The Celestial Bet

[Luna_Wolf72]

Of course, he had to talk. Not talking was like asking the ONE to hold the sun at the horizon so a person could sleep a few more hours. It would be improbable and close to impossible for the arrogant beast. Dahmia knew it and ignored his words. It was a play to raise her ire. Nothing more. She settled herself, adjusting her balance onto the balls of her host's feet, making it easier to dart out of the way, if he chose to come at her.

She heard mention of Jerusalem and wondered WHY he had traveled that far for a weapon. Was it something that could do real harm to her? Something inimical, more so than his normal weapon of choice? Would it harm her just by contacting the shell that housed her?

'Fuck it. Don't stress it. Not important.'

The thought came and went. Dahmia couldn't force herself to worry on what might be, not when he was coming toward her with all the force of a freight train. Her sword rose with unerring speed. Guard position. She didn't reach for him, never even moved. He would have to bring the fight to her.

And he did so, sword striking gleaming metal hard enough to throw sparks. Dahmia moved back and to the right, her sword moving with precision, keeping her throat and upper body well protected, knocking each of his feinting strikes away, while she gauged his speed and dexterity. She knew he was holding back. She just didn't know why.

"You are beginning to bore me, Ruumel."

Dahmia went on the attack, dropping her sword for just a moment to cut diagonally, at his leg. The demon darted backward, regained his footing, pressed in. She blocked his next strike, catching it on her gauntlet, and retreated a few steps. Something wasn't right.She just didn't know WHAT. But she wished that he would make his play, she was running out of energy to fight him.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

The sky was still dark, covered, completely obscuring the sun. A breeze blew past, very slightly, almost unnoticeable before it faded away, and the air was expectantly still once again. As Dahmia counterattacked, he tried to draw her in closer, tighter, but she instead lunged for his leg. As he darted back, maintaining his footing, he took a deep breath. He tried once again to lure her in tight with his next charge, but she simply deflected his attack and darted backward, studying him. She sensed that something was wrong, taunting aside, and was holding back. They were both holding back. He would need to roll the dice, now, in a big way.

As Dahmia withdrew, there was a moment's hesitation, a brief pause, and he knew the moment had arrived, He lunged at her desperately, launching into full attack, striking with two hands, big sweeping blows that forward her to deflect, dodge, and evade. She was falling back, and working not to stumble as she was forced backwards. Ruumel felt his mortal body breaking into a sweat, and he knew that he was pushing his own abilities to the limit. But it was necessary-Dahmia had too many advantages over him, in this plane.

This was where it came to a head. With a growl, he twisted his wrist, and lunged with a huge broad side-swipe right at the center of her mass. She was too calculating, too skilled to not see the opening, and she darted inside his stroke, deflecting his weapon near the base, forcing him to drop it. Ruumel stumbled backward, the weapon seeming to fall in slow motion, as she followed through with the stroke, striking at his shoulder. The blade burned with the righteous fury of the heavens, and he cried out, screaming, reaching up toward her shoulder as if desperately grappling with her...and the small item, cleverly concealed in his off-hand palm until now, pricked her in the shoulder.

There was a sudden loud bang, and then Ruumel fell to the ground, backwards, Dahmia's sword dropping clear as she also lost her grip. As he hit the ground roughly, Ruumel, grunted, but looked up as Dahmia inexplicably felt her limbs being drawn outward, and lifted up slightly, in the pose of a crucifix. Ruumel noted the stunned expression on her face, and, with a pant, spoke up as he rose to one knee.

"You see...the weapon was not the only thing I found in Jerusalem." He coughed slightly, then grabbed at his wounded shoulder, wincing. "You see the tack in your shoulder? An ancient nail...used to crucify a sinless man." Ruumel gave her a very a cocksure grin. "Yes, you know the one. Very rare, that item, and very powerful against the righteous. I think this should hold you until we get back to my hidey-hole. And then, then the real fun can begin." With a laugh, he rose to his feet, and strolled over to casually grab his weapon. He looked down disdainfully at her angel sword and then, pressing his foot on the hilt, he struck down heavily with his own weapon, causing it to shatter with a flash.

He placed the weapon back in his scabbard, grabbed at the helpless angel, and began dragging her, ankles digging into the dirt, back to his safe house.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

She should have been prepared. He was a sneaky bastard and she should have been watching him more closely. Instead, once he brought the fight to her? She could do absolutely nothing but respond. Blocking, moving, flowing from position to position. She was stronger than Ruumel. She knew it. All the pressure in the world wouldn't be enough for him to get past her defenses.

Dahmia had grown complacent, even during the battle. She should have been on guard for his treachery. She wasn't. So when his hand touched her shoulder? She brushed it off with a sigh and finished the strike at his sword arm. She connected with a loud grunt.

She should have been paying better attention.

For no reason at all, her fingers grew numb. Her sword, not her most powerful Death Angel blade, but a host sword nonetheless, dropped to the ground as nerveless fingers released the hilt. Her body felt frozen. Legs crossed at the ankle. Hands flew upward, reaching out in opposite directions, like she was being crucified. She could not move. She could barely breathe.

Her mortal host screamed out, inside of their shared skull space.

And then he spoke, explaining what that little thing was, where he had gotten it, what he had planned. Dahmia could only give a soundless groan. Her brain screamed at her in two very different voices. Both voices accusing the other of...dissent. Dahmia could go no where. Could not even protest when he grabbed her and drug her away.

By the time they had reached his abode, Dahmia's mortal host was bleeding from abrasions on various body parts. The angel knew, then...that it would only get worse. She prayed, a silent plea to the ONE, for strength. It was obvious that she would need it.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

The door closed ominously behind them. As it did, it was like a deep breath had been released in the air outside, as the gloom that had been cast over the area began to dissipate, the stillness in the air vanishing. The confrontation that had been building up was ending. Only now a second one was beginning-Ruumel doubted the weather shift would matter one whit to Dahmia, whom he was shoving into a windowless room on the first floor. Inside was an X-frame, laying flat, about waist high. Rummel smiled as he dragged her still-prone body up to it and roughly tossed her down onto her back. Above her, she would now be able to see the angel trap written into the ceiling with the blood. Doubtless she had long since sensed its presence, and now she could see the threat that been looming over her.

Grabbing her arms, Ruumel pulled up along the X-bars, and her wrists were lashed down with a coarse thick rough, abrading her skin slightly. There was also a rough block beneath her head, where she rested, and he pushed her down onto it, wrapping another rope down across her neck, roughly pressing into tender skin there. With that, his hand reached down to the nail in her shoulder, plucking it out, and releasing her legs to move. He tugged them apart, against each of the legs of the frame he had rigged, and wrapped the rope against each of her ankles, completing her restraint. He expected she would struggle, rather viciously, and he knew the ropes would burn against her struggles.

"At this point, I really can appreciate that you chose such a delightful host body. Almost as appealing as your celestial form. A shame to mar this figure." She remained stoically silent for the moment, he noted. He, of course, couldn't even slightly restrain the sadistic grin as he pulled out his chosen, the sword he had found specifically to harm her. It was a two-handed sword, no delicate weapon, even though he had placed a fine edge on it. With a practiced gesture, he swept down to cut against the leg of her pants, splitting the fabric. She had not yet felt the stroke of this weapon-forged with holy purpose, used to do sin, it would burn her like a hot iron, unleashing a near psychic pain. Just the slightest graze on her thigh left a small mark. As he slashed at the other leg, he was less delicate this time, leaving a small cut in her host's skin that let out a trickle of blood.

He had spent plenty of time planning how to do this. Breaking an angel like Dahmia, who was a true believer in a way even he had never been, would be difficult, even as she was trapped in her host body. "I hope you enjoy the décor. This room should be your residence for quite a while." He suspected she was attempting to come up with some plan, any plan for escape, even now.

"What, Dahmia, no comeback? None of the sharply honed wit I've come to appreciate? None of the scathing remarks you doubtless leveled at Michael?" His laugh was wicked and sadistic as he slashed at her shoulder, cutting her clothes again, leaving another slight cut on her skin. He had been unable to so much as scathe her while fighting, but now he had her at his mercy. A shame it had already burned from him in the pits. He continued to carve at her clothes, none-too-delicately, leaving nicks on her stomach, side, shoulder, and arm, until her clothes were tattered rags on her body. It really was a fine body, beneath the scraps. Most of the cuts he'd inflicted had stopped bleeding already. He ran a hand across her leg, stroking the bare skin, and gave a rip of the fabric covering her crotch, baring it. Of course, modesty was a foreign concept to angels, but he imagined the host entity wasn't pleased. His wicked hand caressed her stomach, ripping another tatter, and then moved up to a bared breast. His fingers closed around a nipple, cruelly, pinching down on it. Then he lifted his sword, pressing the edge of the blade right up against it, holding it to sear her slightly, before he finally sheathed it.

"Of course, you haven't fallen...yet...so you don't know the pleasure of succumbing to desires. And there's something I've desired to do you for a very, very long time." With a wicked laugh, grinned down, looking at her eyes, as he stood between her legs...and then delivered a wicked punch to her cheek. He heard his knuckles crack, but her punched her again, and then again, feeling her jaw wrench from the impact, before he stopped. "That's for being such a self-righteous bitch."

Ruumel then strode around to a corner of the room, where there was a small table with an innocuous looking box on it. "It's time to share a bit of my plans-for you, that is. See this? A music box, right?" Showing his teeth again, he looked down at it admiring. "A witch created this one for me, a very talented little sadist. I don't know how it works exactly-the spell seems pretty subtle. What it does is to make angels more vulnerable to the needs of their host bodies. You'll become hungry, thirsty, sleepy-" Horny, he thought to himself, but that was definitely a lesson for later, "-and we'll see how well you'll deal with them. Oh, I doubt you'll die of starvation or anything, but it shouldn't be pleasant."

"Now, we'll just need to make sure you stay awake."

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Talking. His infernal yapping made her want to vomit or scream. While he drug her to his earthly home, while he yanked her through the house, while he tossed her into the room and positioned her just so. Talk and talk and talk. So many words and for what? To torment her with his plans. There was nothing he could do that would break her, not this early in the game.

He knew it. He had to know it. After all, they had known each other before he fell. He knew her stubborn ways. She was prideful. And strong. All of his preparation would avail him nothing. Nor would his words. Yet his stupid words? That damnable smirk on his almost too handsome face?

Torture.

She wanted to rip his throat out. Not possible. Not yet. Maybe not anytime soon. Didn't matter. He could hurt THIS body. But he wouldn't break her...and she would get out of this. She knew she would. She had a contingency plan and all she had to do was last 24 hours. If she hadn't contacted her people by then, they would track her to this stupid little town...and go to war.

Even so, his words almost begged a response. And once he started cutting away her clothing, nicking her with his fucking blade that burned and stung like hell fire? It took all of her strength to not scream at him, beg him to stop. Promise him whatever he wanted. Not because she was weak, but because it double damage. Her host was without sin, blameless, untainted.

That meant his sword hurt twice as bad; it cut blameless flesh and sinless entity alike. It ached, like a son of a bitch. Dahmia held back the countless whimpers and never once bothered to struggle. Not when she noticed the Angel trap, nor when he finished cutting away her clothing. No struggling, even when he held the sword at her nipple, searing the flesh with white hot agony.

What would have been the point? He had her trapped here. She couldn't get loose. And for the moment, she didn't even want to try. His words demoralized her, broke her down. She fought off the want to cry, to beg, to plead. She held back the need to yelp when he struck her face with a closed fist, over and over. It didn't really hurt, only it did. It screwed with her sense of worth.

He knew it.

Bastard.

Finally he moved away. Dahmia and her host held a momentary pow wow deep inside. The host shell could take it. Would take it. She had trained for it. All that remained was for the Angel to get the body out in one piece. Dahmia was almost positive that she could do so. Until he spoke again.

Eyes flew to the innocuous little box he held in delicate fingers. Something that would force HER to feel what a mortal could, would, did. That would heighten the pain, the shame, the horror. It could be borne. They could handle it...but it would be oh so difficult.

Didn't matter.

The angel spoke, sounding lost, sad, beaten. She wasn't, not yet, but her voice said that she was close to falling into despair. Didn't matter. She couldn't hold her silence any longer.

"Enjoy it while you can, demon. I can withstand this. I can withstand YOU. I won't be trapped forever."

The words echoed. Died away. Left behind an impatient void. She wondered if the words would prove to be true.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

A captive angel. Like having the lion by its tail. There were dangers in this, Ruumel knew it well. The angels would absolutely not stand for one of their own falling into enemy hands. But they also tended to be arrogant enough to not believe it possible, so their support structure might not respond quickly enough. Breaking a stubborn ass like Dahmia took time-even when he knew exactly where her soft targets were, and had planned well in advance of capturing her. There hadn't been any point in planning for the alternative. She would know that there was a chance, if she could last long enough, so he needed to send her to depths beyond time.

She spoke up-the words were defiant, but the tone more resigned, even desperate. Ruumel couldn't buy it-she wasn't stupid enough to throw it in just yet. She knew her superiors would look for her eventually, and she had to imagine she could last at least that long. Well, perhaps it was the folly of the overconfident. Still, he went along with her ruse, to a degree.

"Oh, perhaps YOU can withstand me. I wonder about your poor vessel though, how she rages inside you at being caught thanks to your stupid plans. You know well that I have ways of killing her that could leave you mostly unharmed. And now she knows as well. I wonder how she feels about that. Or perhaps she might have to walk out of here without hands, or feet. I wonder if you could live with that." Ruumel's eyes shone with a red light as he looked at her face, his inner demon emerging slightly. He didn't bother laughing this time.

"I would hate to damage such a lovely form, though, so I'll let you think about that for a while. But you know that this is no bluff. I am capable of far, far worse." He glared at her once again, before he sat his weapon down in the corner, propped up almost tauntingly. Then he stepped out, the door closing behind him with a gentle click, leaving her in the dark.

He needed to let her stew for a short while. She would unused to the feelings of hunger and thirst, which were probably beginning to set in, and it would make the hours stretch out as she alone in the dark, unable to move. To keep her from sleeping, he began to pipe in some noise-some god awful dissonant chords played on loud electric instruments, squeaking and clashing. The effect was something of a cross between an infant banging on a piano and one of these punk-rocker bands who thought they were cutting edge. He cranked the volume up enough for the bass lines to practically vibrate the table beneath her.

After that, he had one last preparation to make. He needed to buy some time-even a couple of hours could help. It was an arduous spell, and it would spend the time industriously. Just a slight mask on his presence here, and on the taint he had brought to this house, similarly to how he'd hidden the traps he had set up for Dahmia. Of course, they hadn't fooled her for very long, but it might just slow down whatever rescue attempt might come for her. He hoped his watchers could alert him in time if trouble started to come his way. Kneeling in the living room, he began chanting in ancient Syrian, shaping the syllables carefully in a mouth unaccustomed to the language, as he began marking the hardwood floor with chalk.

*****************************************************************************

Three hours later, he rose, having finished his ritual. Would it have been worth it? He would find out yet. Ruumel grabbed a few bottles of water, and then pressed back in to check on his captive.

"How are we doing here, bitch? Thirsty?" he asked, as he screwed off a bottle cap and took a sip.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Ruumel laid it out, completely. Dahmia would have worried, if not for the fact that she had mostly prepared herself and her host for his depredations. After all, though she did not know the desperation of humanity nor the flames of hell fire, she knew enough to posit a guess on both of those things. What she knew, she shared with her mortal host. No point in either of them being ill prepared.

And yes, the prick loved to talk, even now. His words were picked to cause the most trouble, to do the most harm. Dahmia would have struggled, but knew it would do no good. There was nothing for it. She had to last for as long as it took. She could not break. She could not call out for help. She had to focus and get through it, for herself as well as the human who housed her immortal soul.

How she hated him.

Once he vacated the room, Dahmia spent an endless moment, testing the bonds that held her, staring into the darkness, feeling the faint but definite stirrings of hunger in the pit of her belly. A noise, a grumble of sound. The husky voice of her host, spoke then, the cadence soothing, calm.

"It's just my belly reacting to being empty. Good thing you always got food in me every day. We can last for 72 hours with no food, no problem. Thirst will be bad...but I can go for 48 hours easily...and that means you can too."

Dahmia filed the information away and withdrew into the depths of the mortal's mind. Prayer would avail nothing, not with the angel trap there but sometimes, one had to give in to long habits. Soon enough, the sounds of low husky words echoed through out the darkness. Not long after that, Ruumel ceased to be anything that mattered to the Angel, bound and tormented by doubt, as she was.

She still had her grace.

He could NOT ever take that away.

xXx​

The light clicked on and Dahmia opened her eyes, focusing on the form that stood just inside the doorway, holding a few cold bottles of water in one long fingered hand. His voice scratched at her mind, an annoyance.

"How are we doing here, bitch? Thirsty?"

She grinned at him, white teeth flashing, eyes twinkling. Her voice was sure, almost strident. She didn't sound broken, not by a long shot. Hunger and thirst could be ignored. Her mortal host had shown her that...and even with the Angel Trap far above her, she knew that the Lord of Hosts watched...and waited. She was safe...as safe as houses.

She spoke.

"Oh yes, I am thirsty. Doesn't matter. I hope you don't plan on waiting for me to break through sheer boredom. Then again, that does seem to be your speed. Always taking the easy way."

Dahmia grinned slightly and continued.

"Not that I expect any more of you than that. After all, in all the millenia that we've known one another, you have never really NEEDED to put in work, have you. Lazy fallen son of Anarchy that you have become."

Laughter~ high, lilting, teasing.

'Just be ready. Who knows what he will do...but you have to take it. You have to handle it.'

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Ruumel cracked the bottle of water open and took a long sip as he sat down next to her in his chair, giving her a very cocksure smile. He saw her grinning back, arrogant to a fault despite the circumstances. Naturally, she would attempt to strike out at him with her scathing wit-she need not have bothered. Her efforts at such were poor at the best of times.

"Not that I expect any more of you than that. After all, in all the millenia that we've known one another, you have never really NEEDED to put in work, have you. Lazy fallen son of Anarchy that you have become."

He couldn't help but laugh at her folly. She seldom understood the value of allowing a plan to grow ripe. Allowing seeds to sprout, for things to tumble into place. Patience was a virtue, indeed-one of the few virtues he had brought with him down into the Pits. She wasn't absent of patience, but possessing it sufficient quantity? That was an issue for her. And it was something he was counting on. He stood up, standing over her, and he let his eyes trail over the naked body of her chosen host. His own host had not been a truly wicked man, but he felt that he even got some perverse enjoyment out of his, his cock swelling just slightly in his pants. He knew enough of Ruumel's plans to have some anticipation in the small corner Ruumel allowed him.

He stepped to the side of her face and opened the bottle yet again. "Thirsty bitch? Then drink?" Ruumel grabbed her head, holding it still, and began pouring the water over her nose and mouth-much more than ought to fit into a single bottle, and it kept coming. She swallowed some out of thirst, but it kept flowing, and she tried to inhale, only to get water into her sinuses, into her throat. Gagging, choking slightly, he let the moment last for a few seconds, for the host to experience rising panic, before he stopped. "Did you get enough?"

Yes, he knew about waterboarding. He knew a lot of nasty things, and there was no conscience or compassion at all to hold him back. She was stubborn, she was hard, she was arrogant as only her kind could be...but the terms of her deal were adamant. One moment of submission, one request for mercy, one instant of surrender and it was lost. It did well not to rush. Not to make her feel as though a deadline was approaching, but as though he was eternal and dogged in his persistence, as though she was without hope or in despair but for a moment. If she so much as attempted to flee her host, she was caught.

"You know, I often pictured having you like this." He began pouring the water over her face again, not letting her respond as he spoke. "Oh, even before my Fall, I had such thoughts as this. Oh, not toward torture, but still impure thoughts in which you might find yourself tied down. I desired you, wanting to take you, to possess you. So this....this is doubly sweet for me." He stopped pouring water over her face again, letting her struggle for choking breaths, coughing up water.

"Perhaps that is partly why I fell." Ruumel shrugged dismissively before he walked over to the corner, picking up his sword. He slashed at the air threateningly, then stood at her shoulder, holding the blade over her hand. He grabbed roughly at her wrist.

"Now, time for your host to lose something. We will begin with a finger."

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

He begins his assault with a drink. Not just a drink~a deluge of water that chokes, impedes breath. While this deluge occurs? He speaks. Phrases that she only half hears. Words that do not so much enter the ear as become insidiously inserted like some sort of vile worm.

She tries not to cry out. She tires to hold her breath. It doesn't matter. Water is inhaled, making her gag. Making her body heave tempestuously against the bindings that hold her, ever so tightly. Syllables of sound are expelled as water is swallowed, gagged upon, breathed in.

'I am NOT a fish!'

Nonsensical thought to have while body revolts. Doesn't matter. Not really. Still, he speaks, his voice an assault to all right thinking people every where, any where. She wishes, wishes, wishes...he would shut up and stop with this damnable deluge.

"Did you get enough?"

Infuriating bastard. Asking a question she can not answer. Not while she gasps and chokes. Not while she writhes and attempts to regain her calm. And in the end, her words are not wanted, not needed.

He resumes his chatter, his torment. It seems to her that he chooses his words for maximum effect. Underlining his status as Fallen, attempting to place a smidgen of the blame on her. She hates it, hates it.

Despises him.

The water stops and his words penetrate through the silence that rings round the room.

"Now, time for your host to lose something. We will begin with a finger."

Her breath...stopped. The mortal host spoke softly, an echo from the corner of their shared mind.

'He can have it. No permanent damage to my body was the agreement. You will heal what he removes. So we will take it, even if it hurts.

Silence.

And when she could contain herself no longer, Dahmia spoke.

"Take it. But do recall that what you do to me, I can do to you...and I will. Never, ever doubt it. Plus, if the human anatomy I have learned is anything to go by, your host has an extra appendage I am sure he will absolutely LOATHE losing."

She smiles them...and in that smile is a complete lack of mirth...and the beginnings of rage.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Dahmia appeared surprised, at first. As though he was crossing some barrier she hadn't expected, as though his casual brutality was something shocking. Ruumel couldn't figure why she would be shocked by that-he no longer was the same being who had fought alongside her in centuries past, She must have still seen that in him, on some level-it was no longer how he thought of himself. The obedience, the dutiful servant, the noble and virtuous creature, he'd purged those elements from him long ago. They weren't useful, they weren't meaningful after his Fall, and they'd been stamped into oblivion.

There was hesitation in her eyes. Ruumel even felt he detected a glimmer of fear. She was well and truly fucked, and that fact was sinking in with every passing second. He smiled wickedly, letting the moment draw out, before she found her voice. She acted like she was calling his bluff, or something. Like she didn't care about the pain, didn't care about what he was going to do her, what he was already starting to do her. Silly Angel, you can't call a Demon's Bluff. I'm a killer, don't you fucking know it. The rest were all blustering threats, big talk from someone trapped by ropes and spells.

A good start, though. She's approaching the edge, now. There's no cool calm serenity under there, she's getting perturbed. Maybe even emotional-right there as she smiles. Definitely dangerous territory. Vengeful is hardly becoming in an Angel, even one of her ilk. Ruumel gave a slightly victorious smile at these thoughts.

"Full of talk for a bitch who can't even move right now, don't you think? I'm curious exactly how you're planning to enact this vengeance fantasy you're having." Ruumel grabbed her right hand, forcing it down flat onto the surface of the cross she was bound to. His knee pressed down on her wrist to keep her struggling over much, and then his strong grip grabbed her pinky, bending it backward, feeling the tendons straining beneath his forceful tug. He held the sword left handed-it wasn't ideal for this job, but there was nothing else. If only he'd had a dagger of similar origin, it might work better. But this was necessary to cause maximum pain.

He put the sharp blade down slowly onto the skin, letting feel the sharp edge. Then the pressed downward, gently, cutting slowly. He was stretching it out, to increase the pain. The blade sawed slightly and a furrow of red blood began spilling out. He looked down at Dahmia's face, and he saw that she was determined not to scream. She would be. But there was only so much she could take, and the blade was specially designed to hurt her. After another second the edge seemed to carve through muscle, then finding a nerve. Dahmia found her voice then, a quick anguished scream, spilling out into the air, washing over him. Something about it made Ruumel's stomach drop.

I cannot enjoy this, he realized. I've often imagined carving her arrogant ass piece by piece, but she was a friend once. This doesn't have sweet flavor of revenge, only the cold ashen flavor of a rivalry gone bitter. With a snarl, Ruumel quickly carved downward, through tendon and bone, carving the finger off cleanly, finishing it. He let the blood flow freely, washing over the frame, before he stepped over to the corner again, leaning the sword still wet with blood, tip down, against the wall. A bottle of rubbing alcohol off the table poured over the cut, sending a wave of fresh pain, and then he used a pair of cotton swabs and a length of tape applied over it.

"Can't have you losing too much blood on me too quickly, cunt." Ruumel still gave her a sweet smile, even though there was little joy in it. Fun or not, he would continue to do his job. But a glance at her face told him what he needed to know. It wasn't going to work quickly enough. Perhaps she'd managed to close herself off somehow. His mind raced as he realized he was going to need to switch tactics.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

'Ow! Ow! Ow! It hurts. It hurts. it hurts. It hurts.'

The words were a song of pain, one that beat inside her borrowed skin like a drum stretched too tightly. The Angel and the mortal host tried to keep the screaming down, tried to keep the pain at bay, tried to act as if nothing he did hurt but it did. It did.

'Make him stop! Please make him stop.'

The mortal gibbered in her head, that inner voice~ a high yipping sound like a coyote with his paw caught in a steel trap. It took all of Dahmia's fortitude to shut her up. She couldn't feel the pain in an immediate way, not at first. Her inner focus was on forcing the mortal host to stop screaming, stop yipping.

And then the bone snapped.

'"OWWWWW!"

The scream was shocking. Dahmia had never really felt pain. She had never really understood the human condition. At least not the condition that existed between one who was abused and the one doing the abusing. She caught her breath as salty tears leaked from the corners of her borrowed eyes. The heart pounded, the breath hitched.

'He hurt us.'

That was the truth of it.

Ruumel had hurt the mortal host, had hurt the body that housed the Angelic spirit and he hadn't cared at all. He hadn't even tried to stop. Instead, he taunted and added insult to injury by applying something that burned fiercely. An astringent by the scent of it.

That brought the truth home to the Death Angel in a way mere words never could have. This game was for keeps. And the Ruumel she had hated, had grown to loathe? He wasn't anything like what she had imagined. He was so much worse. And it hurt to know that the Most High cared nothing for her...not like the human who housed her.

The pain ached.

Dahmia withdrew, pulling the mortal host inside, focusing her will upon the feeble mortal soul that kept them tethered to this form, this body, this time.

'He has heard me scream and he cares not. This is when you must persevere. We have 24 hours. Maybe 48 at most. You must hold yourself as still as the placid lakes you study, as cool as the mountain reaches you have climbed. You must withdraw so that I can handle the hurt for the both of us.'

Silence as the mortal withdrew.

Silence gives assent.

Dahmia stared up at him, her face a mask of emptiness. Now she knew what she was fighting against. Now she knew what he had become. There would be no saving either of them. She would die...or he would.

It mattered not.

"Can't have you losing too much blood on me too quickly, cunt."

Dahmia didn't even bother to respond to that. What did it matter? He could kill her if he chose, but that wouldn't win the bet. He knew it. So did she. He would only win if she gave in...and she would NEVER do that.

She felt cold, deep down cold.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Her cries of pain bounced off the walls. They were wordless, non-verbal, and there was as much of surprise in them as there was pain. She hadn't expected to scream, she hadn't expected it to hurt like it had. Ruumel knew that he had already pushed her further than she had expected to go, and she wasn't any closer to breaking.

His eyes scanned down her figure. Her breath was halting as she recovered from the visceral pain, the aftershocks of which must surely still be coursing through her system. In the aftermath of that almost painfully loud scream, the sound of her harsh breathing seemed deathly quiet in the room. His ears picked out the sound of his enchanted music box, still tinkling in the corner, the soft and cheerful chiming sounding ever more sinister given the mood within this room. He etched the grin back on his face as he glanced down at her, trying to discern a crack in her resolve. But right now, there was none-she was most likely planning the ways in which she would take him apart, given the opportunity.

While Ruumel appreciated a challenge, he didn't know how long or how much torture it would take in order to slip past her defenses. Forcing one like Dahmia to surrender was beyond the scope of anything he'd ever done in the past. It would take a different tactic here-really, a combination of tactics. His eyes scanned the form of her mortal host. Well, there was a different approach, yes. At the very last, they had been close once. Perhaps a little tenderness mixed in with the horror. Not exactly good cop, bad cop, but if she was vulnerable.

He circled around behind her head. His hand gently stroked against her scalp as he glanced down at her body, and then he crouched down next to her head. His voice dropped down to a soft, intimate whisper, warm and caressing. "It's okay now...I'll let you have a little break to recover from that shock. It must be difficult for you, though-War is so often won by doing what your enemies are unwilling or unable to do...which has to make you wonder about your own side." Ruumel's hand was gently, tenderly stroking against her head, through her hair and scalp as he spoke softly. "Now that I've demonstrated my own willingness to go as far as necessary, I know that you can respect future threats."

He grinned then, and reached out to her arm with his other hand, his fingers lightly tracing against soft, bronzed skin. His thumbs pressed against her elbow, and her bicep, his thumb lightly massaging at the muscles as he studied her. There was a wicked sense of delight in knowing the superhuman strength that was beneath those muscles, and their inability to do anything about his current touch. His palm dragged against her flesh, moving up her arm to rub at her shoulder in a strangely intimate way. He leaned close to her ear again, his voice still soft. "It's such a shame that it pits two former friends like ourselves on opposite sides of the conflict." Then Ruumel's mouth pressed against her neck, kissing it softly, his lips light on her skin.

Demons were, after all, highly sexual in nature. They really represented temptation, allure-the forbidden desire. Seduction was a basic element of their being, and Ruumel hadn't ever denied himself the pleasure that resulted from it, nor tried to curb his sensual nature. It helped that his current Host was an attractive human male. His lips curved in a smile as he dragged them over Dahmia's skin, reaching down with his hand to curve around her breast, fingers stroking the flesh softly. "You know you've chosen a really attractive Host, you know. My own Host gets a little excited any time I give you a lingering glance." He chuckled as his fingers traced fingers down toward the center of her breast, finding the nipple, and stroking his finger against it insistently.

"I wonder if she's a virgin like so many of your others." His tongue traced a long swath the hollow of her throat up to the lobe of her ear, his lips closing around it, teeth nipping. He whispered, very softly into her ear. "Are you, Dahmia? Did you ever...indulge yourself on this plane? Satisfy your curiosity?" He grinned as he felt her nipple finally harden up beneath his teasing touch. His eyes found the music box again-Sex was biological too, of course. He pinched that nipple then gave it a very slight twist.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Things become...odd.

She should have expected it. Ruumel had always been a devious personality and he knew her of old. So~ she should have been prepared for the change in tactics. She wasn't.

It begins with fingers that slip softly over sensitive flesh. A voice that deepens toward bass with a husky musicality that hadn't been heard for an eon. The words that are spoken are beguiling. Harmful and heartbreaking in their own ways. Not that it should matter. Not that she should be listening or even relaxing under his studied aftercare.

He had hurt her.

But the fingers feel so good, cool and only slightly abrasive against her mortal host's flesh. The words that are spoken have the ring of truth, the knell of some sort of connection that Dahmia does NOT want to admit she hears or acknowledges. He has the ways of seduction down pat and she falls beneath his spell as surely as any mortal woman born from that first woman.

His lips find her neck and bless it...with a kiss.

Inside the mortal is screaming.

'He is using our reactions against us. You must stop it. You must not give in. You must NOT allow him to take such liberties'

The angel knows these words are truth.

Still~

the web of desire that he weaves is fast encapsulating her. Closing over her like a blanket. Drawing her in and down. The scrape of nail over flesh. The jolt and thrill of warm breath and sharp teeth and soft lips.

Honey whispers in the shell of her ear.

"Are you, Dahmia? Did you ever...indulge yourself on this plane? Satisfy your curiosity?"

'You have to come up. The softness is too much. The questions are too much. You have to come up until I can focus on the pain and not the sweetness.'

The mortal host does just that. Pulling the Angel's soul back and thrusting herself forward, dampening the host body's physical responses to the provocation. Soon, Dahmia can breathe. Soon, she can forget about the seductive sound of his voice. The sweet rasp of fingers on hardening nipple flesh. She can forget because the mortal host refuses to acknowledge it and so the sensation becomes faint and is gone.

When that happens, Dahmia returns to the forefront and stares up, into his eyes. Eyes that are heavy lidded. Eyes that sparkle deviously. Her voice, when she uses it, is husky from screaming.

"No, I have not ever indulged in the grunt and rut of this world. Why would I? I have no need to. Neither does the host who houses me. Obviously, it isn't that important. Animals of all sorts do it...humans do it. It can not be too hard to learn."

'He knows that you lie. He knows that you want...something. I can see it on his face.'

Dahmia knew it for truth. She knew it as soon as the host mortal dropped those sentences into their shared consciousness. It didn't matter. Sex would not be a weapon he could use to win. He could rape her, he could take away her host's body's virginity...but she would not give in....even if she could feel the rising goose flesh that pebbled the skin.

Even if she could feel something disturbingly wet between thighs that did not belong solely to her.

Giving in meant a surrender. And he would NOT get that. Not now. Not ever.

"It matter not. None of this matters. I will not give in and you will not break me in this way either. Think of something else."

Deep in the shared depths of the mortal host's brain, the Angel wondered if she had just become a liar.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Ruumel remained crouched where he was, his face near to her neck, eyes able to glimpse the entirety of her bound body displayed stretched out in front of him. His face was close against her neck, pressed in close in a wretched imitation of a lover-a fake sort of intimacy forced by the almost casual closeness, allowing each of them to hear and feel the others breath. And close enough for his soft whispers to gently caress her ears. Plus, Ruumel also suspected that her mortal host secretly reveled in the feeling of his lips teasing just against a certain spot....

Her body's physical response was not much in doubt. The hardened bud of her nipple was obvious, and this particular nipple was enjoyable to stroke-firm and tight beneath his touch. After caressing her scalp, his free hand reached down her shoulder and arm, talented fingers working at her muscles. they were surely sore and cramped from having be restrained in the same place for so long, but he had not spent a near eternity being a successful tempter without skilled fingers. Releasing some measure of the ache was even more simple than eliciting physical signs of arousal from her flesh.

She was fighting it. She wouldn't be Dahmia if she wasn't fighting it, of course. Even as her body seemed to relax, he could still monitor the physical changes in her, some resistance, some shift of posture or intent that he was able to glean from her. After she gathered herself, she spoke.

"No, I have not ever indulged in the grunt and rut of this world. Why would I? I have no need to. Neither does the host who houses me. Obviously, it isn't that important. Animals of all sorts do it...humans do it. It can not be too hard to learn."

He laughed. A soft, gutteral sound as his fingers clamped down on her nipple.

"Oh, how true, it is easy! And yet you've never thought about more about than when they shit or piss. You ignore all the words spillt in its pursuit, all the images and stories and mischievous jokes of these creatures, ignoring what lies at the heart of them. You fight for these people, you wear their skin, but you do not attempt to understand them."

His lips pressed against her neck, tasting bronzed skin again, hard yet soft at once. The odd, pleasurable mixture of one both lean and muscular, kissed by the golden sun. Ruumel allowed a soft slurping noise as he pulled his mouth away, then pressed his lips right against her ear as he spoke softly.

"Easy indeed. These humans fall into it with frequency. As do other mammals. 'Natural,' you might even call it, though you would never use such a word. You do so many natural instincts, referring to them as 'base,' and 'wretched,' and spare them no second thought. And your host-a virgin indeed! But why? A choice she has made, surely, some sacrifice of devoutness. But how can it truly be a sacrifice unless she's aware that she's truly giving something up?"

He stood, shrugging out of his shirt, and began to circle around the table, bare of chest. He let his eyes trace over her figure as he slowly paced, glorying in studying her as he would any other conquest, or a trophy that he intended to mount. He could almost feel her eyes following him, but he refused to meet them.

"It matter not. None of this matters. I will not give in and you will not break me in this way either. Think of something else."

At that point, he stopped. His hands rested on her ankle, and he lightly used his fingers to massage at the straining calf muscle, attempting to release some of the tightness within it. He knew his touch felt warm on her skin because of how cold her own skin felt to him. He then looked up at her eyes and nodded matter of factly

"Yes, you would like for me to think of something else, I'm sure. As you no doubt are also attempting to think of something else. But the road has already been paved, and we will walk upon it."

Softness was needed at the moment. Hardness would come later, and repeatedly. Hardness and roughness, in penetrating her, violating her, and claiming her. But his art was more seduction than conquering, so soft hands trailed a toned thigh, brushing against rough, tight muscles again. A massage, surely the last thing she had expected after losing a finger. And hopefully releasing all manner of endorphins and hormones into her human blood stream. Deep kneading actions as he released a tension in her muscles, tension carried by strictly rigid angelic posture, knots she couldn't have been aware of but for her current condition. And the hardness inside his pants stirred thoughtfully as he looked at her.

He leaned forward, lips brushing against her lower abdomen, finding tight muscles there too. A brief, teasing kiss...the feel of hot breath teasing her skin yet again...and he pulled away. Hands switched legs, and the massaging began again, working up from the ankle, teasingly making a path toward her sex as he stood between her immobilized legs. He pretended not the notice the moistness that was seeping from her sex. But his senses were too keen to miss it. He'd skilled her arousal the moment it had begun flowing. No further words were necessary.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

His words. Always, with the words. It doesn't matter that she is morally superior and unable to bow to his wishes, even being bound as she is. It doesn't matter that her body is responding to his skillful touches, his lips lighting fires beneath her skin. It doesn't matter~because she can not LET it matter. Not if she wants to win this bet. Not if she wants to escape his clutches with her dignity intact.

'We may not have a choice in this. We may not be able to avoid this...physical confrontation, this deflowering. So what do we do, if we can't? This body will relax under his hands. This body will open for him, will probably bleed and convulse for him.'

The mortal host plucked at their shared mind, like the angel's captor plucked at their skin. Dahmia thought on it, on the questions her host asked. After all, fighting this, when he was determined that it would happen, seemed kind of silly.

'We will do nothing. If we respond, so what? Tis only a physical response and one that is deemed natural. It does not mean we have given in. It only means that our body is human. No different than a rape victim who goes along to avoid being hurt.'

Even so, Ruumel was making a mockery of this inward conversation, his voice a sweet, seductive hiss in the cool air. He knocked down her protections, even as she raised them.

"Oh, how true, it is easy! And yet you've never thought about more than when they shit or piss. You ignore all the words spillt in its pursuit, all the images and stories and mischievous jokes of these creatures, ignoring what lies at the heart of them. You fight for these people, you wear their skin, but you do not attempt to understand them."

"Understand them? I have no..." Dahmia tried to interject but he kept going, working his wiles. Touching her, stroking her, talking to her. He shot down her last chance at stopping this perversion. His words chosen without care, his intent made clear.

"Yes, you would like for me to think of something else, I'm sure. As you no doubt are also attempting to think of something else. But the road has already been paved, and we will walk upon it."

Even so, he stroked her. Massaged her. Made himself comfortable between the legs he had trapped and spread, so easily. Wetness trickled. Spreading slightly with each new indignity. She felt like she was under siege. As if this would just continue on, into eternity, and she would never be free~ not of this place nor of him.

'He can do what he likes to this body. It might even respond. But that is just the physical, Angel. It is not mental...he will not make us surrender this way.'

Dahmia felt a little better at that, bolstered up.

Until his lips touched the flesh of her belly.

She could feel the tremors that shook her, then. This body wanted whatever he had to give to her.

'We won't let it matter. Physical reaction is not surrender. We will not surrender.'

Dahmia spoke up, then, her eyes trailing over the form that had insinuated itself there, in this body's most unprotected place~between her legs.

"Then walk it...but even if this body responds? It will not matter. Surrendering only happens if I will what you do to me...and I do not will it. I do not want it....and I do not care how loose and relaxed this body feels. I do not care that I can feel my vaginal walls fluttering. I do not care that this frame wants to learn what you have to teach. I do not want what you want. Do what you'd like. Walk the path you have chosen. In the end, it will avail you nothing."

No more words now. What else was there to say? The fallen would have his way with her body, but he could not make her respond in any way other than physical...and that was NOT surrender.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

He allowed his lips to linger on her skin. Her flesh almost seemed to quiver beneath him, reveling in the soft sweet touch of his lips caressing her muscles. His was filled with the scent of the moment, one that was very familiar to him: The smell of imminent sex. It was there, the smells combining of sweat and arousal and the tiniest suggestion of weak human pheromones. He sighed, his breath flowing out in a cold stream that traced down her stomach and past her legs, before he straightened up.

He saw the angel's eyes trailing down the body he inhabited. Or perhaps it was the virgin human's eyes that were sliding against his figure, studying him. He wondered what soul was truly in control of her body at this point-beyond the obvious answer of 'neither'. They lingered more than necessary. He allowed himself a smartassed grin even as Dahmia started speaking, his hands reaching down to the belt that was holding up his dark pants. He pulled it loose, unbuckling it, and then unfastened his pants while listening to Dahmia rant, smiling the whole time.

"Then walk it...but even if this body responds? It will not matter. Surrendering only happens if I will what you do to me...and I do not will it. I do not want it....and I do not care how loose and relaxed this body feels. I do not care that I can feel my vaginal walls fluttering. I do not care that this frame wants to learn what you have to teach. I do not want what you want. Do what you'd like. Walk the path you have chosen. In the end, it will avail you nothing."

By the time she was finished speaking, his fly was down and he was shoving his pants down past ankles. He could feel her eyes on his body, still, lingering as he bent down to scoop up his pants, kicking off his shoes, and then stepping over to fold them up along with his shirt, placing them in the seat of the chair. He kept his back to her for a moment, tending to his clothes for an excessively long moment. As he reached down to the boxer shorts he wore, his back still to Dahmia's face, Ruumel answered.

"All that is quite true, my friend. But for the first time ever, you have to deal with the needs of the actual body. How long will the body enjoy this before your soul finds enjoyment as well?" Ruumel was bending over to place his shorts on top of the pile, then turned around and casually walked back Dahmia's legs, his erection showing. This human did not have the most impressive cock he'd ever worn, but it was more than average sized, and well tended, finely formed. He reached out and brazenly cupped her sex, feeling the moisture from it flowing against his fingers.

"And once that happens, enjoyment can become desire. Desire is not so from wanting. Wanting is a dangerous precipice for an angel to stand on." Ruumel casually allowed his fingers to stroke the shape of this virgin pussy. He stretched it out, looking down to confirm the presence of her cherry, a smirk twitching at the side of his lips. He teased her with skilled fingers, stroking against her sex, and rubbing against the outline of her stiffening clitoris. This would be quite the learning experience for both the souls within this poor body. As he toyed with her, his hand reached up to cup a bare breast, grabbing onto it and squeezing it, rolling it around in his grip. She was certainly wet like a virgin, very responsive to his touch.

His cock was resting on her thigh. He moved it into position, preparing to penetrate her. He looked at her face, earnestly. "It will hurt, at first. This is how it is with humans. I find it's somewhat akin to the analogy about ripping off a bandage."

With an evil smile, Ruumel did not hesitate as he pressed his cock into her pussy, then thrust his hips forward roughly, tearing her apart and spreading her pussy, listening her cry out as he speared her mercilessly on his hard cock.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

She wasn't ready. Not by a long shot. Knowing the mechanics of a thing~that Angelic foresight? It didn't help at all. And his words? Those words that basically took everything she had thought, fought for, stated and threw them back at her? It underlined just how outclassed she was in this game.

So, she wasn't ready.

And it could be her undoing.

'What is he doing?' That inner voice, the voice of the mortal whose flesh she wore, spoke up, sounding slightly afraid. Dahmia thought on it. Why should the host be scared? Ruumel hadn't moved, not really. Only aligned his jutting piece of meat so that he could penetrate the bound flesh before him. It didn't seem to warrant that worried tone.

"It will hurt, at first. This is how it is with humans. I find it's somewhat akin to the analogy about ripping off a bandage."

PAIN.

That is what she felt. Like someone had ripped her open from the groin and pulled her guts out. The wetness didn't help. She was too tight to accommodate him. Too small. Yet, he forced himself inside, battering at her womb like some sort of demented steam roller.

"Ahhhhhh."

The scream was forced from her throat~high pitched, a perfect C that went on and on. The Angel forced herself to breathe through the pain and shut down the squealing of the mortal mind that was raging inside of their shared skull. That noise was NOT helping.

'Shut UP!'

The squealing stopped, as did the screaming.

She knew there was NO way she would ever want this. It hurt. Her sensitive nose picked up the faint coppery tang of freshly spilled blood. THIS body's blood. How could any human female stand it? How could any human female WANT it?

'Focus on getting through it, that's all. Just get through it.'

The thought came and went. A firestorm of nonsense that surrounded and then subsided. Ruumel was wrong if he thought for two seconds that he could ever make her cave by doing this.

Pain was not pleasant.

Not to her.

Not at all.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

The scream was a harsh sound. Yet, with the presence of an angelic voice behind it, it was also beautiful. Sustained, pitch sensitive, almost musical in quality, accompanied by a spasm of her body as it was wracked with pain. Blood pooled around the tip of his cock as he held it deep inside of her. He left it there for a moment, before slowly sliding it back out. He'd fucked enough virgins to know that she was going to be tender, and that he might need to be gentle before she could really enjoy the stimulation, but Ruumel was patient. Even if he was under enormous time constraints, it wasn't like he would need to move her within the next hour. By his estimates, he might still have 24 hours before he needed to make the decision to move her. And he could wreak a lot of havoc in that time.

There was something satisfying about having permanently taken something from the gestalt entity of Dahmia. The human host had permanently lost her virginity, a treasure she must have been carefully guarding to have remained pure at her age. And Dahmia had thought herself above the act for milennia, having worn human skins many times, for extended periods, without ever having engaged in it. She'd probably be surprised to have learn how many of her brothers and sisters had at least dabbled while she had remained pure. Pure until now.

No words were necessary, now. Ruumel simply crafted his face into one of arrogant confidence, watching Dahmia's reactions as he used her body. She'd never been as good about guarding her expressions as he was, and he felt confident that he'd be able to read her body well enough when she began to feel those stirrings of pleasure. He slowly, gently, began to rock his hips now, feeling her wetness still gripping his cock as he slid inside of her. He reached out with one hand, sliding it up her smooth, soft skin, tracing her side, before he gripped one of her breasts, with her hard nipples still jutting out.

His eyes remained on hers even as he rolls his cock into her pussy, sliding smoothly against her interior walls, relishing the gentle friction. His thumb flicked out across that still-hard nipple, and he let this body fall into its natural rhythm. He know how to manipulate it, of course, but when it came to performing the act, he found that the physically ingrained instincts typically knew what to do. All he had to do was hold it back for now, and keep from overly abusing the poor angel's sore sex.

Ruumel gave his grin one last evil twist as he studies Dahmia's eyes, as his other hand against her stomach. Tied down as she was, he didn't need to grip her body in order to fuck her. The hand that traced past her stomach, and then moved south on her abdominals, eventually rested right at the top of her sex. Then his fingers dipped down and stroked at her clitoris-it was a stimulation he felt very sure that this poor angel had never before felt. Ruumel had to resist the urge to chuckle.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

It is odd. Uncomfortable. Achy.

Until suddenly~ it is not.

It is obvious to Dahmia that the body she inhabits is stretching to accommodate the bit of flesh that is slowly inserting itself, over and over. She isn't sure why her body would do such a thing, nor is she sure when the pain became something else. All she knows for certain is that this body seems to want to encourage the invasion.

'Encourage? No~ simple acceptance. Nothing more.'

That voice belongs to the human host but it sounds as unsure as she, herself, feels. After all, pain is easy to fight against. This spiraling movement that causes inner walls to clench and release? That is NOT painful. In fact~

'It feels good.'

Dahmia wants to shake her head in negation. But lying to herself would be just as bad as giving into this body's demands. Either way, she would stumble down the slope that would ultimately lead to her own damnation. She would not make the fight easy; not for the human soul he held in hock, not for her own immortal being.

And yet~

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

Clench.
Release.
Clench.
Release.

It is like a tide, a never ending battle between the receiver and the giver. Somehow, she holds her face still. Somehow, she controls the urge to roll her hips to meet each thrust. Somehow, she ignores the wetness that gathers. That builds. It is difficult. It feels like murder. Somehow, she does it.

Until one hand slips down the flat belly and lands at the apex of her thighs. One finger swirls, dips, circles, strokes and an electric current runs from her pelvis~outward. Her body jerks in reaction. Over and over and over again. Wide eyes open and she looks up into the face of her tormentor.

He is smiling that smile.

'We can not ignore this. It feels like too...much..'

The first whimpering sigh escapes.

The first hip motion begins.

'This is physical. We can not control the body. Only ourselves. This is not surrender. It is only physical.'

The words did not help.

They felt like lies.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

He can tune into the subtle signs her body gives off. It is part of what he is, and what he does. Ruumel has too much experience, is too talented in this particular area of expertise to miss the moment that her discomfort begins to change to pleasure. Dahmia's head gave the tiniest jerk, as though she was trying to deny the feelings, deny what was going on. And he just continued to grin as a well-groomed hand continued to massage her breast and stroke at her nipple. He just continues to rock his hips, penetrating her, feeling her inner walls clenching his cock each time he pulled back.

It's a familiar sensation to Ruumel. The tight wetness, encapsulating, sheathing, as he presses forward. Taking, claiming, feeling. He's always enjoyed it, even when it was wrong for him to. Something so base and simple, the pleasure felt by these humans, it also seemed to have its own purity of purpose. He didn't miss the irony that if Dahmia had engaged in this type of sordid activity before, he wouldn't be able to use it against her now.

Then, as his finger found her clit, he saw her eyes open wide, as did her mouth in a small gasp. She looked up at him as she felt her body responding, as she began to writhe a bit in her restraints.

She had never seemed so innocent.

And he had never thought she might appear so wanton, at once.

"How does it feel to be trapped inside a body? To be stuck in one form like these humans you've claimed to protect for so many years? It must be awful to know that you have an avenue of retreat that is denied to you by your own promises. Ruumel stroked the poor girl's clit once again-for the first time, he bothered wondering what her name was-enjoying the way this body responded, the feeling of her hips rocking as best they were able in the circumstances.

"Perhaps you're even eager for that first orgasm. It's yet another feeling of being out of control, they say, but in a way that's utterly delicious. A thrill like falling when you'll know you'll be caught at the end."

Feeling things accelerate, feeling his body's response to fucking his arch-rival, he tightened his grip on her breast. He began using it as a grip to pull himself forward, and the motion of hips stopped being so gentle, instead thrusting forward, pounding into her poor, tight body. He was bent forward so he could smirk victoriously over her prone body, looking into her face as he waited for her to cum.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

It was maddening.

The fact that he played her body like a harp. The way he gloated at her, his eyes gazing into hers with the dark shine of cruelty. The ease of his command as he took and took and took. Her inability to stop this body from responding.

It was maddening.

His body, pressed intimately into her own borrowed flesh. His hair, brushing sensitive skin. The thrust and masculinity of his form. The fingertip that parted and delved with gentle touches. Stoking fires neither the host, nor the angel, were prepared for.

'Don't let him scare you. It's natural. At least, that is what I learned when I studied women's mysteries at my grand mother's knee.'

The voice of Dahmia's host served to focus her, pulled her out of the thrust and lust this body was experiencing. Whether or not it was truly natural had no bearing, what mattered was that Ruumel could take this body heaving beneath his, as the first steps toward a surrender.

"Perhaps you're even eager for that first orgasm. It's yet another feeling of being out of control, they say, but in a way that's utterly delicious. A thrill like falling when you'll know you'll be caught at the end."

His hand tightened on her (their?) breast, his strokes sped up. She could feel that clench and the beginnings of an internal flutter that she could not fight off, could not control. Her eyes wanted to close but she forced them open, forced herself to stare blindly into his face.

That first crash ripped a scream from her throat. Her body convulsed around his rigid member as the whole ordeal threatened to send her swirling into the abyss of self loathing. She fought it off, even as the first unprepared for orgasm turned into a second, longer one.

Her hands fisted, sending a shock of pain through the hand missing a finger. That cleared her mind, immediately, and brought the whole thing to a screeching halt. Orgasm or not, pleasure or not? The pain...drove her back into her own mind and stopped the next orgasm from happening.

She felt her inner walls clench, she felt his borrowed flesh scrape.

The pain had driven all thoughts of mindless pleasure from her. All that was left was the cold, numbing pain that pulled a ragged groan from her dry mouth.

She stared up at him...with tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

 

[Noon_Shadow]

Ruumel's eyes were looking down into hers. He had Dahmia's body shaking beneath him, participating in this rapture, this rape, as he took her body. Her eyes tightened, as though they were going to close, and he tightened his grip on her breasts as he continued to ram his hips tight up into hers. He allowed a victorious laugh as he heard the deep-throated cry of passion energy from her throat, felt the light spasm of her pussy against his cock as she came on him, with a small rush of fluids coating his cock. He continue to hump her, watching the nervousness behind her eyes-she was lost in the moment of pleasure...it would not be long now.

With that, he saw her shift suddenly. There was a shudder, and then a groan, and he thought he detected a hint of pain. Her body had stopped responding to his, stopped fucking him back willingly, and went back to just lying there, as though she was becoming disinterested. He could see the tears forming in her eyes. That when he saw her hand, flexed, blood still saturating the bandage on her finger. Ruumel growled in frustration. He'd had her where he wanted her! It was frustrating to see her find a new way to fight him. He began pounding into her hips even harder, using his grip on her body to fuck her with all he had, but he soon realized that she was too clever for that, using the pain as a shield.

He felt a moment of resignation. He was going to need to regroup, and switch tactics on her again. "You really are the stubborn bitch, you know. Always were," he growled. He forcefully pinched down on her nipple that was still at his fingers, much less tenderly than before. He was going to find a way to take this out on her, sooner or later.

Right now, though, his body really required completion. Grabbing Dahmia by both of her hips, he pounded up into her, three strokes, four strokes, and then he was finished. The instant he felt the first squirting, he slide his cock out of her tight hole and aimed it her, giving her a big bath of jizz. It really served no purpose than to degrade, though he did enjoy the sight of his cum squirting out over her tight figure. Breasts, stomach, and one stream even shot all the way up her body and landed on her lips and chin. When the human hosts ran out of semen to squirt onto her, Ruumel leaned forward once again, casually, letting his hand resume playing with her clit.

"Don't think this means you've won anything, my lovely prisoner. You've simply insured that our little games will need to last even longer. Hopefully you enjoy feeling helpless." Ruumel pinched down hard on her clitoris, twisting it, before letting it go.

"You came from being raped, you know. That's a thought I'm going to leave you with for a while. You didn't want it, you fought it as best you could, and you still came like a wet slut. And the other thought I want to leave you with..." he stepped around the side of the table she was fastened to, leaning down over her face. One hand grabbed lightly at her throat, fingers digging into the skin. "There are literally thousands-THOUSANDS-of ways that I could snuff out the poor mortal soul sharing this body without harming you in the slightest. The simplest of which would be to snap this pretty little neck..." He gave Dahmia's head a slight twists, sneering down at her, before he calmly stopped to dress himself. Pulling his clothes on, back from where they'd been neatly folded, he stepped out of the room.

He then checked the time. It had been about 24 hours since he had taken her. Surely he still had some amount of time, but how much? Frustrated, he pulled out his phone, and began speaking to his agents. It was so kind of humans to invent these modern contrivances for instant communication, almost anywhere in the world-it was much more convenient and speaking through blood pools.

"Any omens? Any sightings? Any evidence of Celestials stirring, making a move?" He grilled them. His subordinates, lesser demons, and those idiots who'd sworn themselves into the service of the Lower Planes. And nothing. Not a peep, not a hint, not a suggestion of activity anywhere. If he had more faith in his subordinates, that might give him some comfort, but the possibility of incompetence, even betrayal, those were too serious to deny.

Ruumel knew that he would need to move her, soon. It was risky doing so, and probably represent her best chance to break free. But he had no other choice.

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

New York City~Twenty four hours earlier

"No one has heard from Dahmia. No call. No text. No hint. Where was the last place she heralded us from?"

The voice, a deep husky baritone, elicited a response from someone else~a light alto.

"I think she called in from just outside Centerville, Texas. If we haven't heard from her by now? Ruumel has her, trapped. What's the protocol for this? After all, it's only been a few hours."

The voice did not match the body it issued from. The female who had spoken was tall~ well over 6 feet in height and solid muscle. Her hair was midnight dark and her skin was alabaster pale.

The original speaker's voice did match his appearance though~dark eyes, dark skin, built like a pro line backer. He grunted a worried sigh and plotted out all obvious responses on his lap top.

Tense minutes later, he spoke again.

"It's obvious. We gather the troops and go looking."

So..that's what they did. Within the hour, eight people had booked separate flights to central Texas. Two hours in, they were all headed south by plane with two others taking the fastest route by car~ with all the weaponry they could gather.

Each person was a force to be reckoned with but ONLY human. Dahmia hadn't a task force of angelic beings on call, only these well trusted friends. They came south at speed, staying apart, only speaking by short wave radio or text messages.

When they reached Centerville, they stayed apart. Each one checked into a seedy motel~those located in (and around) the town and never told the others just where they were. It was all protocol. All rehearsed and plotted and planned.

What the others did not know? They could not tell.

Demon sign centered on one run down house. Watchers were marked.

They waited for daybreak.

Centerville~Morning

"Any sign?"

"No."

"We split up, canvassing the area from various viewpoints. Stay in touch by phone."

"Roger..."

It was about two in the afternoon when the first call was given.

"Dahmia is definitely in that house. I just heard her scream."

"Regroup...meet in twenty...outside that greasy spoon on the corner of the main drag. Relay the message. Out."

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

Dahmia

Here/Now

He acted as if she had caused herself pain on purpose. As if he could taste the victory that had been snatched from him. He degraded her, pulling out and spraying hot, ropy jets of semen upon her shared form.

He threatened her, denigrated her.

He pointed out that she had spent from a rape.

'That means nothing. Even a child knows that the body's response does not make one culpable. It only makes you human, for this little while. Your response was no different than the hundreds of children who are molested every year and find themselves blamed because their bodies responded, sexually. Not their fault. NOT our fault, either. Let it go, Dahmia.

Again, the mortal host pulled Dahmia from the brink of despair~cutting through the darkness with a brutal efficiency that allowed the angel to regroup, to check her innate time sense.

If things went as the drills had, then her people were already in town and searching for her. She just had to hold on, hold out, keep sane...and move...escape...leave...just as soon as Ruumel afforded her the opportunity.

She could do it. She would do it. And then, he would see why one should leave the torment in the Abyss, where it would be appreciated.