her and a muffled shriek accompanied the painful stretching of her lips. The woman appeared caught upon Jean-Paul, unable to either advance or retreat. "A little more, my pet?" The woman fought to take more of him against the pain she was surely feeling. Her head pitched from side to side as she grasped and pulled against Jean-Paul's hips. Remarkably, she managed another inch. Her jaw looked to be on the verge of dislocation, lips taut around his circumference. A thread of saliva hung from her chin. A muffled shriek emanated from the wife as another inch of disappeared into her mouth. She struggled against him, gagging and crying, even as her hands snaked around his hips to pull him more deeply into her. "That's it," whispered the incubus. "Open yourself to me." The air was thick with desperate, mindless hunger and the whimpers of the woman. The husband twisted in the sheets and moaned, no doubt responding to the dark passion that swirled in the bedroom. "Kat?" whispered Jean-Paul in warning. She turned her attention to the husband. She could see his eyes move beneath the lids. The sound and energy of his wife's lust must have invaded his dreams. Kat noted the growing tumescence between his legs, tenting the sheets. The husband's arousal seeped into the atmosphere of the bedroom. Kat could feel his hunger and the potential energy he offered. It spoke to her. Kat felt again how hungry she really was. Months of abstinence punctuated by the occasional snack had left her weak and hardly able to withstand the allure of a full meal. The husband twisted in the bed again, responding to the sounds made by his wife. Kat leaned over the husband's ear, her lips brushing against him. "Shh," she whispered. "You're mine tonight." That was the first step. A promise that spoke to the soul. The man became quiet, sleepily expectant. His hand slipped down to his groin. The woman had managed yet more of Jean-Paul and her throat was distended with him. It was now evident that she was attempting to withdraw. Her hands pressed on his thighs, yet her mouth remained fully locked on him, rising and then descending in slow, painful increments. She would remain so until he chose to release her. Kat hoped it would be soon. The woman's whimpering rose into a sustained, muffled shriek. Despite Kat's command to him, the husband was obviously floating up to the surface of consciousness. Alarm now mixed with arousal. The combination of the two caused Kat to close her eyes and absorb it. An appetizer. A delicious teaser. Her being thrilled at this foretaste of a possible meal. The husband was very close to waking now. "Damn," muttered Kat. She leaned over the husband again. "You're dreaming," she whispered to him. "Dream that you're with your wife and that I am she." Kat pulled the husband's pajama bottoms down to his knees and climbed on top of him, pulling up her skirt and straddling his hips. She sat back on him and could feel his cock, hard and insistent, lengthwise against her pussy. His hands found her breasts and she quickly removed her blouse. Coarse fingers roughly pinched her nipples. A wave of desire washed over her. This one emanated from the husband. In the corner of the room, the wife had been released from Jean-Paul. She sat on his lap and he touched her jaw with his fingertips. "I'm sorry I caused you pain." The wife nodded and Kat was struck by the apparent concern and tenderness from her fellow demon. Was it genuine or part of the dance? "Let me do something for you," whispered Jean-Paul. Kat could see that tears streamed down the woman's cheeks, yet she nodded eagerly. The blow came out of nowhere. "Fucking tease," muttered the husband. The husband's fist had connected with her jaw. It might have hurt has she been more substantial. As it was, most of the blow passed through her, causing more surprise than pain. The bastard, thought Kat. How dare he strike me? Or anyone else for that matter? There's a score to be settled. But after. Kat settled herself more firmly upon the husband and then slid her pussy along his length as she stretched herself over him. The anger that had flared in the husband subsided just as quickly, replaced by appetite. Having passed over the length of his now-rigid cock, Kat pressed herself against its crown, allowing its tip to nestle between her labia. The husband mumbled his satisfaction. His lust flooded her being as she pressed against his tumescent cock, allowing its tip to enter her. Already the husband's breathing quickened. This one won't last, thought Kat. The mean bastards never do. His hands cradled her buttocks and his fingers explored the cleft, alighting on her anus. Her muscles clenched around his probing shaft as the ungentle pressure of a finger sought to enter her ass. A little lube would have been nice, thought Kat. As they dream, so they live -- Kat had come to realize this. Just as alcohol revealed man's true nature, so did sleep. That this one would strike her in a moment of intimacy explained a great deal about the wife's willingness to entertain an incubus. There was always a reason. The finger within her ass hooked and pulled painfully as the husband bucked and thrust beneath her. There was no gentleness here, just the selfish striving for release. Kat glanced at Jean-Paul and the wife. She stood on the balls of her feet, straddling his legs. Jean-Paul's impossible length and girth pointed up like a totem to the tender apex between her legs. She lowered her hands and grasped him, rubbing the tip of his cock through the wet furrows of her sex. With a small moan of anticipation, she positioned him at her entrance. With a gasp, she bent he knees and accepted him into her. It seemed impossible that someone so slight could harbor something so large. Her labia stretched taut over his circumference as she descended. She moaned in pleasure and pain as she claimed him. Jean-Paul's eyes were closed as he navigated her along the knife edge between damnation and ecstasy. The wife rode Jean-Paul with a single-minded dedication to his pleasure that was hard to watch, descending until the pain became unbearable and rising again quickly for relief, and then repeating the process. In spite of the pain, her arousal was unmistakable, by the juices that anointed Jean-Paul's glistening cock to the musk of desire that permeated the bedroom. Satan's Whore Ch. 01 A sharp tug at her anus brought her back to her own meal. She almost choked on the sickly sweetness of the husband's coming release. Time to finish this, thought Kat. She sat on him fully, burying him within the tight confines of her pussy and clenched herself around him. The initial gasp at the pressure soon morphed into a moan as she squeezed him within her. In the background, Kat could hear the wife's own inexorable passage to release. Kat rose, running her merciless grip up his length before plunging down again. The first wisps of doubt were insinuating themselves into the flavor of his desire. This inhuman pressure could not be right. His eyelids fluttered. Kat hadn't realized that she'd resolved into her demon form but the look in the husband's eyes as they settled on her revealed as much. She plunged on him yet again, reveling in the sudden surge of confusion and dread that now mixed with his arousal. That's more like it, she said to herself. She opened herself to it, allowing his energy to suffuse her being. She took it greedily with a single-mindedness born of the hunger and emptiness of the last months. She tingled with it. She rode him hard until, gasping, he spurted his seed within her, the last but most precious thing he could offer her. She opened her eyes and regarded the husband for a moment. He stared at her in horror as he tried in vain to extricate himself from Kat. "You. You're a..." Kat feigned confusion for a moment. "Oh, the horns and wings. I guess they do kind of give it away. Did you expect bat wings perhaps? I prefer feathers myself. More feminine, don't you think?" The husband didn't appear interested in discussing the benefits of wing types with her. She shrugged, reached for her wing and plucked a feather from it. It lay in the palm of her hand, ice-white and delicate. The man watched, eyes still wide. Kat could feel him growing small within her. No matter, she'd gotten what she'd so desperately needed. She pursed her lips and blew gently onto the feather, sure to angle her hand in such as way that the man could see. Slowly, the feather morphed into a thin white snake, about eight inches long. Kat stroked it with her index finger. "You recognize the symbolism, of course," she said. The man nodded as the snake wound itself between her fingers. "Good," said Kat. She dismounted and the man scrabbled towards the head of the bed, as far from her as he could get. "I'm not done with you," she said. She knelt on the bed beside him. The snake navigated the tender spaces between her fingers, knotting itself around them and then slipping free. The husband watched, hypnotized. "Spread your legs." The man shook his head. "I won't ask you again. Spread your legs." Hesitantly, the man complied, revealing the shriveled state of his manhood. The hand that held the snake quickly descended on him. He gasped in horror as the snake detached itself from her fingers and encircled his scrotum and cock. He gazed at it, struck dumb with horror as the snake opened its mouth and a delicate forked tongue darted out. At length, the tip of its tail waved before its face and inserted itself into the mouth, entering perhaps an inch. The mouth clamped shut over it and the snake moved no more. "Here's the deal. You alone will see and feel the snake every day as a reminder of tonight. If you raise a hand to any woman again the snake will consume itself. You can infer what happens then. You will sleep now. Tomorrow you will remember only me and your lesson." "I think it's time we leave," said Jean-Paul. He had tucked in the wife. His hand lay on her head in some strange and tender benediction. She now lay curled on the edge of the bed as far from her husband as she could get without tumbling to the floor. For all of the devil's work that had been done tonight, thought Kat, she hoped that some good had come of it. *** "A little over the top, wasn't it?" Jean-Paul offered Kat his arm and she wound hers through it. The energy she'd so long denied herself still sang in her. "I mean," he continued, "I appreciate a good bit of drama as much as the next guy, but that was perhaps a little too much." Kat felt a pang of guilt. Jean-Paul had a point. Although not expressly forbidden, it was considered bad form for a demon to reveal herself to a mortal, not to mention that it represented a failure to use other, more subtle methods to achieve the desired effect. Of course, sometimes it had to be done, but to do so on the occasion of a first visitation was considered amateurish. "It's been a while." That and the fact that the husband had gotten the better of her, she thought to herself. Jean-Paul patted her arm. "Now that you're back in the saddle, you'll be able to refine your approach." They walked on, a meandering route that took them to the general area of the house that they shared with Isabel, another succubus and matron of their little family. They might have been lovers, returning home from an evening on the town. Kat remained silent for several minutes as she replayed the events of the evening. It had all been too neat -- Jean-Paul's appearance, the husband's unexpected presence, the need for Kat's intervention. "You planned this, didn't you?" asked Kat at length. Jean-Paul hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "You knew the husband was there all along," said Kat. "And you, if you'd had your wits about you, would have known that as well. You should have felt him there long before you set eyes on him." It was stated lightly but there was a note of accusation in his statement. Worse, it was entirely true. She'd been played, she realized. It had all been a setup. Kat stopped and turned on Jean-Paul. "How dare you?" Jean-Paul frowned. "How dare you interfere with me, lead me along as though I were a recalcitrant child?" "Because you are a recalcitrant child. You've been moping around the house like a maladjusted teenager. You're Satan's fucking whore, Kat, not some emo adolescent." She raised a hand to strike him, but he caught is easily. "The truth hurts, huh? Well, here's some more truth. I dare because my house is harboring a thankless freeloader who is threatening the very existence of our clan." Kat was speechless. She'd never had Jean-Paul's fury directed at her. "You might not have noticed given your pained self-absorption, but Isabel and I have been running interference for you for months. Did you ever stop to realize that however distasteful our role in the grand game, we all have a job to do? We don't have the luxury of self-pity. Our masters are not well-disposed to coddling the weak. "Had I recognized the danger earlier," continued Jean-Paul, "I would never have offered you sanctuary. Now it is too late for that. You have turned their attention to this house and it has got to stop. I dare, furthermore, because Asmodeus has an interest in your failure. And you know what that means." The name sent a shiver down her spine. Asmodeus. She'd had no idea. "The coddling stops now." Jean-Paul spun on his heel and stalked away from her, leaving Kat alone in the empty street. *** Thanks for reading. Comments are always welcome. Satan's Whore Ch. 02 He saw her out of the corner of his eye as he finished his coffee and pastry. A face in profile. A flash of thigh between a skirt and a leather-booted calf. A tingle of recognition out of all proportion with what he had glimpsed. And that feeling, that overwhelming, nameless feeling that he'd learned to trust. Call it intuition. Call it a sixth sense. Whatever it was, it had just spoken to him. Loud and clear. He was on his feet in an instant and threw some coins on the table. Before he could question this impetuosity, he hurried after her. Outside, a name came to his lips, a name which he had learned after first seeing her several nights ago in the company of a tall, blond gorilla. After that first sighting, he`d rushed to the archives to find the strange portrait that he'd discovered months ago. He took a photograph of it with his iPhone. There could be no doubt. The woman was across the street, about to be lost from view. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Who knew if their paths would ever cross again? He took a chance and yelled out the name he had learned. "Katarina!" he shouted. "Katarina von Regensburg!" The woman was some distance away now, separated from him by several dozen shoppers and tourists. Her back stiffened and her step faltered, a slight hesitation that to him betrayed recognition. The woman stopped and slowly turned. He took in her face. There could be no doubt, he thought. Dark, almond-shaped eyes, spaced widely apart over sculpted cheekbones. The delicate nose over full lips. The firm jaw and chin that bore a hint of a cleft. All of which framed by raven-black hair. It was Katarina von Regensburg, somehow transported to the here and now through the centuries. He was convinced of it. He approached her through the throng on Zwingerstrasse, each step adding certainty to his conviction. *** The name shouted in the street brought a chill to Kat. She turned, knowing as she did so that it was a mistake. She should have ignored it and kept walking. But she had to know who had spoken her name. She turned and saw a man bearing down on her. By his dress and size, the man who approached her looked American. By the clear-eyed eagerness with which he approached her, he was naive. Or a zealot. Whatever he was, he was danger. "Thank you for stopping," he said in German, his accent betraying him as a foreigner. "I'm Daniel. Daniel Smith." "Now that I have stopped, Mr. Smith," said Kat, "perhaps you'll tell me the meaning of this." Her statement was abrupt, even by the standards of the brutally polite natives of this city. The man, a boy really, scrutinized her unashamedly. He was large and muscular but hadn't yet grown into his size. A mop of blond hair waved in the breeze over piercing blue eyes. There was intelligence in them, but also a barely contained excitement. "I've seen you before on the main street, walking with some guy..." Kat remembered now. The sudden flash of interest from someone hidden in the crowd. An interest marked not so much by its intensity -- Kat was more than familiar with arousing interest -- but by its flavor. There was no other way to describe it. "I never thought I'd see you again. I mean, you might have been a tourist or something and gone home to wherever." Kat smiled tightly. "That smile," he stammered. "Uncanny. And the way the light is hitting you now...." She knew that she should leave. She knew that something was terribly wrong and dangerous. Instead of leaving, she said, "Perhaps you should explain." "It's just... well... I noticed that you're the spitting image of Katarina von Regensburg. In fact, I'm surprised that you responded to the name." "I was responding to a lunatic American yelling nonsense in the street. No doubt others did as well. " Her words didn't cause the acute embarrassment that she'd hoped. Instead he tilted his head and studied her with discomfiting intensity, as though committing her to memory. "But now that you have accosted me, perhaps you can tell me of this person and why you would think that I am she." "It'll sound silly." "It already does." The man-boy was silent for a long moment, as though now doubting the intelligence of his brashness. He took a deep breath and then spoke in an excited rush. "When I saw you the first time, it was as though I recognized you. There's a portrait of you or someone who could be your twin in the university archives. I'd come across it some months ago and didn't think much of it until I saw you in the street. It's remarkable, really. The hair is a bit different and the clothing too, but everything else -- your face, your bearing -- is identical. I have to say that it doesn't do you justice." "It's not me, obviously." "I'm not so sure." Kat laughed. "How old is this supposed likeness?" "The portrait was done in the 1700s." "There you go then. It's a coincidence, nothing more, unless you wish to imply that I'm three hundred years old." She'd expected him to apologize for the slight, however ridiculous -- most men would -- but he ignored the opportunity. "But it's not so much the portrait that intrigues me, it's what is written beneath it." Kat felt a chill but forced herself to remain calm. "And what might that be?" "It's in Latin and was inscribed some time later by a hand other than the artist's." "You're an art historian?" "No. I just know that the artist would not have spoiled so exquisite a work with what was written." "Which is?" "Vade retro Satana. Nunquan suade mihi varna!" Kat knew the rest but remained silent. Sunt mala quae libas! "Do you know it?" "No idea." "It means Begone Satan. Never tempt me with your vanities! What you offer me is evil!" "Curious," said Kat weakly. "It's a damning inscription at the very least." It had been a message to her and everyone at the court. Karl Phillip had thought that the inscription alone would have been enough to banish Katarina from the court and send her back from whence she came. He was correct only in the first point. She was still very much alive, and he, of course, had long since turned to dust. She never thought that she'd hear those words again. Kat could not entirely suppress the tremor in her voice. "Damning yes, but nothing to do with me. And, I must say, you have some nerve approaching strangers with such stories." "You don't look well." "I don't take well to being accosted in the street by someone who is obviously a lunatic." The boy smiled knowingly. "You seemed to recognize the Latin, much as you recognized the name." Kat had had enough. The boy obviously had no difficulty believing the unbelievable. There was nothing she could say that could divert him. She grew angry. "What are you implying?" she asked, stepping into his personal space. The tremor was gone now, replaced with a quiet firmness. The boy took a step back. "It's just.... Nothing." Kat took another step. "Because if you're implying that I am in league with the devil or some such nonsense, and if you truly believe it is so, then you're clearly out of your depth." "I..." His back pressed against the wall and she pressed against him. Kat could feel him responding to her closeness in a way other than fear. She placed a cool hand on his cheek and leaned into him. "In fact," Kat whispered into his ear, "you would do well to forget me and whatever it is you think you know about me. Do you understand?" She didn't wait for an answer. *** Daniel watched her leave in a swirl of leather and the clicking of her heels on the cobblestones. He leaned against the wall, fighting the sudden tightness in his chest. He took a deep breath and then another. Unconsciously, Daniel crossed himself. He could still feel the closeness of her. The pressure of her against him. The breasts that had brushed his chest. The leg pressed between his. The hand on his cheek. The perfume of her that lingered in his nostrils. He still felt the sudden, inexplicable arousal and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide it. What have I done? he asked himself. As improbable as it was, the woman was Katarina von Regensburg. There could be no doubt. For some reason, the fates had brought them together, not once, but twice. Once to alert him and today to help him confirm his suspicions. If fate had engineered these meetings, what else had fate ordained? *** Kat berated herself for even stopping at the sound of her old name. Idiot! No one outside of the family knew that name, and now some oafish farm boy from the armpit of America had it on the tip of his tongue. This was a disaster and not least because she had handled it so badly. By her overreaction, she might as well have tattooed the word Succubus to her forehead. Damn! Kat took the most circuitous route home, relying on long unused skills to ensure that she was not being followed. If her encounter with the brash young American had taught her anything, it was that she could not continue in her current state. That she had allowed herself to be cornered like that was testament to her weakness, the fact that she'd been out of the game too long. She'd lost her edge. Jean-Paul was right -- she was a liability to the clan. As much as she recoiled at the thought of partaking as she once had, she knew that to do otherwise would be the end. She either had to surrender or hunt again. She might start by hunting the American, she thought absently. She wondered what it would be like to feed from him. There was an earnest purity about him that would have made him a prize in other circumstances, yet she could not bring herself to prey upon him. It was remarkable, but her touch had revealed no chink in his armor, nothing on which to gain leverage. Usually she could discern such things in an instant. She shook her head. Why was she even thinking about him in that way, this big lumbering paragon of overzealous virtue? Even if she did have a type, he wasn't it. He was somehow too wholesome, too overwhelmingly present, too stereotypically all-American. She was typically drawn to those with some kind of flaw, be it a physical scar or some defect of character. Imperfection was, after all, more interesting than its opposite. She hoped that he would heed her warning and forget about her. In time, she would then forget about him. Until then, she wondered what he would taste like. *** Tonight she would feed. It wasn't so much that her inactivity risked the clan -- though that was part of it -- it was that the need had been growing in her for so long that it could no longer be ignored. It had just taken until now to recognize it. The night with Jean-Paul, as abhorrent as it was, had awakened her to her nature. The meeting with the American had brought home to her how weak she really was. Besides which, Kat had to get out. The atmosphere in the grand house had become oppressive since that night with Jean-Paul. Though nothing more had been said on the matter of her welcome or lack thereof, she couldn't help but sense the weight of expectation and that of impending judgment. With the decision made, she readied herself. Over the centuries, she'd kept up with the changing ideals of beauty, from the pale, voluptuous ideal of the Renaissance to the corseted fashion of the Victorian era. But for the discomfort of corsets, this period was when women looked like women, with the possible exception of the 1950s. This new millennium placed a premium on the boyish -- the narrow-hipped and emaciated. As a result, this was one era in which she chose to diverge from the ideal. She preferred woman with boobs and hips and the classic hourglass figure. Kat appraised herself in the mirror. Not bad for an old broad, she thought. She had her hair in a ponytail. Men liked that, the implied innocence of a schoolgirl. Dark bangs neatly framed equally dark eyes that were expertly outlined in mascara and smoky eye-shadow. For tonight she applied blood-red lipstick. No, there was nothing even vaguely emaciated about her figure. Her full breasts stood proudly on her ribcage. Each nipple bore a ring, one for Damian and the other for Britt, the incubus and cambion with whom she was bound. She quickly looked away from them, following instead the trim line of her waist as it flared into shapely hips. Hips made for child-bearing, Damian had said more than once. A bitter joke. It was a comment that could be interpreted as nasty, but then, he was equally unable to sire children. It was a statement of fact, sad rather than mean-spirited. Kat sat on the edge of the four poster bed and sheathed her shapely legs in black stockings, stroking their length to ensure perfect smoothness and alignment. Around her waist she wound a garter belt, cinched it, and fastened the stockings. She stood and studied herself again. The black lace of the garter framed a trim exclamation mark of pubic hair. Barely visible was the golden ring that pierced her clitoris. Tonight she would eschew the matching lace panties that she'd set aside, opting instead for the freedom and excitement of scarcely concealed nudity. She donned a bra that caused the tops of her breasts to swell. Whatever else men might say, in the end they all yielded to the mysterious cleft between two ample breasts. She completed the ensemble with a low-cut, cream-colored blouse and a leather skirt that barely hid the straps that held her stockings. After lacing on a pair of black leather boots and grabbing her purse, she set out. She wandered among the pedestrians on the Haspelgasse by the Church of the Holy Spirit, expertly setting her four-inch heels on the uneven stones of road. This wasn't too far from where she had first encountered Daniel. Tonight, she could discern no trace of him. Just as well. It was early yet for her, barely past midnight. Too early to project into the bedrooms of the city to identify those most susceptible to the attentions of a succubus. Yet she enjoyed being out of the house, walking among the unsuspecting and innocent masses. In the time that she'd been here, she'd heard more than her share of German music. That is why the strains of jazz that wafted out onto the street drew her. She entered the bar. A jazz quartet occupied an impossibly small stage in the corner. She recognized Coltrane. She sat at the bar and ordered red wine. The musicians were trying their best to rise above the din of drunken laughter and shouted conversation. She nodded at the bassist who returned the acknowledgment with a smile as he caressed the neck of his instrument with remarkable eroticism. She was lost in thought when some activity caught her attention. A young waitress had stopped at a table to deliver a tray of beer to a group of men whose behavior clearly needed no additional lubrication. One of the men, a burly bear, reached around the girl's waist and pulled her onto his lap. Kat glanced at the barkeep. Otherwise occupied, he failed to notice the waitress's predicament. Kat slid off the bar stool and made her way to the group. "Leave the girl alone." The waitress looked at Kat in surprise and took the opportunity to escape the man's hands and scurry away from her tormentor. She left with a look of gratitude. "She's too young for you." Kat willed herself to retreat. This was too dangerous. She couldn't get into it with him, yet here was a man who clearly needed to be taught a lesson. She longed to bring him down a peg or two, and perhaps feed at the same time. Dumb idea, she knew. She should hunt elsewhere. To begin the dance with someone who was still awake was reckless, plain and simple. Sleep offered the victim deniability, whatever the evidence to the contrary. "That's the way I like them," the man said. He was a boor, a blue collar brute playing to his equally rough friends. Drunkenness often brought out man's true nature, from the maudlin to the violent. This man was far from maudlin. "Bet you're not man enough to handle a real woman." His friends hooted and slapped him on the shoulder. "What the hell are you?" he asked as he tried to find the waitress again. "Her guardian angel?" "You're half right." The man leered at her, the girl forgotten. "I bet you're no angel." Kat grinned back and placed a hand on his shoulder. She then slid it down his barrel chest. She leaned over him, nearly spilling out of her blouse. "Quite the opposite." The man was buffeted with renewed gales of laughter from his drinking companions. "You've met your match, Gunther," said one. "He wouldn't know what to do with you, what with his brewer's droop," said another. The man called Gunther rose unsteadily to his feet. "If that was a wager, woman," he growled, "I'll take you up on it." Kat took a deep breath. She didn't remember wagering him anything, but the man had made her decision for her. "Come along then." Kat stopped at the bar and purchased two bottles of wine from the barkeep. She asked him to partly remove the corks before he placed them in a bag. Gunther came alongside and set his arm around her waist. The barkeep raised his eyebrows but said nothing. As they left, she glanced at the bassist who'd just returned to the stage. He caught her eye and shrugged sadly. Count your blessings, thought Kat. Gunther swayed in the middle of the cobbled path that led steeply to the castle. "You'll kill me before we get there," he groused. "If you can't manage a simple walk, I might have overestimated you. Besides, you being dead would defeat the purpose." "Then let's stop here. Let me catch my breath." Kat stopped and retraced her steps to where Gunther stood bent over, hands on his knees. "This had better be worth it. How about a kiss to revive me?" He seemed marginally less drunk than before. "Just a kiss?" asked Kat. "A kiss to start, then." "And some wine. You must be thirsty." He stood up straight and she stepped into his arms. She felt small and vulnerable in his embrace, but she wasn't worried. She kissed him chastely on the cheek. "Satisfied?" In answer he grasped the back of her head in a meaty hand and turned her face to his. He violently pressed his lips to hers. Kat tasted stale beer on his breath and tongue. His arms wrapped around her waist and slid down, cupping her buttocks. He teased up the edge of her skirt and found the bare flesh of her cheeks, his fingers teasing around for the touch of fabric of any kind. Not finding any, he grunted in surprise and approval. Kat squirmed out of his arms. "Now for the wine." She bent over the bag, presenting him a view of her bare ass and pussy. "Gott," she heard him exclaim. She handed him the bottle. "Drink up. You'll need your strength." He finished the bottle just before they reached the locked gate of the castle and pitched the empty into a garden. He staggered to her side and stroked her ass again with proprietary familiarity. "Now what? It's locked." The wine was beginning to work its magic. Gunther squinted, willing his eyes to focus. He was truly drunk now. He leaned heavily against a wall to keep from falling over. Kat concentrated on the lock and exerted her will. A loud snap announced that it had been defeated. "How?" "Shh," whispered Kat. She cupped his groin and squeezed gently. "Follow me." Heidelberg castle housed two immense wine vats, the larger of which, the Heidelberg Tun, featured a dance floor. "They used to dance up here on the barrels," said Kat, pirouetting neatly in the center of the wooden floor beneath the vaulted ceiling. "The party would go on until the sun came up. Can you imagine the bacchanalia?" Gunter leaned against the wooden railing. "Didn't come here for a history lesson or to dance. Least not that way." The moonlight slanted through the window and Kat remembered. "You are utterly without imagination. Perhaps that is your problem. Let us drink a toast to less complicated times." Satan's Whore Ch. 02 "I'm through drinking. God, woman, you're testing me." Kat approached him. "Dancing can be erotic." She pressed herself against him and nipped at his ear. Her breasts flattened against his chest and her pelvis ground into his groin as they started a slow, clumsy rotation. His hands freely roamed her backside. "That's better," said Gunther She hummed a tune and closed her eyes. Gunther danced passably well for someone who could hardly stand. German fortitude. His pulled ineffectually at the hem of her skirt. "Let me help," she said. She stepped back and unfastened the skirt, allowing it to fall around her boots. She kicked it out of the way. "Better?" she asked. Gunther leered at her, taking in her long legs and the prize between them. "The shirt too." "In a moment. Let's take care of you first." As she unbuttoned his shirt, he painfully squeezed her breasts. Gratefully, she sank to her knees out of reach and busied herself with his trousers. When at last he stood naked, she held his flaccid cock in her hand. "Let's see what we can do about this." She had to work fast. Given the hour, the exertion of the climb, and the alcohol he'd consumed, poor Gunther was clearly nearing the end of his strength. It wouldn't do to have him pass out on her. She cupped his testicles in her hand and encircled his cock between her thumb and forefinger. "You've been so patient," she murmured. A grunt of affirmation from above. "Let's see what I can do to reward you." Her tongue flicked out and navigated the crown of his shaft as she squeezed its base. She hummed her pleasure and licked his shaft, from base to tip. His hands fell onto her head. Her lips parted, allowing his glans to enter her mouth. She marveled as she always did at its delicate smoothness as she rolled it on her tongue. Presently she felt it harden within her, the blood coursing through it, filling it. Maybe tonight wouldn't be a waste. She slid more of his thickening cock into her mouth, cradling its underside on her tongue and encircling it with her lips. His hands pulled at her head. She resisted, bracing herself for what was sure to come. With a violent pull, he impaled himself and held her there. He gasped his pleasure as she struggled against him. At length he let her go and she withdrew, gasping. "What's wrong?" he asked, genuinely baffled. "You want to fuck my mouth," she said. "Fuck it then." There was no gentleness in him, no gratitude at what she had offered. He grasped her head and thrust himself into her, crushing her face into him. His drunkenness made it worse. Her fingernails bit into his ass but he scarcely noticed. She felt his violent passage over her tongue, felt him pummel the back of her throat. She sensed by his breathing that he was nearing the end. Too soon. With a shove, she disentangled herself from him. "What now?" "My mouth isn't the only place I want you." He looked confused. Then the light went on. "Ah." "This time, you let me drive. Lie down." Gunther shrugged and complied, lying down in the middle of the dance floor. Kat approached and stood over him. His cock pointed upward to the delicate folds of her pussy. His eyes were locked on the same location. She ran a finger through her labia, spreading the tender folds of flesh. "Tell me you want me," she purred. Her fingers disappeared within and she watched as his eyes widened. "I want you," he said. "Not very convincing." She dropped to her knees and straddled him. Her lips brushed his cock. She locked her hands around his wrists and held them to the floor. He smiled. "I'll give you an inch for every time you convince me." "I want you." "Not good enough." "Fuck. I want you." His hips rose and she moved with them. "Oh, please. Enough already." "That's better." Kat lowered herself onto him, just an inch. She tightened herself around him. "Oh fuck," he gasped. "I'll take that as a compliment. That'll earn you another inch. You're learning." Kat rode the tip of his cock, embracing him within her. She could feel the blood course through his length, feel the life and vitality. "Stop teasing me." "Then tell me how much you want me. Beg me." "I don't beg." He strained against her and attempted to move his arms. His eyes widened when he realized that this woman, this waif, held him effectively immobile. Kat felt the first tendrils of doubt insinuate themselves into his passion. Good, she thought. And so the dance begins. "Tell me." "I want you. I want you! All of you." "You're cheating, but I'll give you another inch for being a good sport." "That's good. Ah." His head fell back on the rough floor. Her hips rose and fell and swayed in a circle above him. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation. For a drunken lout, he has staying power, thought Kat. Perhaps he had staying power because he was a drunken lout. As she lowered herself onto him completely, she reveled in the surge of animal lust that he exuded. He moaned occasionally. He filled her and she clutched him greedily. He gasped at the embrace. "Fuck me," he breathed. It was time. She stopped moving and sat upon him. His eyes opened. "Why are you stopping?" "I'm hot." As she ground her pelvis into him, she released his wrists and slowly unbuttoned her blouse. "Ah yes, you forgot that," said Gunter unnecessarily. She shrugged out of the silken blouse and threw it into the darkness before resuming her dance upon him. His eyes blearily followed her movements and the swaying of her breasts, watching himself appear and then vanish within her. She stroked her breasts and teased the nipples. Men liked that. "You feel good," she purred. "Fuck me." He began thrusting as she held herself above him. Hints of what she would soon enjoy tickled at her consciousness. His breathing quickened. Climax approached. She could feel it in his loss of rhythm. She fondled her breasts, kneading them. "That's much better. One feels encumbered at times." He looked at her breasts and then reached out to them, pinching her nipples painfully. "I can imagine." "That's not what I meant." Her wings unfurled behind her and slowly came into view as she swept them forward. "Much better indeed." His eyes focused on her. "Usually I wait until they sleep. For you I'm making an exception." His eyes betrayed confusion, clearly not making the connection between the woman who rode him and the wings. Not good, thought Kat. "You asked whether I was an angel..." She shimmered and coalesced again. This time, horns of ivory extended from the crown of her head. Her eyes flashed like the embers of a dying fire and her skin itself bore a reddish hue. "I'm not." The timbre of her voice changed, becoming deeper and sounding somehow distant. She rode him violently now, seeking to offset the dread that blossomed in him. She rammed onto him and clenched him mercilessly. "Come for me, you bastard!" Her fingers gripped the flesh of his chest. She ground into him and threw her head back. Yes! She exulted as the terror and lust mingled into that heady elixir she thirsted for. She'd forgotten this, this soaring feast. She shuddered upon him as every nerve fired with energy, as she drank in the fullness of his offering. "Come for me!" she shrieked. Stop. She felt him spurting his seed into her, the throbbing mindless spasms that passed his potency to her. She sucked it up greedily as he shuddered beneath her. His heels rapped a tattoo against the floor of the barrel. Stop. She'd forgotten the ecstasy of this moment, having denied herself for so long... Stop. The fulfillment... Stop. The unspeakable pleasure... Stop! Kat slowly came back to herself as the thrumming of energy subsided into her being as water into soil. Gunther lay unmoving beneath her. She saw blood running from the furrows she'd raked into his chest. What have I done? His eyes were closed. His limbs lay against the floor as though he'd been thrown there. Kat jumped to her feet and his limp cock fell onto his belly. Alarm replaced the joy she'd felt just moments before. Damn. Have I... At that moment, Gunther's chest heaved with a sharp intake of breath. "Bitch," he mumbled, and his breathing soon settled into loud snoring. Kat might have laughed but for the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Numbly she gathered her things and got dressed. I might have killed him, she thought. I might have ushered another soul into the beyond. The thought was too much to bear. She straightened her skirt and knelt by Gunther's head. "You will wake up in two hours," she said. That should give him enough time to come to his senses and leave. Perhaps unnecessarily, given the amount he'd drunk, she added, "You will remember nothing." She left the castle as the clouds scudded across the face of the moon, careful to leave the doors and gates unlocked. She hoped that Gunther would find his way. As she walked home through the silent streets of the old town, she felt it -- a projection so intense and personal that she thought another demon must be responsible. She stopped on the sidewalk as it knifed through her and had to steady herself against a wall. It wasn't so much pain that made Kat gasp, but the utter intimacy of the contact. There were no filters, just a broadcast of unadulterated yearning. She had the sense to use this connection to trace its source. Whatever this was, it had latched itself onto her. Now she did groan. She had found the source of this projection. In her mind, she could see the American writhing on his bed. She terminated contact, forcing the connection closed. This boy would be more of a problem than she'd expected. *** Thanks for reading. Feedback is always welcome. Satan's Whore Ch. 03 Daniel couldn't believe his good fortune— to have uncovered a succubus in his own adopted city. There was little doubt for Daniel that the woman who bore such a striking resemblance to Katarina von Regensburg was indeed a succubus. It seemed incredible... hell, it was incredible. Yet everything in her reaction to him suggested that he had indeed stumbled upon an agent of the devil. He had long known that evil walked among the unsuspecting. Indeed, that was the primary reason for his theological studies. To wage war against the forces of chaos was, in his mind, the highest calling. That he should encounter on such force in the flesh was in itself a sign from God that he had been chosen to take up the fight. After he'd recovered from his encounter with Katarina, he hurried to the residence. He would study and research, redoubling his efforts to understand those who had come before him and those who currently fought the war. And it was a war. Not the kind of war written about in the history books, but a real war, a secret war, with heroes unknown to the innocent masses. The Vatican's current chief exorcist, Father Gabriele Amwroth, had, on the heels of the avalanche of sex abuse scandals in the Roman Catholic church, just months ago stated that the Devil was at work at the Vatican. What an admission! He'd spoken of the smoke of Satan in the holy rooms. And now Daniel had caught a whiff of that smoke himself. He had, if not proof, then strong evidence that the agents of evil were living among the unsuspecting citizens of Heidelberg. Yes, he would study and commit to memory the ancient rites. He would pray for strength for the battle that was to be waged. Perhaps it was the sin of pride, but he felt himself chosen to lay low this demon. Everything pointed to this interpretation, for had not God revealed the demon to him? He debated whether to bring the matter up to Father Schmidt, his advisor on this academic exchange. In the end, he decided against it. Father Schmidt did not appear to possess that spiritual gravitas that suggested receptiveness to what Daniel might have told him. In matters of biblical interpretation, not all members of the clergy were of the same mind as Father Amwroth. In the end, Daniel decided that the best course for now was to organize the information that he had on Katarina von Regensburg. He returned to the archives and paused to study the portrait that had launched him on this path. Again, he was startled by the likeness between the figure in the portrait and the woman he'd approached in the street. It was unmistakable. But there were things he hadn't noticed before. The artist had done a remarkable job in capturing the smoldering depths of Katarina's eyes. The light caught the knowing half-smile and the full, sweet redness her lips. She wore an off-the-shoulder dress that hinted at the fullness of her breasts, with tantalizing shadows that suggested a deep cleft between them. A corseted waist flared into shapely hips, almost lost in the volume of satin that cascaded to the floor. Clever shadows in the fabric hinted at the dark delta that lay hidden beneath it. There was no doubt that she was beautiful. The painted image merged with his recollection of the succubus as his mind drifted back to the afternoon. Those same breasts had pressed against his chest. He could feel their yielding softness still. And the warmth of her. And the hand that had touched his cheek. It could have been the touch of a lover had her eyes not betrayed such burning anger. Her scent came to him, almost as though she were standing right there in the room, looking at her own portrait over his shoulder. Nervously, he looked around. He was alone. He shook his head and then noticed with alarm that an erection pressed against the fabric of his trousers now as it did then. "God help me," he muttered to himself. He took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself and tore his eyes away from the portrait. He reached for a book that contained the history Heidelberg and the Palatinate-Neuburg line that had ruled it until the late 1700s. He scanned the text, looking for any mention of Katarina von Regensburg. There were very few references. She had, by all accounts, insinuated herself into the Heidelberg aristocracy as a lady in waiting for Anna Maria Luisa de' Medici, second wife of Johann Wilhelm II. The latter soon took her as a mistress. Strangely, it was Katarina who influenced Johann to proclaim religious tolerance. Later in life, Katarina married and was banished from the court by Johann Wilhelm's successor, Charles III Philip, who believed that Katarina's continued presence in the court dishonored Johann's memory. She lived out the rest of her life in poverty. Daniel wondered whether it was Johann's successor who had defaced the portrait. It certainly fit with the fact that he'd been a cleric. There was much to know. Unfortunately, the details that would have added color to the known facts had been lost in the passage of time. Daniel looked at the clock and saw that he had missed supper. In fact, it was now quite late. Not only that, but he had missed evening prayer. "Damn," he muttered to himself. Alas, such were the sacrifices he had to make. *** Sleep evaded Daniel for many hours. His head swam with visions of Katarina von Regensburg and the battle in which he had no doubt he would play a central role. He would bask in the glory of God and the accolades of his brethren. His name would be spoken in hushed whispers in the halls of the Vatican. It would be a difficult battle, but with the God on his side, how could good not triumph over the forces of evil? When sleep finally did come, daylight was a mere few hours away. It was a fitful sleep with unrelated thoughts chasing each other about in his mind. Daniel would later not be sure of what woke him -- whether it was a whiff of fragrance or the unmistakable sense of a presence in his modest bedroom. He scanned the room, peering in the dark corners, trying to separate the familiar shadows from a darkness that didn't belong. Something was there. He could feel it. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he could make out what looked like a figure, standing against the dresser just beneath the crucifix that hung on the wall. The figure approached, taking a tentative step into the moonlight that illuminated a small patch on the opposite wall. Daniel's breath caught. There stood Katarina von Regensburg, looking unlike the portrait or the woman he'd met on the street, for this incarnation of the woman, the succubus, stood naked and proud and flawless, arms crossed beneath ample breasts. It seemed impossible that something so unspeakably beautiful could be evil. Her presence within the room far surpassed her physical size. She stood perhaps five and a half feet, yet she seemed to fill the space, as though everything in it bent towards her. She inclined her head to him, her shimmering black hair framing features that were cast in delicious contrast by the faint moonlight that illuminated them. With a slow, seductive wink and an enervating smile, she stretched her arms out from her sides, palms up, slender fingers slightly curled in a blasphemous parody of a crucifixion. Here I am, she seemed to say. This could be yours. He realized with alarm that her offer did not fill him with horror. Her nipples stood puckered and erect on those voluptuous breasts. Against his will, his eyes raked the slender shape of her waist to her full hips and then down her impossibly long, muscular legs. She spread them slightly, resting her weight on one, thrusting out a hip, accentuating the curvaceous geography of her body. In the shadows between her legs, he could just make out the tender ripples of her labia. She began to turn, a lazy pirouette on the ball of one foot. Something golden glinted between her legs. No dancer on this earth could surpass her grace. Her pubic mound disappeared from view, replaced by a firm, shapely buttocks. The circle continued until she faced him again. Daniel realized that he was growing aroused. Again that smile quirked the edges of her mouth. A dimple played on one cheek. Her hands came together before her as though in prayer, coming to rest just beneath her breasts, slender fingers extended in the valley between them. She raised her hands then, lifting those tender orbs on her wrists and then her forearms, the shape of them swelling with the pressure exerted on them. Her nipples disappeared beneath her arms. So yielding. So soft and welcoming. Her hands rose higher still, passing in front of her face. Unsupported now, her breasts fell to their previous position, bouncing and swaying ever so slightly. Daniel's throat constricted. The hands continued up, pointing towards heaven. Katarina threw her head back then, revealing the line of her neck and the vulnerability of her throat. Daniel fought the urge to leap from his bed and place his lips there, against the silken skin of her neck. It was then that he noticed that his sheets were now tented by an erection that was already threatening to erupt. His heart ached. Here was a woman, indescribably beautiful and unspeakably dangerous. He could feel that familiar tingle in his loins, the building of pressure. This isn't how a soldier of God is expected to react, he thought as he ejaculated. Daniel woke with a start. The morning light streamed through his window. He rolled over and recoiled as his hip landed upon the chilly wetness that must have deposited there. A dream, he thought. It must have been a dream. He inhaled and could imagine that he could catch the scent of Katarina. Either her or the smoke of Satan. *** Daniel dragged himself to his practical theology class, exhausted and more than a little distracted. He couldn't help but to think that the battle had begun before he'd been able to marshal his forces. It was a small class of a dozen students. A number of these were exchange students from the Princeton Theological Seminary and schools throughout Europe. He smiled wanly at a student from London, an earnest girl with whom he's chatted a few times and for whom he secretly and futilely lusted. She returned his smile, all innocence and freshness, and bent to retrieve her books from her backpack. The question foremost in his mind was whether last night's apparition had been real or a product of his own mind. It would almost be easier to accept the former. Infinitely more troubling was the thought that such manifestations of carnality could be produced by him alone. Either way, he wasn't equipped for this, he realized. How could he do battle with the forces of evil when his unconscious mind and body turned traitor and embraced the enemy? He glanced at the girl as the professor entered the room and wondered what she looked like naked. He was aghast at the thought and struggled to suppress it, even as he imagined her on his bed with her legs pointed heavenward. The professor began his lecture. Daniel concentrated on the words. His German was fairly good, but following along in the classroom was always a challenge. His mind soon drifted, floating on the cadence of the professor's oratory. He struggled to keep up, to write his notes, but other thoughts intruded and pulled him from the present. "Daniel?" He heard his name as from a distance. He looked at his notebook. His hand held a pencil that was shading in the nipple of a breast. His eyes bugged out. Also in the margins were fairly realistic sketches of a hairless vagina, legs, and yet more breasts. "Daniel!" He quickly closed the notebook, but not before the girl from London had seen the images. She gasped and quickly averted her eyes. "Sorry, Herr Professor." "You look pale." "I am feeling unwell." "In that case, perhaps you would like to excuse yourself." "Yes. Thank you." He glanced at the girl. She studiously avoided his gaze and he could feel aversion from her. Damn. Daniel hurriedly packed his things and rushed out into the relative peace of the hallway. *** The dreams or visitations -- Daniel didn't know which -- came unbidden every night. He turned from religious treatises on demonic possession to secular accounts and scanned the internet for anything that approximated his own experiences. Most were the fevered imaginings of diseased minds. There were desperate people seeking advice on how to attract succubi and equally desperate people describing patently deluded episodes with those same demons. Daniel was further surprised at the sheer number of stories in which demons featured as the protagonists. He couldn't believe it. It was proof of what the Vatican's chief exorcist maintained -- that the worship and idolatry of the devil was all indicative of the spread of evil. He slogged through these anecdotes and stories, growing more frustrated by the hour. His notes boiled down to the following: Succubi likely, but not necessarily, came to their victims in dreams. Succubi either seduced their victims or forced them into sexual acts. Succubi were either energy-sucking demons or benevolent if immaterial sex partners. Succubi were attracted by men who masturbated or viewed pornography. If this last was the case, then it was remarkable that anyone didn't have a succubus. Daniel shook his head and shut down his laptop. After hours of fruitless research, he was no closer to knowing whether he was actually being visited or was just dreaming with disheartening realism. For the next days, Daniel tried to avoid sleep entirely. He was largely unsuccessful. No sooner would he close his eyes than visions would come to him. It was impossible to know whether these were dreams or actual visitations. Either way, he was exhausted and harassed and hardly thinking clearly when he decided to pay a personal visit to Father Schmidt. After some banal pleasantries, Daniel blurted out, "I am tormented." Father Schmidt's bushy eyebrows rose up. "Yes?" "By... by matters of the flesh." The priest smiled, perhaps a little sadly, possibly remembering his own similar torments. "It's not unusual for a young man to be so afflicted." "But..." But what could Daniel say? But he felt that he was being tormented by a demon. But she was beautiful, and aside from the guilt that he felt, he didn't find it wholly terrible that a beautiful woman should visit him in his dormitory room. But he was kind of in crisis and he was finding it really hard to reconcile his calling with the other thing that was calling him. "If I might suggest some passages in the bible? I recall that they were of great succor to me when I was your age." "Thank you father," said Daniel. For I have sinned, he continued to himself. And the bible likely won't be of much use. *** If there had been a hair shirt at his disposal, he would have worn it. As a late teen, he'd fashioned a crude spiked loop that he wore around his thigh. A string extended from the loop through a hole in his pocket. At the first sign of an impure thought, he would tug at the string, causing the tines to bite into the tender flesh of his thigh. He'd heard that mortifying the flesh would subdue impure thoughts, but of course the opposite happened. The pain that would lance through him served only to remind him of what he was trying to suppress. It was hopeless. Nonetheless, he had to do something. He lit a candle and watched the flame flicker and wave. He didn't dare sleep. If his waking moments were difficult, fraught with unexpected visions of Katarina, his nights were torture. At night, he was helpless. At night, whatever floated just below the surface rose up and demanded attention. There was no not thinking about Kat. Although he dreaded sleep, a part of him longed for it, not for the rest but for the opportunity to gaze upon her once again. The candle's flame resolved itself into the tapered waist and full hips of the succubus. It danced in unseen currents of air. He tore his eyes away from the flame and gazed instead at the crucifix on the wall. "Give me strength," he muttered. The crucifix merely reminded him of the position that the succubus had assumed in that first dream. Fingers curled. Arms extended. Those full breasts, crowned with puckered nipples that bespoke arousal -- or perhaps a cold room, he conceded. Whether aroused or cold, he still longed to kiss them, to feel that tender button of flesh between his lips. Was there nowhere he could rest his eyes without being reminded of her? The flame on his desk danced. Daniel raised his hand, palm down above the candle. He winced as the heat kissed his skin. He felt her behind him and refused to dignify her presence by acknowledging it. The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he felt that familiar tingle between his legs. He felt curiously self-conscious, knowing that the object of his penitence stood watching him, sharing with him the evidence of his weakness. He finally turned and saw that the room was empty. She wasn't there. He laughed. He was losing it. His hand trembled. The pain was searing now. "Give me the courage." If he could withstand this, he could withstand anything. Hadn't his savior suffered for him? This suffering was nothing in comparison. His universe contracted into a small red dot of agony. There was nothing but pain and tortured flesh. I'm doing this because of her, he thought. And thus the succubus insinuated herself in the purity of his suffering. One could not be without the other, because one was the cause of the other. The two belonged together like the faces of a coin. *** He looked up from the desk. His hand ached. The succubus extended her wings and arms and stretched, as though she had been waiting for a long while. She smiled and took a step forward. The feathers of her extended wings brushed the walls of the room. Oh, God. Here she was, in demon form no less! "Nunquan suade mihi varna!" It didn't work. Never tempt me with your vanities. Bullshit. His words rang empty. The whispered prayer of a coward. He was tempted. Sorely tempted. She stood at the foot of his bed. She tucked her wings behind her, framing her body against the delicate, white backdrop. She was flawless and irresistible. "You want this." It was a statement rather than a question -- simple, direct, and true. He did want this. Daniel couldn't help but to rake his gaze over the flowing, sinuous geography of her body. There was a world to explore in the shadows. "You want this," the succubus said again. "Yes." The word came out as a whisper from a suddenly dry mouth. "You want me to be your dark angel." It seemed impossible that something so beautiful could be dark, yet he knew it was so. "Yes." Her wings vanished and she stood there, small and vulnerable at the foot of the bed. She raised her arms to him. "Come to me then." Daniel rose and approached. He stood before her, to all appearances bigger and stronger than his tormentor. His heart hammered in his chest in fear and desire. This was a step he willed himself not to take even as he took it. For once let me be strong, he begged himself. This was the most dangerous and fatal of all steps, yet he was powerless to resist. He placed the backs of his fingers on the side of her neck, the spot that he had dreamed of kissing. He felt the smoothness and warmth of the delicate skin, felt the heartbeat, and his being thrilled at the sensation. She tilted her head in invitation. He placed his lips on the spot and was suffused with her smell and vitality. She turned from his embrace. "You are conspicuously overdressed," she said with a shy smile. This must be a dream, he thought. Let me wake before I'm lost. Satan's Whore Ch. 03 Almost of their own volition, his hands grasped the bottom of his t-shirt. She stilled them. "No. Let me." He watched as her delicate fingers traced down his torso and raised the bottom of his t-shirt up and finally over his head. The cool air in the room lapped at his flesh and he shuddered. A fingernail traced a line from nipple to nipple and then from throat to navel, coming to rest on the waistband of his underwear. She pulled it down around his erection and past his knees. She held his gaze all the while, finishing the movement with a slight arching of her eyebrows. "You want me and you are mine," she said. He nodded. He couldn't speak. Any thought of resistance now was far away. She cupped his testicles in her hand, suffusing the area with a thrumming energy. He moaned and it sounded to him like the whimper of a small animal. It seemed impossible, but he grew harder. She lowered herself and her other hand encircled his shaft. Long fingernails pressed against its top and the thumb against its underside, five sharp points of exquisite pleasure. The crown was purple with engorgement. He watched in fascination and expectation as her mouth approached it. Her tongue slipped out from between her lips and licked the tip. The breath he'd been holding rushed out of him and he fought to remain standing. Her tongue snaked around the circumference of his head, leaving it wet and glistening in the moonlight. "Good?" Daniel nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. The succubus smiled up at him, dark eyes flashing between dark lashes. His cock rested on the soft, pink bed of her tongue. She closed her eyes and parted her lips and slid his length upon her tongue into the confines of her mouth. She clamped her lips around him and he felt her tongue undulating wetly along the underside of his length. How long had he dreamed of this? he thought. How long had he imagined just this, without even coming close to how impossibly good it could feel? He placed his hands on her head and wrapped his fingers in the shimmering coils of her hair. She moved her head slowly back and forth. More and more of him disappeared into her warm, moist mouth until his entire length rested there. The succubus hummed in satisfaction and an exquisite vibration extended to him. The hand that held his balls insinuated itself between his legs. Fingers buried themselves between his cheeks and she pulled him towards her until her lips pressed against his abdomen. It seemed impossible, but she'd taken all of him. Unseen muscles within her throat clenched around him in a delicious embrace. Her tongue fluttered beneath him, butterfly-light. How many times had he denied himself this pleasure? he wondered absently. And for what? The succubus withdrew and smiled at him. "Please," he whispered. "I like it when you say that." She descended on him again, running his entire length against the exquisite hardness of her bared teeth. A low moan sounded in the small room and it took him a while to recognize that it had come from him. Between his legs, fingers pressed his perineum and anus. He wanted to squirm away, but it felt too good. He felt strangely disembodied. He looked down at the woman who crouched before him and, though he felt it all, couldn't bring himself to fully believe that the cock that slid so easily into her mouth could be his. But he felt it -- the tongue, the teeth, and the delicate hand that stroked him. And he saw the breasts that swayed with her movements and the curve of her waist and the fullness of her ass. Her hand now moved forcefully along him and her lips exerted a most delicious pressure on the crown of his cock. With every stroke he felt himself losing it. With every movement of the silken tongue on him, his resolve drifted away. He was lost, all too glad to surrender. He exploded within her, spurting his seed deep in her throat. One spasm followed the other in rapid succession. He woke. He didn't recall having fallen asleep. Perhaps he'd passed out. He rubbed his eyes, wincing as his fingers closed around the angry red burn on his palm. He'd fallen asleep at his desk. The candle guttered feebly, half extinguished in its own wax. How fitting, he thought. He blew it out, putting it out of its misery. A tendril of smoke rose from the charred wick. He sat still for a moment, listening for others who might have had their sleep disturbed b whatever noises he'd been making. But the residence was quiet, unlike his mind. This was the sixth consecutive night in which his sleep had been interrupted by visions of the succubus. He was fairly certain now that he was either a very sick young man or that Katarina was actively pursuing him. Either way, he was powerless to resist. His prayers had accomplished nothing. His defenses were useless. He closed his eyes and something clicked. In the absence of a defense, perhaps he should go on the offensive. He smiled. He knew what he had to do. *** As always, thanks for reading. I do appreciate your comments and feedback. Satan's Whore Ch. 04 The chiming of the doorbell echoed through the large house. Kat debated ignoring it, but then set aside the book she'd been reading and unwound herself from the sofa. She knew that Isabel and Jean-Paul, both night owls, wouldn't be up to answer the door. She opened the door and took a step back in shock. "You," said Kat. "How on Earth did you find me?" The boy looked terrible. Dark rings framed his eyes and there was a look of general dishevelment about him. "I followed my heart and asked a few questions. You're not hard to find." "What are you doing here?" asked Kat, her heart racing. She stood in the middle of the doorway. "May I come in?" Kat was about to refuse him but feared making a scene out here where the neighbors might see. Scenes, particularly in this neighborhood, were to be avoided. She stepped aside, inviting him in. She led him to the sitting room. "Nice place," Daniel said. "It's comfortable." Then she added, lest Daniel think her a snob, "It has been in the family for generations." "I can imagine." Kat asked him to sit on the leather sofa and she took a seat on an armchair. "Can I get you anything?" Daniel shook his head. He looked pale. The cocksure energy of their first meeting was gone, replaced by energy of a different kind. It was an energy that, without release, would consume him. She had caught hints of it over the last few days as she went about her business in the town. It was nothing she invited or responded to, it was just there like background noise that seemingly grew louder in the absence of distraction. At least that was the way it had started. And once she became consciously aware of its frequency, she found it difficult to ignore. Often there would be nothing more than a muted hum, and then a wave of yearning, focused and intense, would wash over her, particularly in the early hours of the new day. She wasn't surprised that Daniel had found her. And now its source sat before her. Kat noticed that Daniel wore a bandage around his hand and made a move to touch it. Daniel snatched it away, closing his fingers around and wincing as he did so. She watched him for several moments as he fidgeted on the sofa and looked at everything in the room but her. Finally, his eyes fell on her, eyes suffused with such pain and confusion that it was Kat who had to avert her gaze. "Please don't visit me anymore," said Daniel finally. "Visit you? I don't even know where you live." "That's not what I mean." "What then?" "At night. You visit me. If you have any decency in you, please stop." "I've done no such thing." Daniel looked at her, trying to spot the lie. "Honest," said Kat. "And I'm to believe you?" "Believe what you want. I've never visited you." He leaned back in his seat, confusion and anger etched on his face. "Could you have dreamed it?" Kat asked quietly. Daniel remained silent for a long moment, obviously debating what Kat had suggested. She pitied him. "It was so real," he said finally, his face betraying loss and relief at the same time. "You sound almost disappointed." Kat immediately regretted the words. "Of course you would think so. Imagine someone not wanting to be tormented by you. It was a mistake to have come here, expecting to reason with a demon." There, it was said, thought Kat. Yet she felt none of the surprise and anger that she would have expected at being identified for what she was. Nor did she feel compelled to deny or dissemble. More than anything, she was curious. For the first time in a long time, she was faced with a mortal who knew exactly what she was. "Any torment you feel is of your own making," she said. "I have done nothing to encourage you." "Your very existence torments me," said Daniel. He glanced at her. There was nothing even remotely suggestive about the way she was dressed, yet she felt his attraction to her. "I feel possessed," he continued. "Don't you understand? You occupy my dreams. You come to me every night and I am powerless." "These things are in your mind." "You come to me every night," he insisted again. Kat felt a sudden wave of desperate yearning. There was more to it than what Daniel had suggested. "And we do things," she said quietly. "Yes." "Things both sinful and wonderful." "Yes." "Things that you would like to do. With me." "Yes, but you're evil. That's the terrible thing." "Do I look evil?" "You are though. Do you deny it?" Kat took a deep breath. "No." If she'd expected her admission to be greeted with triumph, she was disappointed. Daniel looked thoroughly deflated and cornered. "There's nothing I can do. Can't you talk to a priest or something?" "I try not to think of you," continued Daniel as though Kat hadn't spoken, "but you can't not think of something. I read the catechism until I can read no more and the minute my eyes close, you're there." "But I'm not. It's all in your mind." "I don't believe you. I can't believe you. There's too much detail. Tell me that you don't wear body jewelry, for example. Tell me that your private parts aren't pierced." "That's ridiculous." Kat was stunned. How could he have known? It was impossible. She hadn't visited him. "There's a ring," Daniel continued. "It pierces your... clitoris. It has two bumps on it. Please tell me you don't have one. Maybe then I'll believe you." The ring, a souvenir from her time in what was now the Czech Republic, pierced the base of the clitoral hood where it met the inner labia. The ring had no beginning and no end, and featured two little horns, each tipped with a ruby. "I can tell by your reaction that it's true." Kat stared at him hard. There was no way he could have known. "You are a liar," he said. Impossible or not, there appeared to be some kind of connection between them. What was going on? Kat wondered. *** Kat didn't hear them enter. She was still stunned by Daniel's apparent intimate knowledge of her. Only Daniel's look of surprise and fear announced their presence. She turned. Isabel and Jean-Paul stood, both stone-faced, in the doorway. Her heart sank. "You heard?" asked Kat. Isabel nodded and Jean-Paul merely scowled. He did that well. "Who are these people?" asked Daniel. Isabel ignored him. "Kat, this is an unconscionable breach." Kat shrugged helplessly. "I know. He found me." Isabel stared hard at Daniel. "You've made a grave mistake in coming here." Something in Isabel's tone momentarily robbed Daniel of words. He paled visibly. "God, there are more of you," he finally managed to say. "More than you know," growled Jean-Paul. Daniel fumbled for the cross that hung from a chain on his neck. He held it up. Jean-Paul laughed. "We're not vampires, for Christ's sake. Really, Kat, where did you find this guy?" "Put that away," said Kat. "I can leave," he said eventually. "I'll forget what I know." "I'm afraid that is no longer possible," said Isabel. Kat feared for him. He had walked into a situation he could not possibly understand and now things could only get worse for him. "I have no doubt," continued Isabel, "that you would bring unwanted attention to not only Kat but our entire house. We're comfortable here. It has been a long time since the last mitered buffoon came here, sputtering a few verses in broken Latin and waving his arms around. He was quite harmless to us, but a nuisance nonetheless. We have no desire to repeat that experience. "Just so you understand, we have no fear of exorcists. You might be tempted to make a lot of noise about the demon who inhabits you, but in all likelihood, you'd be institutionalized if you did. No one really wants to believe that Satan's wolves walk among the lambs. Not in these times of sophistication and skepticism. But there's always a chance that your wild statements would reach the right ears. Things are in balance now; we turn a few souls and another few repent. Everyone's happy and there's enough activity to keep things interesting. However, there are times when it would take almost nothing to whip up the zealots and upset the balance. "That, unfortunately, would escalate this oldest of wars to an extent neither side wants. No, until we figure out what to do with you, you're not leaving." Daniel's mouth hung open. "Take him to the guest room," said Isabel to Kat. "Jean-Paul, ensure that security is enabled." "What's happening?" asked Daniel. Kat stood. "Come with me." *** Daniel's mind whirled as Kat led him up the stairs. "Where are you taking me?" he stammered. Kat ignored the question. "As Isabel said, you made a mistake in coming here. I don't know what's going to happen." "So I'm... what? A prisoner?" "So it seems. Until we decide what to do with you." Daniel stopped on the stairs. He couldn't believe this. "I refuse. I'm leaving." "And what would you do if I let you go? "I'd have to return to the church." "And?" "Tell them everything. I couldn't remain silent." "Isabel and Jean-Paul won't let that happen. I won't let that happen." "You can't keep me here against my will!" Daniel shrieked. "For someone who has exhibited some intelligence and intuition, you still really don't know what you're dealing with. Unless you have a martyr complex, I suggest that you come with me, be quiet, and wait." Daniel hesitated, his eyes flitting to the base of the stairs. His escape route took him past the room in which Isabel and Jean-Paul conferred. He couldn't possibly make it. Besides, Jean-Paul scared him. "You can't win this fight," said Kat. Daniel allowed Kat to take his uninjured hand and lead him to a door at the end of the long hallway. She opened it, revealing a sumptuously furnished bedroom. She pushed him into the room and closed the door behind them. His confusion and the sudden proximity of the succubus made him dizzy. She grasped his upper arm and gazed at him with what appeared to be genuine concern. "I suggest that you don't try to escape. Don't give Jean-Paul any excuses. You'll be comfortable here. I'll be back up as soon as I can." She removed the key from the inside of the door. "I suggest that you rest if you can." She exited and he heard the lock turn from the outside. After Kat's footsteps had receded, he went to the window and looked out on a dense woodlot. He couldn't imagine flagging anyone down. He then examined the window itself and noticed the sensors that were undoubtedly connected to the alarm system. As far as picking the lock, he wouldn't know where to begin. He sat on the edge of the bed, defeated. He was a prisoner. *** Kat stood just outside the room in which Isabel and Jean-Paul argued. "Kill him," said Jean-Paul again. "It's the only way." Kat knew that this was a very real option, but it was still difficult to hear Jean-Paul say it. "Let's examine the possibilities first," said Isabel with unnerving calm. "I'm unwilling to kill the boy unless it becomes absolutely necessary." "Then I will." "No," implored Kat, entering the sitting room. Jean-Paul turned on her. "You would risk the peace that we've enjoyed and bring attention to us now? For a boy, far from home, unlucky enough to have uncovered who resides in his adopted city?" "There's got to be another way. I can leave, go to another country. He doesn't care about you and Isabel." "But he knows about us now. We'd still be left with the possibility of exposure." "Enough," said Isabel. "You think that you can ask him politely to ignore what he's discovered?" "Enough," said Isabel again, forcefully enough to silence them. After several minutes, she asked, "Have you ever visited him?" "No." "But he appears to know you." Isabel put emphasis on the word 'know'. "I honestly don't know how. I've never visited him, consciously." Isabel nodded and fell silent again. Jean-Paul stood in the corner, shaking his head, his eyes shooting daggers at Kat. She considered sticking out her tongue at him and then thought better of it. "You could bind him," said Isabel. Kat scarcely heard her. Bind him. She recoiled at the thought. Killing him would be more merciful. And yet... "But that is something we must consider very carefully," Isabel continued. "We can't let him go, and killing him," she turned to Jean-Paul, "may just bring to this house the attention that we wish to avoid. We cannot be rash in our decision. "Jean-Paul, until I have come to a decision, you are to leave the boy alone. Not one hair on his head is to be harmed. Do you understand?" Jean-Paul scowled and nodded. "Kat, the boy is your responsibility. He is to remain here for as long as is necessary. If anything more should happen that imperils this house, the blame is yours and yours alone and you shall bear the consequences." With that, Isabel swept up the stairs to her quarters. Jean-Paul glared at Kat furiously and then stalked away. Once again, Kat stood alone. *** "Troubles, Isabel?" They were seated in the priest's study. Isabel swirled the single-malt scotch in her glass, watching the light flicker playfully through the amber liquid. "One of your lambs appears to have wandered into the lion's den." The priest raised an eyebrow. "It's a complication neither of us needs," added Isabel. "I agree." "We're comfortable now," said Isabel. "Perhaps too comfortable," mused the priest. The priest was right, of course. A time that enabled priests and demons to discuss current affairs over a drink couldn't last. It was a cease-fire, nothing more. But it was a détente even more precious for its fragility. Isabel planned to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. And of late, her enjoyment of it extended to the company of a priest. The priest stood and positioned himself behind her chair. His hands fell to her shoulders and gently kneaded them. "You're tense." Isabel smiled. "And you know just how to relax me." "I've had practice." After a few minutes, his hands left her shoulders and moved to her forehead, smoothing out the tension that furrowed her brow. From there he ran his fingers through her hair to the location where he knew her horns to be. Isabel purred her pleasure. "Do you want me to assume the form?" "Please." "Only if you promise to keep your collar on." "Done," he said. Isabel's horns materialized from her wavy auburn locks. The priest's fingers stroked them, tracing the twin spirals from the base to the blunted tips. After a minute, Isabel said, "I can't feel that, you know." "I can," said the priest, but took his cue and willed his hands elsewhere. "What do you propose we do?" asked Isabel. "Make love with the abandon of the damned?" "Please don't talk that way. About the boy." "Ah." He deftly undid the buttons of her blouse and exposed her bare breasts, each crowned with a small pink jewel of a nipple. He cupped their fullness and kneaded them gently. "We could give it a few days. See what happens. Let fate take its course." "There is no fate," said Isabel, a little more sharply than she'd intended. More softly, she added, "There's conflict and brutality for all of the fleeting moments of peace. But I'd come to the same conclusion." "Of course, when either of us feels that intervention is needed, all bets are off. It's back to our respective corners." Isabel sighed. "I know." "That being said, we'd have to discuss matters every day." "As we're doing now?" He pinched her nipples playfully. "We'd be remiss if we didn't." Isabel hummed her pleasure. "Deal." In the kind of choreography of those who've been intimate for a long time, he walked to the front of the chair and Isabel rose. He wrapped his arms around her. "I've missed you," he said. "And I you," said Isabel earnestly. He unfastened her skirt and allowed it to fall to the floor. "Let me look at you." "I'm yours," she said. The priest took a step back and allowed his eyes to travel up from her feet to her head. Isabel could see his arousal. His eyes lit upon the horns and he shook his head sadly. "I know," said Isabel. She approached him then and quickly removed his clothing except for his collar, as per their agreement. Her being shimmered and wings materialized from her back. Like Kat's, her wings bore feathers rather than the leathery tissue common in depictions of succubi. She walked into his waiting arms and wrapped her wings around him, cocooning him in their soft warmth and pressing her breasts to his chest. She held him tightly and felt his hardness against her abdomen. "Nothing good can become of this," whispered the priest. Isabel didn't ask whether he meant the two of them or the boy. "Let us try to forget for a little while," she whispered back. She reached for the table on which rested her glass of scotch. She took a mouthful and, without swallowing it, squatted before him. She grasped his cock and guided it to her lips. Scotch and her tongue swirled around the thickly veined shaft in her mouth. "Oh, God," whispered the priest. That's one of the things she found interesting about the priest. He could compartmentalize. He was a genuinely good man, an able leader of his flock, yet he still enjoyed having his cock sucked by a succubus. After several minutes, she could taste his pre-come mixing with the smoky flavor of the scotch. "Stop!" he gasped. She did as he asked and retreated. The priest's cock, primed and proud, glistened in the subdued lighting of the study. She swallowed the liquid in her mouth and rose to her feet. "I almost...." Isabel winked. "I know, but I like blended scotch too." The priest grinned. "Your turn." Isabel allowed herself to be steered to the armchair. The priest had her sit and lowered himself to his knees in front of her. This was something she treasured – a man who gave himself willingly, with no influence from her. That he was a priest, an agent of the church who professed abstinence among other things, made his actions all the sweeter. He worked down from her lips, kissing them and then her neck. He brushed his lips against her breasts and then sucked her nipples as though gathering nourishment there. Perhaps he was, thought Isabel. He pulled her legs toward him so that her ass nearly hung off the chair. Gently he pushed her legs apart. He lightly licked her. Moreso than any other man she'd been with, he went about his exploration of her in a deliciously unhurried pace. He teased his tongue around the tender flesh that framed her labia for several minutes while ever so gently brushing his fingers her tender folds. At length he pressed the tip of his tongue against her perineum and then commenced a slow and deliberate passage from the very base of her sex to her clitoris, leaving an excited tingle in his wake. She watched his head between her legs and caught the occasional flash of tongue as it danced on her. Eventually she closed her eyes and gave herself over the feeling of his tongue and fingers. This had nothing to do with feeding; this was pure enjoyment for its own sake. This was a man who wanted to give pleasure without any coercion on her part and who demanded equal pleasure in return. Both might pay a price for their unnatural liaison, but in this moment, it was well worth it. Isabel felt herself melting under the priest's ministrations as jolts of electricity warmed her core. He inserted a finger and hooked it gently, rubbing that blessed spot from the inside while his tongue mirrored the motion on her clitoris. She opened herself wider to him now and tilted her pelvis. She could feel that familiar rush that presaged release. He could feel it too and he quickened his pace. Her attention focused on that glowing, molten spot of pleasure that radiated a tingling warmth through her being. She gasped as the priest worked mercilessly on those twin spots of ecstasy, one outside and the other inside. Soon the world dissolved into little more than those sensations and the outflowing of release as she arched her back and let herself be swept away. Satan's Whore Ch. 04 When the spasms had passed, the priest helped her to her feet. "Have you been practicing?" she asked. "That was..." "Only in my dreams." She raised one leg and wrapped it around his back, presenting herself to his waiting erection. He adjusted himself and she soon felt him at her entrance, spreading her lips, a promise soon to be given. He held himself there on the threshold as he always did, as though willing himself to halt his inevitable advance. Isabel held herself still, though she wanted nothing more than to have him within her again. She felt herself thrumming in anticipation. She closed her mind to the signals that emanated from the priest. She would allow herself no nourishment from him save the emotional. *** The priest held the succubus still. As always, he'd approached this particular precipice gladly, only to balk at its edge. Had he sold his soul for the pleasures of the flesh? Perhaps yes. Had it been a bargain? It depended on the consequences and at what time he asked himself the question. Now, basking in the heat of their union, he couldn't imagine suffering eternal damnation for such basic intimacy. If God had made mankind in his own image, then the greatest insult to that creation had to be the denial of pleasure that the body was designed to give and to receive. It was all rationalization, of course. Intellectual gymnastics that allowed him to land in this position time after time, with his hands wrapped around this woman's... no, this demon's waist. Of all of Satan's works, this was the one before which he trembled, for it was so subtle and so closely approached perfection that he could discern no fault in it and felt no sin in his enjoyment of it. It was a work so sublime that it made him, if not forget his vows, then to seriously question their relevance. If there was a price to pay, he would pay it and consider it a bargain. The priest sighed and rammed himself into her. *** Isabel gasped in surprise and pleasure. The priest's hands grasped her ass and she raised the other leg, twining one in the other and wrapping her arms around his neck. Her pussy clenched around him. "Oh, God," he moaned. "I love it when you talk dirty." The priest laughed then. It was one of the things, so rare, that she loved about him -- that they could laugh during the act. He continued to thrust into her with the stamina of one half his age. When it looked as though his energy was flagging, Isabel lowered her legs to the floor, trapping his engorged cock between her legs. She closed her eyes. "Don't move for a minute," she said. She knew that he enjoyed this as much as she did, this concentration on what connected them. His eyes were closed and an expectant smile lit his face. She tightened her muscles around him, gently at first and then with more force. Gradually she shifted her weight from foot to foot, an action that served to move him subtly within her. "You're a witch," he whispered. Isabel laughed. "Stop or you will have cast a spell from which there is no return." She did as asked and released him. There was hunger in his eyes as he led her to the chair on which she'd been sitting earlier. He turned her around and she bent over it and perched one knee on the armrest. Arching her back, she presented herself to him. She knew this was a view he enjoyed and a position in which he loved to finish. He had taken her picture once, positioned like this. She wasn't worried about it getting out; it was more damaging to him than it could possibly be to her. He had shown her the picture once. It was strange, viewing herself from such a perspective. The picture featured no more than legs, ass, and hairless pussy. The labia, spread by previous penetration, glistened with juices. Her wings were visible too, slightly out of focus, spread out as though in flight. Her head and horns were not captured in the image. In their absence, she looked like a winged angel. Perhaps therein lay the appeal. "This is my forbidden altar," he explained at the time. "You are my forbidden idol." He entered her smoothly from behind. His hands grasped her wings, pulling her to him. He was more forceful than usual and she felt a thrill at his mastery, pinned between his ramming cock and the hands that held her. He fucked her deeply, with skill and appetite. She grasped the arms of the chair tightly and her breasts shook with each thrust. "Fuck me, father," she moaned. For anyone else, the moan would have been artifice. For the priest it wasn't. He was playing her expertly, hitting all of the right notes. She clenched her muscles around him, thrilling at the hard, hot length that filled her. He was close. She could feel it. On this night, she was right with him. She arched her back yet more, allowing him to stroke that blessed spot within her. Their gasps came almost simultaneously. With a shuddering groan, he flooded her with his seed. He bent over her, hugging her to him as he spurted his essence. *** He walked her to the door and bade her good night. She placed a hand on his cheek and disappeared into the night. She knew that he'd be up until morning, praying for forgiveness. She knew that he would pray for the boy, Daniel, as well. *** Thanks for reading. Comments are always welcome. Satan's Whore Ch. 05 Kat's fingers paused on the key to Daniel's room. She still called it a room although cell was a more appropriate word. She felt him on the other side of the door. She felt fear. Incredibly, he didn't fear for the fact that he was being kept prisoner and might come to a bad end. He didn't fear so much for the succubus who held the key to his room and for whom he felt an unreasoning attraction. He feared for his soul. Of all of the fears that Kat had tasted, this one was the most rare, sublime, and pure. Most feared physical death and pain. Others feared the evil that lurked beneath the surface of things. Few now feared for their immortal souls. The taste hearkened back to distant times when people lived such miserable lives that the promise of a better afterlife was all they could hope for. Yet despite his fear, his soul had called to her during the first night of his captivity. She hadn't projected her will into his room, but he had sent her such a response of yearning that it took her breath away. Somehow, he'd managed to lock onto her, though she doubted that he consciously knew he'd done so. She used that connection to calm him even as her own agitation grew. How was it that he could so easily find her? Ordinarily, mortals responded to the projections of demons in the same way that a moth might respond to a flame. It was a deadly instinct, but one they ordinarily didn't initiate themselves. Yet here was Daniel, searching her out and homing in on her. She turned the key. *** Kat entered the room bearing a covered tray. "Breakfast," she said. Daniel sat on the edge of the bed and realized that he was hungry. He'd been tormented by none of the dreams that had afflicted him of late. To his surprise and despite satisfaction of having enjoyed an unusually deep sleep despite his current predicament, he found that he almost missed those nocturnal visitations. Kat approached and placed the tray on the bedside table. She was simply dressed in a light sweater and black skirt that fell to just above the knee. The simplicity of her clothing served only to accentuate her extraordinary beauty. He wished that she'd worn a burlap sack, something that didn't quite hug her curves so much. Daniel's heart gave a lurch and he longed to touch her. "I didn't know what you wanted," said Kat, "so I gave you a little bit of everything." "I'm sure it's fine." Kat turned to leave. He didn't want her to. "What are you going to do with me?" he asked. She turned to him again, her arms crossed, framing those breasts he'd dreamed about in such detail. "We're still deciding. There are options." "But letting me go is not one of them." Kat shook her head. "I wish I could free myself of you on my own, but I can't," said Daniel. "I know that. I need help, and there's no help for me outside of the church. Do you understand?" Strange how he thought that freedom from being attracted to her was more pressing issue than his imprisonment. She approached and sat next to him on the bed. He could feel her warmth and smell her delicate aroma. It was probably no more than soap and shampoo, but to him it was the headiest scent that had ever reached his nose. She placed a hand on his knee and gave it a squeeze. It was meant to be reassuring but to Daniel, it was something else entirely. "There are always alternatives," she said. She didn't remove her hand. He closed his eyes and focused on those few square inches of contact they shared. Even through the fabric, he could feel the slenderness of each finger, the warmth of her palm, and the unique whorls on each fingertip. He could feel her strength and something beyond it that he wanted. The contact broke and she was on her feet before he could open his eyes. She smiled weakly. "Enjoy your breakfast," she said. Then she was gone, before she could explain the alternatives to him. *** What was that? wondered Kat as she returned to the kitchen. It was almost as though he'd been feeding off her through that smallest of contact, rather than the other way around. Her hand still tingled. She found Isabel at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. "No news about our guest," she said. "Yet." "It's too soon," said Kat. "It won't take long for them to start looking for him." "I know." "You have turn him. It's either that or..." "I know." "It'll be a victory for you if you do manage to turn him. No one wants the alternative. Besides, I can sense something between the two of you." The thought of turning him roiled in her gut. To twist something so innocent and true -- she didn't know whether she could to it. "He is unusual," she said. "That he is," said Isabel as she returned her attention to the newspaper. *** Kat returned shortly after breakfast. In her arms she carried a pile of clothes and placed them on the bed. "These are Jean-Paul's," she said. "They may be a little big but they will do until I've had a chance to wash yours. But first, you need to shower." At first Daniel thought of resisting as all good prisoners should, but then realized that he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the stink of fear that clung to him since his arrival. He followed Kat to a large washroom, complete with a massive old clawfoot tub large enough for two and a more modern shower stall on the opposite wall. "Your choice," said Kat. He indicated the shower and waited for Kat to leave. She didn't. "I can't leave you alone in this room. The window overlooks the neighboring property. You might signal them." "And I'm a prisoner." "I didn't ask you to come here." "I won't signal anyone. I promise." The thought of undressing in front of Kat made him cringe. "I'm sorry. I'll close my eyes if you want." "Okay." Daniel undressed hurriedly, casting nervous glances to Kat. Stupid, he told himself, this modesty after all he'd evidently done with her -- or had done to him by her -- in his dreams. He quickly hid himself behind the frosted glass of the shower stall. Soon steam swirled around him. We washed, keenly aware of her presence. He could see her distorted outline through the glass. So close, he thought. No doubt she could see him as well. Perhaps because of the distortion, he found that being seen like this didn't worry him, though it was arousing. He was keenly aware that the fulfillment of his every carnal dream stood no more than a few feet away. He finished and opened the door a crack. "Pass me a towel, would you?" "Come and get it," she replied. She stood across the room, towel spread in her hands and a smile on her lips. "I promise to keep my eyes closed, if that helps," she said. He approached her and he made to reach for the towel. "Allow me," she said, moving the towel out of reach. She must have been peeking, thought Daniel. "I can do it," he said. "Please," she said and draped the towel over his head. Before he could protest, she`d started drying his hair and face and then moved to his shoulders. She dried him unhurriedly, running the towel inch by inch over his arms, back, chest and abdomen. It was an intimate exploration, but the towel that separated their skin robbed it of its immediate sexual undertone. If anything, he felt like a child. He squirmed as she dried his legs the insides of his thighs, ending her journey at his groin. It was only then that he realized that he was fully erect, his attention having been concentrated on her soft touch. "Oh no," he muttered. "It's fine," she said lightly. "I'd be insulted otherwise. And you would have cause for worry." She dried him there too and his knees almost buckled at her touch. He hoped, and then cursed himself for hoping, that she would use her mouth there, that she would pleasure him as she had in his dreams. In his mind, he could imagine her lips around his shaft and her tongue dancing around it. Alas, there was only the towel with which she stroked him, as though waiting for his word. But he wouldn`t allow himself to ask. Too soon she was done. There was no more of him to dry and no reason to linger. She smiled at him. "I'll leave you to get dressed. Promise though that you won't do anything foolish," she said, glancing at the window. "I promise." With that, she left him and his erection alone. *** Kat visited him throughout the day. Sometimes she brought magazines. Sometimes she stopped in just to see how he was doing. His moods swung wildly. When he found himself growing excited at the sound of her steps in the hallway outside his room, he'd remind himself that he was still a prisoner and that his captors were at this very moment planning his disappearance. There were moments of fear, particularly when he heard raised voices downstairs, and moments of pleasure when Kat chose to visit him. On one such visit, Kat asked him, "Is your God merciful or vengeful?" "I'd like to think the former." "But you don't know. The old testament paints very a different picture." "I suppose it depends on the circumstance. God can be merciful or vengeful. Stands to reason then that I should perhaps hedge my bets and not tempt God's wrath." Kat nodded. "Can there be good in a demon?" Daniel looked startled and started to respond and then shook his head. "I don't know. I never thought about it that way." *** The setting sun cast dark shadows in the forest that Daniel's window overlooked. His first full day of captivity was drawing to a close. It was strange how quickly he'd adjusted. The key rattled in the lock and Kat entered, carrying a tray. She lifted the cover to reveal a schnitzel, green beans, and potatoes. "For a prisoner, I certainly eat well." "At least you are eating. There are those who would like to see your last bite." Her words chilled him and brought home the reality of his situation. "I know. Am I to thank you?" "Probably not." Kat leaned against the wall. "When you sleep, you call to me." "And yet you don't come." "I'd prefer to hear you speak the words." "I can't." "So we wait." That night, lying in bed, Kat felt him. She didn't need to project to elicit a response. It was there, insistent. But it was only an undercurrent. She strained her hearing in the hopes that he would give voice to his yearning, but he did not. *** By the third day of Daniel's captivity, news of the missing seminarian had made the various local news outlets. Ordinarily, missing persons didn't make the news unless it involved suspected foul play, but the fact that this one was a foreigner and a seminarian piqued some interest. Kat sat on a chair opposite Daniel. This was an important discussion and she didn't want to sway him by her proximity. "We have a problem," she said. Daniel watched her attentively. "The authorities are now aware that you're missing and are looking for you. We can't let you go and we obviously can't keep you here. If we let you go, you'll return to your life with some very unusual tales and if they believe you, you'll make life difficult for us." "That's true." Kat wished he could have lied. "That said, you're a danger to us here. Sooner or later you'll escape or be found. Either way, it would be impossible to guarantee your silence." "You do seem to have a problem." Kat shook her head. "We have a choice," she said. "You have a problem." Kat could feel his growing tension and agitation. "And what is your choice," asked Daniel Kat paused. "There are two ways to guarantee your silence. You could join us -- join with me -- as a consort." Daniel grew pale. "A consort? What do you mean?" "You would be bound to me for the rest of your life. It would be like a marriage, but one for which divorce is not an option." Despite the sense that they'd grown closer in the last few days, Kat now only felt aversion from him. She had hoped that the innocent intimacy they'd shared over the last few days would have been enough to sway him, but the look of disbelieving horror on his face revealed how badly she had misjudged him. Perhaps she'd been harboring her own hopes -- hopes that had blinded her to the nature of this particular mortal. She decided to lay it all out on the table. "You'd have to serve my master." "Sell my soul?" "I didn't say that it was a bargain," Kat snapped. Then more quietly, she said, "Frankly, I'm not worth it." "You said that you have two choices," he said bitterly. Kat took a deep breath. "It would be easy to make you disappear." Daniel's eyes widened. There it was. The possibility had become an ultimatum. "Kill me? You`re serious? You wouldn't." "I wouldn't. Others would." "But that's..." Her anger and frustration spilled out. "Illegal? Immoral? You'd be dead already if it weren't for me, you stupid boy. And in case you've forgotten, you're dealing with demons. Morality doesn't exactly figure greatly in our thoughts." "So you're asking me to choose between you and my God. There's really no choice, you know." "I know," said Kat. "I only thought it fair to lay out the options." *** There's really no choice. He repeated his words in his head that night while the house slept. They were brave words, and empty. Daniel turned on the bed. Kat had no idea how much it cost him to keep from throwing himself into her arms. Then again, perhaps she did. She had an uncanny way of knowing things and a knack of knocking away the underpinnings of his resolve and his faith. The cards were now on the table. Sell his soul or die. Enjoy earthly delights or the bliss of the eternal hereafter. The choice should have been easy but it was not. He thought of praying, but when had his prayers ever been answered? Maybe God wanted him to suffer these temptations and come out of it a stronger man. He doubted he could. If this was a test, he wasn't equal to it. A braver man would gladly martyr himself for his beliefs as countless individuals have before. But Daniel was not particularly brave, especially when courage would deny him the very thing he lusted for with every fiber of his being. Courage and martyrdom were great in the abstract and inspirational to read about, but in reality, they were cold and lonely things. Kat had given him a day or two to make up his mind. He hoped that it would be enough. *** Kat unlocked the door to the bedroom. Surprisingly, she looked as tired as Daniel felt. "I've been thinking about your proposal," he said. "And have you come to a decision?" "No." "A woman might be offended at the time this is taking," said Kat lightly, forcing a smile. "The fact that you have horns makes the decision more difficult." Kat turned to leave. "Come here please. Lie with me," said Daniel. She looked surprised, as though it was the last thing she'd expected of him. Then again, he was surprised too; the request had come to his lips unbidden. Kat returned and lay on the bed. God, but she was beautiful. Why did he tempt himself in this way? He placed his hand tentatively on the slope of her waist. It was the first time he had touched her consciously. She felt warm and wonderfully alive. "Can I ask you some questions?" "Ask me anything. I'll try to answer as completely as possible." "How old are you really?" "Twelve centuries or so..." "Centuries?" "Give or take." "You don't look a day over thirty." "Centuries?" Daniel laughed. It sounded good to hear him do so. "You know what I mean." He then blinked. "The things you must have seen." "Seen and done, Daniel. We weren't exactly spectators. We've shaped much of history." "The wars. The crusades...." Kat nodded. "The church had its crusades; we had ours." "I sometimes forget what you are. When we're here, like this, I can't imagine." He shook his head. It was almost impossible to reconcile the woman with whom he lay and the truth of what she was. "Have you ever killed anyone?" "Yes." Daniel looked pained. "Tell me." "I'll tell you of the last one. Before I came here to Germany. I killed a pedophile." In spite of himself, Daniel felt relieved as though sin were relative. "A priest," added Kat. "Daniel, I killed a priest who'd been abusing little boys." Daniel didn't know what to think. He had no sympathy for priests who abused the innocent. Death at the hands of a demon was perhaps a fitting, if strange justice. "What's it like being a demon?" he asked. It was such a simple question that it bordered on the stupid. He saw that her brow furrowed and it looked as though she were about to chastise him for his childishness. She gave him a rueful grin. "It's lonely," she said finally. "You're kidding." She looked at him. "I'm not." She took his hand and placed it on her left breast. Daniel was startled, yet this wasn't sexual and he intuitively understood it. His hand rested on her breast and she openly spoke with him in a way she'd never done before. "These days, people don't believe in our existence in any form let alone physical. We're caricatures in fiction, little more. People think of us -- if they think of us at all -- as some quaint throwback to ignorant times, a convenient excuse for the odd wet dream or rape or aberrant sexual practice. So we exist on the periphery, little more than a rumor." "I can see how that might be lonely," said Daniel, not believing that he could utter such words to a demon. "Your exorcist is entirely right -- disbelief is the devil's playground. Yet strangely, those who don't believe in the devil have no problem thinking that angels guard over them and that miracles actually do happen. But we do exist, and not just as some dark spirits that dwell in the bowels of the earth. You've seen that we're among you and not all of the work we do is possible in spirit form. Physical interaction is often more... immediate. Can you imagine if it became known that demons, in physical form, lived among mortals?" Damian tried to think of it. "Nothing would happen," said Kat. "A few marginalized priests would make life difficult for us, but in the end, nothing would happen because to the masses we don't exist. To put it another way, we're like the ancient gods who no longer have worshippers. They've ceased to exist as gods. "So we go about our business and it really doesn't matter. And in return, have nothing but the trappings of casual intimacy without the substance. And that's part of the reason that it's lonely." Daniel had started to pity her and could taste her loneliness. He gave his head a shake, remembering again what she was. "But you possess people. You can't deny it." Kat took a deep breath and then continued. " Possession is a misnomer. We don't possess anyone, but we do speak to their weaknesses and nudge them along certain paths. Whether we do this as a member of the community or as some spirit that comes in the night is irrelevant. In both cases we take and magnify what already exists and use it." Damian looked at her. She was right. She had used what already existed in him. She had recognized his weakness and had capitalized on it. She was the most sublime of predators. What had he been thinking? "Are you still taking advantage of me? My weakness. Are you nudging me even now?" "No." "I can't be sure of that, can I?" The magical closeness they had shared had evaporated. He rolled over on the bed, removing his hand from her breast, turning his back to her. He felt her leave the bed and, seconds later, heard the key turn in the lock. *** "Come to the kitchen. I'm tired of bringing food up for you and you're no doubt tired of being in here." For the first time in almost a week, he emerged from his room. "Everyone appears to be out," said Kat as she descended the stairs. Daniel stepped onto the main floor. The stairs opened to the foyer. There stood the front door. He could easily make a dash for it. Instead, he followed Kat to the back of the house to the kitchen. Satan's Whore Ch. 05 "Omelet?" asked Kat. He nodded and sat at the island. He watched her move around the kitchen with fluid, long-limbed grace. Today she wore worn jeans and a fitted t-shirt and stood by the stove in her bare feet. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she wore no make-up. Daniel had never seen anyone more beautiful. She chatted as she worked with the ingredients, mundane conversation, but Daniel largely ignored her words. The scene was so incongruously domestic, so strangely at odds with what Daniel knew of Kat and of his current predicament that he felt oddly unmoored. Here was a picture of life as it could be with this woman. Or was it truly an illusion? Could it really be this way? But she was a demon, he reminded herself. Kat placed the omelet before him and leaned against the island. "I'm not a good cook," she said. "Looks great," said Daniel, coming back to the present. Just then, the doorbell chimed, echoing through the large house. Kat stood stock-still. Their eyes met. Without a word, Kat left to answer the door. *** Canvas the street, but go softly with the residents of one large house in particular. Inspector Mueller shook his head as he walked up to the house in question and rang the doorbell. It had been an odd request. Go softly with the one real lead they had on the case of the missing seminarian. But if the chief wanted a soft approach, Inspector Mueller could do that. Orders were, after all, orders. Maybe the chief, ever inscrutable, had his reasons. Still, Mueller wondered who these people were that he should don the kid gloves. The door opened and the inspector forgot all about the chief and orders and kid gloves. Before him stood a girl -- correction, a woman -- of uncommon and, if he was honest about it, disarming beauty. He flashed his identification. The woman scarcely glanced at it, choosing to study him instead. He felt strangely self-conscious and exposed. "Frau...?" "Katarina. Katarina Regensburg." "I'm inspector Mueller. If I may impose, I'd like to ask a few questions." She invited him in and led him to the sitting room. Mueller walked in her wake, appreciating the play of her jean-clad buttocks and breathing the scent of an unfamiliar perfume. He wondered whether she wore a thong under her jeans. She looked like someone who could pull it off without looking pathetic. With some effort, he steeled himself against her beauty. He was a sucker for a beautiful woman, but above all, he was a professional. "How may I help you?" she asked when they were seated. She observed him with wide-eyed innocence. Her posture betrayed no tension at all. She was perfectly at ease, graceful even in repose. Her nipples, he saw, poked the thin fabric of her t-shirt. He noted that she wore no bra, and amended the insight with the conclusion that she needed no support garments. She had perky, gravity-defying breasts. He wondered idly whether they'd been enhanced. Either way, the world needed more women like this one. A little discomfited that his powers of observation had been hijacked by her breasts, he looked to her eyes and smiled. "I need to ask you some questions." *** Kat forced herself to relax. She sat with her back to the doorway, keenly aware that Daniel could appear at any moment. She studied the inspector, waiting for him to react to the apparition of the missing seminarian. "No doubt that you've heard of a certain young man who's gone missing." "Of course. It's in the papers." "We're asking questions of the residents of this street." "Just this street?" "Oh, well, others of course, but this street appears to have held some interest for the young man." "Curious. "Do you have any idea why?" "No idea, especially since there are many more notable streets in Heidelberg." "Indeed, but for some reason, the young man seemed to be interested in this one. Allow me to tell you, in confidence, that the young man performed an internet search on this street shortly before he disappeared." The police officer scrutinized her. "I'm sure that he had his reasons." Kat sat and waited. She was sure that the inspector wanted her to provide some opinions and that he allowed the silence to continue in the hopes that she would fill it. "Is that all, inspector?" "I've also learned that a young man accosted you some days ago on the Zwingerstrasse." "Something like that did occur. Are you suggesting that this young man and the seminarian are one and the same?" "It crossed my mind." "Then I must say that the photograph in the paper bore little resemblance to the boy who accosted me in the street. Is that really the best likeness you could provide the media? I'd be surprised if his own mother could have recognized him from that photo." "We've had some difficulty in obtaining a recent photograph. What of the young man?" "As you said, a young man did accost me on the street. Judging by his accent, he was American, so he could very well have been your missing seminarian. As it happens, it was a case of mistaken identity and we quickly resolved the issue. Perhaps he had ulterior motives; I cannot say. I haven't seen him since." "It's curious that this stranger, as you put it, would approach you and disappear shortly thereafter." Kat shrugged. "I wish I could help you." The inspector sat back and closed his eyes, momentarily lost in thought. At that moment, his cell phone rang. "Mueller," he barked into it. Kat didn't bother to pretend that she wasn't listening. "Yes... No... You're kidding... Has there been any contact? Yes... Yes... Very well...." The inspector closed his phone and stood. "I'm afraid that I must return to the station," he said. "Of course, I may need to contact you again." "Of course. Has something happened?" The inspector hesitated before answering her question. Finally, he shrugged and said, "The boy appears to have been traced to Barcelona." "That's a relief." "Perhaps," said the inspector, frowning. Kat willed him to leave. The detective inclined his head. "I'll be in touch." *** Once outside, the inspector walked quickly to his car, impatient to return to the station. This Spanish sighting was too convenient and there remained a host unanswered questions, foremost among them the fact that the seminarian's browsing history not only included this street, but this particular address. If it was true that the young man had found his way to Spain, Mueller hoped that it was no more than a tryst with some Catalan vixen. In that case, the inspector wished him well despite the trouble his disappearance had caused. Given the choice between a life of celibacy and the arms of a hot-blooded Spaniard, he knew which he'd choose. Particularly if that woman looked like Katarina Regensburg. *** Kat closed the door and slumped against it. She let out a deep, shuddering breath. She'd been on tenterhooks the whole time the inspector had been in the house. She'd expected Daniel to materialize in the sitting room at any moment. Yet he hadn't. Daniel entered the foyer, looking as shocked as she felt. "You heard?" she asked. "Yes. All of it." "You could have spoken up. You could have announced yourself. Why didn't you?" "I don't know." They regarded each other for a moment. "Stockholm syndrome?" asked Kat. "I don't know." "Or is it more than that?" "I.... Perhaps." "You could have freed yourself of me." Daniel nodded. With a look of profound sadness, he said, "I guess I've made my choice." Kat approached him slowly. He stepped into her arms and she returned the embrace and the two of them stood in the foyer for a long while. At length Kat disengaged from him and, taking his hand, let him up the stairs. "Where are we going?" asked Daniel. "My room." Kat stood in the center of the room and Daniel remained at the doorway as though afraid of taking another step. The late afternoon sun that shone through the window bathed her in brilliant light, casting her shadow on the wall. She gestured for him to approach and slowly, he did. He stood before her and his hands moved to the gentle curve where her waist met her hips. His eyes seemed to beg for permission. She withheld it. If he wanted her, he would have to take her. And at that moment, she wanted nothing more. As strange as it was, she wanted this large, confused, guileless American to take her. He lowered his head and kissed her, a strangely old-fashioned and proper kiss. "Do you want me?" she asked. "Yes." "I'm yours." He hesitated. Then gradually, his hands found the bottom of her t-shirt and he raised it in increments, as though expecting her or his conscience or his god to stop him at any moment. Finally he pulled it up and over her head. He took a step back and drank in the sight of her. Kat was well used to being observed with undisguised lust. This was different. "You're beautiful," he whispered. This too she had heard, though she couldn't recollect when those words had last been uttered by someone fully awake, let alone someone who knew her true nature. He extended his hand and tentatively brushed the slope of her breast with the backs of his fingers, and then ran his touch over her nipple and down her breast's tender convex base. Her skin tingled at his touch. With something that approached reverence, he bent and kissed first one nipple and then the other, cupping each breast in a trembling hand as he did so. His hands fell to her jeans and again hesitated. At length he undid the button. With a shimmy of her hips, her jeans fell to the floor and she stepped out of them. She placed her hands on his chest and stepped back. Completely naked and unashamed, she did a slow turn in front of him. This is what I am, she felt like saying. All this and more. Think before you take the next step. He approached and steered her to the bed. It felt good to have someone's hands on her skin, someone who knew fully who she was and nonetheless touched her willingly. She closed her eyes and soaked up the sensation, far richer and more subtle that anything that would sustain her. He explored her with growing confidence as she lay naked upon the bed. His lips replaced his hands and his tongue replaced his lips as he roamed from her face to her breasts to her navel. He rebuffed her attempts to reciprocate, content to navigate her at his leisure. He lingered at the ring that pierced her clitoris, kissing the area where the hard metal penetrated her most tender flesh, then drawing both the metal and flesh into his mouth and laving both with his tongue. He played with her. He was inexpert, but that did nothing to diminish his desire and her arousal. His tongue flicked repeatedly against the pearl of her clitoris, sending jolts of pleasure to her core. His fingers sought the warmth of her pussy and explored it. He lingered in those spots that caused her to moan and quickly learned the best way to stroke and lick and when gentleness should give way to force. Soon she arched her back and a moan erupted from her. He withdrew in alarm. Kat grabbed his head and returned it to where it had been. Another lesson learned. He resumed his actions and it wasn't long before Kat once again crested the wave and slowly tipped over it, shuddered in blessed release even as another wave approached. It felt as though she had sailed a storm of waves when she finally gasped, "Okay!" Instead of simply stopping, he sat back, still occupying the space between her legs, and stroked her body. Despite her post-release lassitude, her nerves fired at his touch. When it seemed as though there was no inch of her that had escaped his attentions, he lay back beside her. Somewhere along the line he had removed his clothing. When had that happened? thought Kat. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at this," he said sheepishly. "You did great," she whispered. "Better than great. Fantastic." "Just so you know that you're dealing with a beginner. Especially with the other thing." "Other thing?" "You know..." Ah, thought Kat. The big thing. "It's like riding a bike." "What if you've never ridden a bike?" "You're kidding?" Daniel blushed. "It's not as though I've never looked at a bike or imagined riding one or anything..." Kat grinned. "It's okay." "I bet I'm the only one my age who's never ridden a bike." "Probably not," she said, laughing. "But I am likely to fall." The grin faded from Kat's face. "Yes. You'll almost certainly fall." Daniel fell silent. "You can reconsider this," said Kat. "I'm not forcing you." Daniel reached out and rolled her on top of him. "I'm forcing you," said Daniel. Kat straddled him. His cock nestled lengthwise, framed within the furrows of her pussy. He was more than ready. She leaned back on her arms and swiveled her hips to run her wetness from the base of his cock to its tip. He felt good against her, hard, vibrant, and wholly aware. She moved forward and leaned over him and brushed her lips against his. Her hair fell forward, curtaining their faces and diffusing the light. She lowered herself slightly onto him and the crown of his cock breached the slick tenderness of her pussy. Then she stopped. "Last chance," she whispered to him. His eyes widened and locked on hers. No words. She descended upon him. His energy, the energy that Kat would not consume, nonetheless seeped into her as she swallowed his turgid length. She traced his inexorable passage within her, inch after delicious inch, as much by growing sense of being filled as by the intensity of the arousal that flowed from him. When she could descend no further and gripped his entire length within her, he let out the breath he'd been holding. "So that's what it's all about," he gasped. "That's part of it," she whispered. She remained there for a moment, labia kissing the root of his cock and every muscle within her straining to embrace him. At length she raised her hips until only his head remained embedded within her and then described a deliberate circle with her hips. "Oh God," he moaned. She descended on him again, swallowing his slick length, grasping him tightly in the most intimate of embraces. She moved slowly, relishing each thrust and withdrawal, and soared with the knowledge that she lay with one who gave himself consciously and voluntarily. She closed herself to the energy that was hers for the taking, concentrating instead on the glorious sensation for its own sake. He fondled her breasts as she rode him. She heard his breath come in short gasps and could feel him tense. She increased the pace of her thrusts, watching him all the while, not wanting to miss this for the world. He came with a shuddering moan. She felt as spasm after spasm of warmth and life jetted within her. "I'm sorry," he gasped when he had no more to give. "Shh. It was beautiful." Moments later they lay side by side. His arm wound protectively around her waist while the other stroked the outside of her breast. Afterglow. That's what mortals called it, and for once she could enjoy this foreign intimacy at her leisure. "Any regrets?" she asked. "Some," he admitted. "They're far away now." "Good." After a while she slid down his torso until her face aligned with his hips. "I'm about to show you some magic." Daniel looked alarmed. Kat grinned. "Nothing demonic. Just watch." She held the base of his cock in a tight ring formed by her thumb and index finger. She looked at him, confirmed that he was watching, and then ran her tongue up his length. She tasted her musk on him and the saltiness of his release. Her tongue ran the circumference of his head and she could feel him thickening again. Her lips wrapped around him and her tongue caressed the contours of his crown. She took her time coaxing him back to life. He was young and there was no doubt he would rise again. There was no hurry and no pressure today. That would come, she knew. Today they would simply enjoy. Soon he was ready again and Kat reclined on her back, bent her legs, and held her arms out for him. "Your turn," she murmured. "Missionary?" he asked. She nodded. "It's a kink of mine." He smiled and positioned himself between her legs. He entered her slowly and gazed at her as he did so. There was desire in his eyes and perhaps some confusion and relief. For good or ill, the step had been taken today. Most of all, she recognized something she hadn't seen for longer than she could remember. Tenderness, yet more. He smiled and she recognized the kindling of love. She opened herself to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He filled her and she pulled his head to hers. He kissed her with such a hunger that it took her breath away. *** Thanks for reading. As always, I appreciate your feedback. Satan's Whore Ch. 06 Daniel awoke in Kat's bed. Her slender arm draped across his chest and her breath tickled the well between his neck and shoulder. The events of the previous day came back to him in a rush. The memories were like pictures rather than movies, but then, memories were like that. Pictures of the perfection of Kat's body, pictures of him entering her, pictures of Kat after it all, sleepy and relaxed and beautiful, and -- though he couldn't quite wrap his head around it -- his. Daniel realized that he didn't feel guilty. There was a slight sense of loss but a greater sense of relief. He had given himself voluntarily to a succubus. He couldn't believe it, but it felt right. Kat stirred. He took a deep breath, relishing the simple pleasure of having the warm body of a woman beside him. But she's not a woman, he reminded himself, not really. He pushed the thought away. There would be time enough to come to terms with that. "Good morning," she mumbled sleepily. "You've bewitched me," he said. Kat nestled into him. "No," she said simply. He believed her. They lay unmoving for several minutes. She was fully awake now. Her fingertips stroked his chest, drawing lazy figures there. He stroked her back. Neither of them, it seemed, wanted to break the spell. "What now?" he asked finally. Kat perched her head on her elbow and regarded him for a moment. "I have to ask, but do you submit to being bound to me?" It was Daniel's turn to hesitate. He tried to imagine what life would be like after uttering the word that played on the tip of his tongue. One night of sin was one thing, but a lifetime? What would be the consequences? Would he be forever damned? Was he willing to risk that for her? "Yes." Kat was surprised at the tears that sprang to her eyes. Some demon, she thought. "Thank you." She took his head in her hands and kissed him. "Now's the hard part. Daniel, I'll try to protect you as much as I can from what I am and what I do, but you must never forget either of those things. It will be hard on you, harder than anything you've done." It might tear you apart, Kat almost said, but the look on Daniel's face stilled her tongue. "Can I try to forget for a little while longer?" he said as he reached for her. "I'd like that." *** Both Kat and Daniel turned to the door at the sound of running feet in the hallway. The door burst open. "Kat! Daniel's...." Jean-Paul rushed into Kat's room and then stopped in his tracks. He looked momentarily confused as he took in the scene before him. Then he smiled at the rumpled figures in the bed. "Good morning, Jean-Paul," said Kat. "Good morning, I apologize for my intrusion." Jean-Paul placed a wallet on the dresser. "I apologize as well for taking your wallet, Daniel. It was necessary. You'll be reimbursed." "What?" Kat thought that Jean-Paul had been avoiding her. God knew that enough animosity had arisen between them of late. Now she realized that he'd been several steps ahead of events. "Jean-Paul has been to Spain," explained Kat. "With my wallet?" "He's been laying a false trail. Buying us some time." "Ah," said Daniel. Jean-Paul turned and made to exit the room. "My own enjoyment of Spain notwithstanding, I'm glad that my efforts were not in vain." He winked as he closed the door behind him. *** The sun had set. Daniel had been returned to his room with instructions not to leave it. His door was no longer locked. He didn't understand what was happening. Kat didn't want him to know and he had enough sense not to press her. Kat stood naked before the mirror and remembered what Isabel had told her a few hours earlier. "You must feed. You must be strong for what is to come. You must sate yourself until you feel that you can absorb no more and then continue. When the city writhes and moans under the thrall of carnal dreams and lascivious thoughts, you know you will be ready." Kat thought Isabel's description a bit exaggerated, but felt a little frisson of anxiety nonetheless. She'd forgo the pleasure of materializing in physical form tonight; she didn't have time. Tonight she would occupy dreams only. She would appropriate as many of them as possible and twist them to her purposes. She would be very busy. She would feed like never before. With a deep breath, she shimmered and vanished from her bedroom. She floated above the city and projected the promise of dark pleasures to it. The response came back almost immediately -- feelings of desperation, hopeless yearning, and unsatisfied lust. She picked the most ardent of these responses and willed herself there. A middle-aged man -- a life-long bachelor if Kat had to guess -- writhed on the bed in a shabby one-bedroom flat. She approached him and spoke into his dream. "Tonight I'm yours if you want me." Sadly, it was a line that he'd likely never heard before in real life and it got his attention. His movements on the bed stilled. "You can do whatever you want," she said. She insinuated herself into his dreams as a raven-haired temptress and he responded. She straddled him. There was no time and little need for foreplay. He entered her. Years of unwanted abstinence spurred him. On the threshold of climax, she revealed herself as an old hag, a wrinkled old crone more dead than alive. Lust and dread combined and she drank it up. The lonely man had satisfied her immediate appetite. She felt full and powerful, but she heeded Isabel's words. She left him thrashing and whimpering on the bed with the ghost of his dream and projected once again to the city. Her next target was a jail. An inmate awaiting trial dreamt of the girlfriend he'd beaten. He was sure that she wouldn't testify. She loved him, after all, and feared him as well. The girlfriend came to him then, naked as he liked her. Her large breasts swayed and wobbled as she approached. He liked that too, the way her breasts hung on her. She knelt at his side and fished his cock out of his pants. She was learning. Spontaneity, that's what it was all about. Nothing better than an unplanned blowjob. He liked surprises as much as anyone. Her technique was getting better too. Hands and mouth, just like he'd told her. She'd overcome her fucking gag reflex too. About time. Who had to gag after taking in one lousy inch? She didn't gag when she put a French fry in her mouth, for fuck's sake. It was a lame excuse if he'd ever heard one. She'd gotten over that, he saw, big time. He loved the way her cheeks sucked in as she went down on him. And she moaned as though she loved it. Well, she ought to love it! Holy shit, she was right down on him! Her nose touched his abdomen and he could feel her tongue undulating along his entire length. He couldn't believe it! He felt that familiar tingling behind his balls as her head bobbed up and down on him. His homely girlfriend had become a fucking porn star. The pressure built. I've got something for you, baby. Oh, yeah! I'm gonna blow. Just before climax, he felt a searing pain from his nether regions. Leave it to the bitch to fuck it up at the last minute. He looked down. First, he noticed that the woman between his legs was no longer his girlfriend, but someone infinitely prettier. Then he noticed the blood that ran down her pretty little chin. He came, and saw a feeble spurt from the bloody stump where his cock had been. The inmate awoke with a yelp, but not before Kat had drunk her fill from him. She watched as his hands reached for his groin, frantically grappling. "Oh, fuck," he whimpered. "Thank God." Satisfied that all was still intact, the inmate muttered something that Kat didn't understand and rolled over. In another house, she approached a father. She wore the guise of his daughter. Normally he would steal into her room. Not this time. This time, she visited him. She hitched up her nightie and straddled him. He was ready, by God. "Daddy," she whispered as she descended on him. He could feel her warmth enveloping him and felt himself coming already. Damn it. They'd just started. He'd be better the next time. "Daddy, you shouldn't do these things," she said as he came. He knew. God, he knew, but he couldn't help it. "This is the last time. Good-bye." He felt a searing pain in his chest and his eyes sprang open. He half-expected to see the handle of a knife rising out of his chest, but there was nothing. He saw only his daughter, writhing upon him, dancing with such abandon that he almost didn't recognize her. "This is the last time, Daddy." She held out her hand and appeared to clutch some invisible object. Her fingers tightened around it and that chest pain bloomed again. He came as her grip on his heart tightened. He awoke in a sweat. His daughter wasn't there, but the pain in his chest still was. Kat spent the whole night like this, flitting from one location to another, gorging herself until she felt as though she would spew it all over the unsuspecting city. And still she continued until her being positively thrummed with energy. She could scarcely contain it. Just when she thought she'd call it a night, she thought of Isabel's words. Then she thought of Daniel for whom all of this was necessary. Then she'd project once more, select a target, and begin the dance once again. *** The police in and around Heidelberg reported an inexplicable spike in the numbers of rapes and assaults that night. The morning shift came to work to find the jails filled with many who were no strangers to state accommodation and an equal number who were. The citizens of the city returned to their offices and job sites complaining of exhaustion and strange dreams, though few revealed their nature. People opined that sunspots were to blame, some pointed to the weather, and others suggested some kind of environmental catastrophe that the state had no doubt covered up. Most remained silent, hoping that this blip was just that and that life would soon return to its predictable pattern. Kat slept through the confusion and turmoil that she`d wrought. *** Daniel stood alone in a bedroom in the basement. A heavy, wooden four-poster bed occupied the center of the room. Thick white candles seemed to grow out of ages of molten wax that hung like stalactites from tall iron holders. Their flickering light provided the room's only illumination. In their glow, the figures on ancient wall hangings seemed to dance. Daniel walked around the room and examined them. He could discern Heidelberg Castle on one, before its partial destruction. In the foreground, dancing demons cavorted with naked peasants. There was violence and fornication and all manner of depravity. It had been several hours since Isabel had summoned Daniel from his room. He knew that she, like Kat, was a succubus. He liked Isabel immediately and felt at ease in her presence. She explained some of what would happen tonight and reviewed with him the words she had asked him to memorize. Finally, she asked if he was still willing. He'd only nodded but she forced him to speak the word. Satisfied that he was ready, she led him to a bedroom in the basement and asked him to undress and wait. "What's going to happen?" he'd asked. "There's little precedence for this, Daniel." She'd kissed him then and closed the door behind her. He felt more lonely now than at any point during his captivity. He thought of praying for strength, but realized that that particular avenue was now closed to him. Daniel examined the room several times. The floor was made of rough stone. The light wasn't good enough to see, but under his bare feet Daniel could feel symbols etched into it. He grew tired and, having little else to do, lay on the bed. His anxiety about what was to come gradually waned until he fell into a fitful slumber. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but some subtle change in the atmosphere of the room roused him. He looked around for its source and soon noted a shimmering in a darkened corner of the room. The disturbance in the air resolved itself into the form of Kat. He`d never seen her do this before and gazed at her in amazement. Her skin bore an umber hue, seemingly lit from within. The air around her seemed charged. She stepped into the faint light of one of the candles. Like him, she wore nothing. Her allure was at once breathtaking and unspeakably terrible. She took an unhurried step toward him, one muscular and shapely leg placed before the other. The ring between her legs glinted for a moment in the candlelight. He could see muscles flexing, coiling and uncoiling. He noted the elegance of her waist, the ripeness of her breasts. Her wings unfurled behind her with the sound of silk against skin. She observed him with those dark eyes that seemed ringed by embers and the corners of her mouth lifted in a tentative smile. Her horns, cold and white, rose above her head like a crown. He'd seen her in her true form several times before, but always through the veil of sleep. He'd always appreciated her unearthly power, but had never felt it as he did now. Here was a creature forged for one thing and he could do nothing to withstand it. Here was the architect of his corruption and he wanted her. "Kat," he whispered. She reached the bed and placed a trembling hand on his cheek. Daniel could feel her energy. The air around her almost popped with it. He took strength from her simple touch, knowing that whatever else might happen, it spoke louder than words. "I'm scared," Daniel said. "Be brave," said Kat, allowing her hands to fall and grasp his. Daniel couldn't be sure, but he thought that he could detect a note of apprehension from her. Kat sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. She held his hands on the warmth of her lap. Into the silence she spoke the words that Daniel had been taught. In unison, they uttered the words that would begin the binding. "I beseech you, dark spirit of the underworld and specters of hell, in the name of Lucifer, to witness the willing sacrifice of God's lamb on the altar of your dread power. Come and inhabit this creature of God and displace from him the light, and through him work your dark designs upon the world." That was the first verse. The words tumbled off of his tongue like a foreign language and it was strange and frightening to hear his voice uttering them. Daniel opened his eyes and looked around the room, as if expecting the dark lord himself to have made an appearance. Nothing had changed. He was still on the bed, the candle light still flickered, and a heartbreakingly beautiful succubus still held his hands. "That wasn't so bad," he whispered, half to himself. His gaze rested finally on Kat. She only smiled as she pushed him back on the bed. *** Such purity and innocence, thought Kat. She knew that he found her beautiful, but it was a beauty designed for one sole purpose. His beauty was all the more vital and rare for having been a quirk of fate. Moreover, it was a treasure and for the purity of the soul that matched it. And tonight she would take half of what he was. She traced the contours of his body with the lightest of touches, as if committing them to memory. Face, shoulders, chest, and abdomen. He lay still through it except for the occasional squirm when she tickled him. Her heart thumped in her chest as she slid down his body, hugging it as a climber would a rock face, afraid that any loss of contact would prove fatal. "With this embrace," she whispered, "I bind you." His eyes sprang open and he stiffened at the words, as if surprised that it had begun. She gave him a look that was meant to reassure him. Part of him was ready for her. She grasped him in her hand. Tonight she would consume him. Tonight she would taste the essence of him that she'd denied herself until now. Her lips parted and she ran the crown of his shaft against them and the tip of her tongue. Her other hand cradled the delicate weight of his testicles. She opened herself to him, welcoming his agitation and lust. Though she'd never consciously sought nourishment from him, his taste was delectable and somehow familiar. She licked the smooth contours of his head, already hard with arousal. His energy seeped into her. She didn't think that she had room for more, but it swirled into her nonetheless. Her lips closed around him and he moaned. So hard and vital, she thought, this boy who chose to sacrifice himself for her. She slid his entire length into her mouth. "Oh, God," he gasped. She withdrew. "God is not in this place," she said. She squeezed his balls. "I am." At another time, this statement might have sounded playful; at this moment though, it seemed to rise out of uncharted depths. Daniel's head fell back again. Kat could feel his body winding up, responding to her. She could also feel the humming of his agitated thoughts. This is good, thought Kat as her mouth embraced him again. His breathing came in gasps now. He felt solid and ripe against her tongue and lips and throat. She fondled his balls and stroked his perineum. It was almost as though his flesh could no longer contain him. With a moan that could have been ecstasy or anguish -- she didn't know which -- his body convulsed and he jetted his hot seed into her throat. She moaned in counterpoint as the energy of his gift suffused her. Her mouth milked him and she savored each delectable drop. *** She kissed him, a strangely tender gesture after she'd so voraciously consumed him. "On your knees," she whispered. His limbs felt like rubber. He concentrated and managed to coordinate his body enough to rise. He knelt before Kat and wrapped his arms around her waist. She pressed her chest to his. He could feel her heartbeat. Her wings swept forward and around, wrapping them both in a warm cocoon. "Hearken..." said Kat. Daniel had drifted in the comfort of Kat's embrace. The beginning of the second verse brought him back. He concentrated, trying to remember the words, and continued the verse with Kat, speaking the words into her ear. "Hearken therefore, and rejoice in the victory of darkness and renunciation of the light, you enemy of the faith, you champion of knowledge, you spirit of seduction, you instigator of sin, you author of venality, you fomenter of disquiet, you architect of corruption." Kat's wings opened and released him. He sat on his haunches and watched as Kat reached both hands between her legs and pressed her fingers there. They glistened wetly when she removed them. She reached for his still erect member, anointing it with her juices. With a slight smile, she turned and rested on her hands and knees before him. Daniel shook his head at this impossible vision. The perfect hourglass figure from which extended two long, delicate, white wings. She arched her back and presented to him the fullness of her ass and the glistening pussy. He approached her and placed his hands on her hips. His cock touched the ring that pierced her clitoris. He wanted to plow into her. He wanted to claim her. He wanted to fuck her. He felt her fingers on him and she moved away a little. She lifted him and positioned him at the unyielding button of her anus. "There?" He recoiled at this aberrant practice, this dirty thing, this sin. Part of him wanted to pull away but another part kept him in place. Welcome to Sodom, he thought to himself. In answer, she pressed against him. Instead of retreating, he found himself meeting her. Her hands grasped her cheeks and spread them. She bore more firmly against him and it felt as though she would never yield. He slipped against her and she returned him to the desired spot. It was painful, it was electrifying. Finally, he breached the resistance and his head entered her. The embrace she offered was delirious in its pressure. Satan's Whore Ch. 06 She said, "With this embrace I bind you." This first taste was invitation enough. He worked his cock in and out of this forbidden place that stretched impossibly to accommodate him. With every thrust he buried himself more deeply within her. Each thrust yielded a gasp from her, which only emboldened him. Her fingers clenched the bed sheets as he plowed into her ass, groaning in pleasure at the incredible constriction she offered. He abused himself within the confines of her, burying himself until he could go no further and then withdrawing. "Fuck me," she cried. He reached forward and grasped her horns. With a violence that hardly registered, he pulled her head back and plunged into her. Her back arched and she shrieked, whether in pain or pleasure he didn't know. Nor did he care. He pulled on her horns as he pushed with his pelvis, seeking penetration where there could be no more. Her hands found his ass and pulled him to her. Her fingernails scrabbled against him and raked his flesh, digging angry furrows. She met his fury with her own, grinding against him and gripping him painfully. His hands left her horns and wrapped around her torso, holding her back to his chest as he pressed. He pressed his mouth to her neck and bit her there, hardly aware that he was doing so. His body obeyed no rules that he recognized. He occupied her forbidden places and he thrilled at it. He tasted her blood and it was good. He caused her pain and reveled in it. All the while, he felt himself being drawn into her in ways more than physical and blossomed in that space she provided. He realized then that he was coming. His hands grasped her breasts and pulled her to him. He came as though his body sought to empty itself within her. *** He collapsed on her back, completely spent. "Daniel." Kat flipped him off her back and he landed heavily on the bed. "One more, Daniel. Just one more." He couldn't respond beyond shaking his head. Kat's eyes blazed with renewed intensity. The room seemed to hum with her energy. She was terrible to behold at that moment, feral and predatory, but he was beyond fear. "You must," she growled. When he didn't respond, she grabbed him by the waist and lifted him off the bed. He dimly registered her strength but could do little to help her. She carried him across the room and leaned him against the wall. He managed to stay upright. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and lust. With an angry jerk, she pulled one of the tapestries from the wall, revealing a dark alcove in which stood a construction made of rough, dark timber. It was shaped like the letter T. Leather straps hung from the three points. She maneuvered him to the construction and tied his wrists and ankles to it. He managed to stand and feebly tested the restraints. He was baby-weak and limp. His head hung down and he regarded his cock with dim amazement. He could have laughed. He could barely bear his own weight yet his cock stood out proud and erect. She kissed him again. "Last one, Daniel. Please stay with me. Please." It sounded to Daniel that she was begging. His head lolled on his shoulders and he giggled. "We're almost there. Come on, say it with me. 'Know that..." Daniel couldn't remember the words. They seemed far away, illegible in the distance. "Daniel. Daniel! Repeat after me." Kat seemed genuinely desperate and concerned. There was a trickle of blood running down her neck. How had that happened? Her eyes were wide and she was shaking. No, that wasn't right. She wasn't shaking. He was. She was shaking him. She was very pretty, he realized, as though for the first time. Shame about the horns though. The wings were kind of weird but pretty too in their own way. She was yelling at him. He didn't like yelling, particularly if it was directed at him. "Huh?" "Daniel, remember the words you learned?" "Know that?" "Yes, those. Can you repeat them with me?" Sure, he thought. If it'll stop the yelling. And so he repeated the words that she wanted to hear. She had a pretty voice. "Know that this soul willingly submits to be bound, and that with the completion of the third embrace shall it be bound, until death and beyond, to you and to your servant, for ever and ever." Daniel hung from the frame, pondering the third embrace. He could barely move his arms, so how could he embrace anything? Then he remembered that he'd been tied up. Kat stood before him now. She looked taller; then Daniel realized that he was sagging, hanging from his arms. He thought of standing up again, but then felt something delightful and warm against his chafed and erect cock. That was good. He liked that. "With this embrace I bind you." He could barely feel it as she plunged upon him. The last station of that unholy trinity -- he thought as he drifted away -- mouth and ass and molten cunt. *** Kat plunged upon him. She knew that she didn't have a lot of time but was nonetheless surprised when she felt a gradual slackening in Daniel. No, she cried to herself, not now! She grasped his shoulders and dug her nails into his flesh. Too soon. Blood trickled from his shoulders and down his chest. Her preparations hadn't included what would happen if the ritual could not be completed, but she knew that it wouldn't be good. "Please, Daniel, stay with me." She hugged him to her and allowed some of her energy to flow to him. Just a trickle. It was too soon for more. He moaned then, a faraway sound that grew louder with each desperate thrust. A gasp announced the third and final ejaculation. She felt it and rejoiced. *** He dimly felt the pressure of her against around his cock. He felt the leather that bound his wrists and ankles. He felt himself coming, but it really didn't mean anything. He drifted. It was like falling asleep, but different. He was awake and sleeping, if that was possible. In fact, he felt pretty alert. More alert than before. He looked around. He couldn't see the room anymore and Kat wasn't around. It was just black and quiet and kind of peaceful except for that noise in the distance. It sounded like a whistle on a kettle. He was surprised. It was pretty faint but getting louder. Who would have a kettle going in this darkness? The whistle got louder and was starting to irritate him. Then the strands of the whistling kind of untangled and became separate noises, separate whistles, and each one got louder. They sounded like shrieks -- long, sustained shrieks. It felt like his head was going to explode. It got louder still and then he realized that he had added his voice to this unearthly choir. His shriek rose in pitch. *** Daniel hung limp from the straps that held him. His head lolled and spittle hung from his lips. Kat grasped both sides of his head. He wasn't breathing. "Oh no," she wailed. All of the energy she'd stored in herself she now poured into the lifeless form of Daniel. "Come back," she whispered. She clung to him as the last of his seed trickled down her leg. "Come back." Her wings wrapped him to her ever more tightly and her fingernails dug into his lifeless flesh. Nothing. "Come back, damn you!" she shrieked. If she could have pulled him into her, she would have. With one last surge, she sacrificed it all, heedless of the consequences. The last ounce of stored energy seeped into him, and then some of her own. She felt her own grip on him weakening. She felt herself falling. She gazed up at Daniel from the floor. With a shudder, Daniel inhaled. His chest rose and then fell. For another moment, nothing happened. And then his chest rose again. Kat wept. "You're back." But beside the sound of his breathing, Daniel didn't respond. And Kat knew no more. *** Kat sat on a bench. She'd been with Daniel since waking up with him the following morning. She'd found herself in bed with him and had stayed there in silent vigil for the better part of the week. Kat relived that night countless times, trying to pinpoint where things had gone wrong. For the life of her she couldn't, but then, there was no manual for what she had tried to do. Isabel scoured the informal network of demons in an attempt to discover a way of reversing Daniel's condition, but to no avail. Now as then, Daniel remained alive, but only his breathing and the beating of his heart suggested life. He was hers and he was alive, but he was merely a shell now. Kat more than anyone should have known that there could be no deal with the devil. She could imagine the laughter in Hell at her predicament -- leaving her the shell of a lover in exchange for his beautiful soul. Finally Isabel had to push Kat out of the house. "I'll watch him. Go outside!" An old man sat next to her on the bench. "Things like this don't come without a cost, Katarina." She started and turned to the man. Only this was no man, she realized with a gasp. "Asmodeus." "Would you like a mint?" asked Asmodeus, shaking a box of candies. Kat didn't understand. "I'm trying to quit smoking," said the king of the demons. "Terrible habit. Of course, now I'll have to quit mints. Do you smoke?" "Off and on. Depends on where I am." She couldn't believe this conversation. "Ah," said Asmodeus. "Just so." Kat was apprehensive. No one, mortal or demon, just chatted with Asmodeus. "You look unwell," he said. "Are you eating enough?" She looked at him as though he were from another planet. "You fucking well know what's going on," she hissed. "Of course. Your pet. Tragic." "Daniel is no pet." The old man raised his bushy eyebrows. "I detect some sorrow? Anger perhaps? I'd certainly be both sad and angry." Kat seethed and with some difficulty managed to stay silent and still. "I imagine you'd like nothing more than to have him return to normal?" "Of course I would." "There would be a cost." "There always is." "Quite so," said Asmodeus. "We will be calling upon you to perform a special service." The old man took a deep breath. "The pendulum is swinging back and we must move with it. If you accept the service, we will restore your... Daniel. If you do not..." The man shrugged. "What is this service?" Asmodeus placed a hand on her thigh, high enough that his pinkie brushed the crease between leg and pubis. "There's time enough for that. We must wait for the right conditions. We need only know that you have agreed for this service." "Do I have a choice?" "Yes, but in the end, not really." "Very well. I agree." Asmodeus nodded and rose with an affected groan, befitting his aged disguise. "Goodbye, Katarina von Regensburg. I'll be in touch. You'll find that Daniel has quite recovered. Enjoy him while you can." Kat watched him totter down the path, tipping his hat to a pair of septuagenarian widows. She was surprised at her reaction. Rather than fear or anger, she was calm, perhaps even a little happy. She'd been given a gift. Days, weeks, or months -- it didn't matter -- during which she would have Daniel. Days, weeks, or months before payment was due. She rose to return to the house. It was a gift. She would make the most of it. *** Kat entered the kitchen in a rush. Isabel sat at the kitchen table watching Daniel wolf down his breakfast. A wondering smile played on her lips. "Kat!" exclaimed Daniel when he saw her. Isabel shot Kat a questioning glance. Kat shrugged and said, "We'll talk later." Isabel nodded and excused herself. "What happened?" asked Daniel. "You don't remember?" Daniel shook his head. Perhaps just as well, thought Kat. "Are you okay?" He looked perhaps a little pale and drawn, but otherwise exuded strength and health. "I don't feel any different," said Daniel, smiling shyly. "Except now it seems that I can do this without feeling guilty." He stood and took her in his arms. Kat laughed when they finally separated. "I'm glad for that." "What now?" Good question, thought Kat. They were both in thoroughly uncharted territory. "I suppose we can get to know each other better," she ventured. "I think we'd better start then." "Oh?" He grinned with something that looked like lasciviousness. "Okay," she said. With that, he scooped her up and easily carried her up the stairs to her room. It wasn't a threshold, she thought as she rested her head on his shoulder, but she could live with it. *** This is the last chapter in this series, but I hope to revisit the characters again in the future. Thanks for reading and for your comments. --KT