The Deal (Closed for WhisperedDesires)

[WhisperedDesires]

She was atop him, pressed close, her whole body resting atop his, a softness that stood in stark contrast to the hard unyielding nature of his own. It was warmth shared and returned, her battered form meeting his, even as she pulled herself up and claimed his lips. She hungered, seeking something he could not describe with the action, yet he returned her seeking, kissed back if only for the sake of tasting her desire on her lips, feeding upon what was given. Then she was pulled away, eyes glimmering with magics he did not think she fully realized she was wielding anymore, heard the ancient pulse of eternity in her voice as she spoke.

"Show me."

The words, to mortal ears, might have simply been. To a mage, they were laced with magic, power shared between the two, that conveyed more than their simple meaning. To him, it was more even that that. It was request, command, and permission all calling to his being. It was all that was required for the world, once more, to feel the touch of a demon's true flesh upon its surface once more.

The room seemed to darken as he undid the veil in its entirety. Shadows grew longer, darkened to near impossibility. The house seemed to groan against the intrusion, against what was and should not be walking the face of the earth. As the veil tore, pale human flesh unraveled before mortal eyes. Ava was lifted from the ground, pushed higher as his body resumed its natural state, growing in size, corded muscle filling out his frame and giving him an almost bulky appearance. Taller he grew, till if he was standing he would measure some eight feet in height, all of it covered in ash white, bone-like segments of overlapping armor. The scar so apparent upon his human guise was larger as well, a deep furrow into the armor of his chest and stomach, somehow all the deeper in his natural state. The clawed hand that rested upon her stomach nearly circled her torso, the subtle strength within his demonic frame held in check only by his will. His widening frame forced her legs farther apart as she straddled him, his rough armor scraping harshly against tender skin. His face, once so enigmatic and difficult to place, suddenly came into stark view, the bone forming to encase his entire head, sprouting from his brow to form some mockery of a crown. The only breaks within his helmet of bone was the slits of his eyes and the break where they opened to reveal his fang filled jaws.

When all was said and done, Ava sat upon the bone plates of his stomach, the demon watching her with eyes that glimmered with the embers of his essence. His hand remained upon her stomach, his grip only enough to keep hold of her atop him. With his true form revealed, she seemed so very fragile to him. He knew this, of course, humans were always so very weak and easily broken. But it had been many, many years since he'd viewed a living human with his true eyes, seen one sat close enough that he could compare his form to theirs. He would see her reaction, see what she thought of seeing a demon beneath her, of the hardness of his form compared to the softness she was no doubt so very used to.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Lifted by the shift in his form, she held still, looking down at him. Her eyes were a combination of human, of the dark flow of magic that coursed through her now.

She smiled, reaching up, high, higher still, to caress the side of his face, savoring the cool feel of bone. There were many questions that sprang to her fevered mind, curiosity upon curiosity, and some of the childish eagerness would slip into her body, nearly humming in excitement, her many wounds forgotten. Her hand was steady against the side of his face, until that desire to know, to touch, to learn, pushed it upwards, to caress the almost crown that was his brow. Could he feel her hand? Was it armor - like a nut shell that could be shed to reveal softer innards? Was he simply a mist, little more than a fog, held in place by this shell?

Inching up his body now, she seemed as content to crawl across his large form as a child would be to clamber over a doting parent. Her journey would end, though, with her sitting on his chest, the cleft of her sex wet, thrilled with an excitement that she couldn’t place, magics and desires much older than the both of them working through her, spurring her to further excitement. Wonderment and lust, excitement, the fear of a virgin: it was all there, a sumptuous feast for him, perhaps, to drink of, of new flavors and interests, and now, with that slight twist of something else, a calling, that made her trace the slit in his armored head that was his mouth.

Back and forth, she ran a taper finger across it, the digit stained with her own blood, dried into hardened rust. There were no lips now, no easy suggestion of humanity that would lend itself to her desire, but that hardly seemed to matter, for she was pressing her now small body to his, her lips firm against that slit, her tongue tracing the lines of it as her finger had. Her body throbbed atop his, the flicker of desire stoking higher and higher, enough to near overwhelm him. A faint shadow was their previous coupling, with the fury of her wounded pride fueling it. There was no pride here: the momentary flicker of her possession of him long having been supplanted by this new feeling that she was gorging herself on, that whispered to her to take her time, not to rush, there would be time enough to keep exploring him like this, a whole eternity, in fact, had she not already given her soul for this - and if not love, then an ease to the loneliness that seeped into her, the desire to have him back, just for the sake of having someone to torment her instead of leaving her alone yet again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice now the dimming flame from before, the pain, the chipping away of her body, manifesting itself into one place, compact, that allowed the rest of her to move freely as if she hadn’t wounded herself at all. There was more, but perhaps he would be shocked by the fact that she bothered to apologize at all, or that the fact that she’d meant it, that the feeling of losing such a magnificent creature now weighed heavily on her, dammned or not, demon or not, he was beautiful, wild, and hers, hers - had she not called him, had he not obeyed her? Had this been one expensive lesson for the both of them? The words burned in her throat, she wanted to say them - wanted to command him to look nowhere else but her, to leave off his machinations and serve her with a devotedness that she knew he was incapable of having. Was this the true Hell that she was to suffer in bringing him here, in seeing him like this, to continue to long for something, a creature that could never fulfill the end of his bargain, no matter how much she continued to tug at his lust?

Her hips ground, somewhat fruitlessly, against the ridges of his chest. He was firm, rough, yes, but with a lightness of her hips, his form was enough to stimulate the hardened nub of her clitoris; could he feel how wet she was, how she left long trails of dampness behind, the way her voice gave way to a soft sigh of desire as she ground against him, her nipples hardening? How would his body respond; could he be aroused in such a state? All she needed was a sign from him, a return of desire that escaped words and true comprehension, that defied her attempts to figure it out, casting aside all of her logic, the plotting, the thinking. There was nothing more than the moment and the heady dark power that filled her, that was dark, yes, wrapping her in warm arms, but holding her higher, as kindly as a lover, beyond the taint of the underworld, the purity of the heavens, a magic that just was, the magic that shifted through the stars and kept the planets spinning, older, older than that still.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He could feel her touch, though it was supplied more from his demonic senses than the physical responses. He could taste her delight through her fingertips tracing his armor, the childlike wonder as she traced the crown grown from atop his head, the lust as she moved up his body, wet against his chest. All the more, he could sense fear, but fear unlike that found among other mortals at the sight of him. Hers was the fear of the unknown, of the excitement of exploration, the thrill of terrified delight one felt when breaching new ground, finding something new to delight the mind and body. He drank of it deeply, felt her roiling emotions, felt the fire within begin to grow brighter, lending its light to his eyes and its heat to his bone exterior. What was once cool to the touch rapidly began to warm, the fire within, his essence, his being, singing out in delight at the feast she gave him simply by feeling, indulging in her every desire to touch and feel and know. Even her kiss, lips pressed against the slit that was the entrance to his fanged maw, sent a burst of emotion through her, pouring yet more into his being.

"I'm sorry."

The words were like cold water upon his mind. For a moment, a growl escaped him, logic asserting itself. The rumble deep within his body, setting bony plates to quaking, speaking of his displeasure, of his rage, of his spite, all communicated to her through the magic that linked them together in this moment. But even as all that crashed like a wave into her, so to would she feel what came after, confusion, uncertainty, lack of understanding. Apologies were unnecessary, unwanted, among the denizens of hell. To offer apology was to sincerely be apologetic, and demons felt no such emotion. That she offered it, freely, willingly, and sincerely... it was confusion and suspicion that responded. Then the feeling was washed away, lust calling lust instead. He had little interest in considering such things now, with this woman atop him, her hips rocking softly, calling for her little sounds of pleasure, her siren song, the magic between them providing the stimulation, the focus, upon what she, he, both wanted in this moment.

It formed at his hips, hard and unyielding, his arousal given form. Did it emerge from beneath this plated armor, or did it form from his essence, spring into being at the call of that most ancient magic? It mattered little in this moment. Rather, as she rocked her hips, left the signs of her desire on a wet trail across his chest, his own desire leaked its arousal. The appendage was as inhuman as the rest of him, the same ash white bone of his armor, but where the rest of him was rough and harsh to the touch, this was somehow softer, more pliable, and near burning hot to the touch. His own lust sang across to her, she who sat atop him, who's gaze glimmered like starlight, who body near vibrated with the power surging through her. Another growl then, this one louder, deeper, conveying somehow not anger or rage or hate but only naked want, lust, and the awakening of something within the demon, ancient and long dormant.

Still, he poured his returning power back into her, wove his mystical webs in an effort to restore her battered frame. That ancient magic within her guided his efforts, provided the channels his power moved through, breathing life back into her, and stoked her soul once more. His essence sang across the link between them, his own connection to the Sin of Lust calling to her, stoking the flames, whispering to her of the things she could do, the desires she could fulfill in this moment, with the demon beneath her, the demon that wanted her as much as she wanted him. As his essence flared even greater heights, the tug came, his demonic urges pulling words from his mouth, within them a question, a command, a request, almost as powerful as her words were upon him.

"What do you desire?"

His voice was deeper now, somehow resonating across the room, filling it with his presence, rumbling upwards, through her legs, her core, her stomach. The weight of it was strong, unspoken words echoing through the still air, heard but unheard. What did she desire? What dark urge did she seek to satisfy? What things did she wish done, wish to do, wish to indulge in? For this brief moment, fueled by her, connected to her, bound by her, there was one truth that echoed. She was his mistress, his master, the binder of his essence. What she sought, he would provide, what she wished, he would see done. But just as he was bound, so was she, to him, by him, in many ways a slave to the demon that he was. The ancient magics holding them both fast, two broken beings seeking comfort from each other.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

He was warming, and it filled her with joy. Pure, unfettered; the realization that life was returning to him, that she was pulling him back from the nothingness that sought to claim him. His growl of displeasure wasn’t enough to shake her, or to blunt her desire for him. No, as it threatened to overwhelm her, there was understanding, true regret there - a deeper apology than the one her mouth offered. She knew, all too well, what she had done to him, and though there was still the lingering righteousness of the why, a bit of annoyance that why should she, of all people, feel guilty, the apology was the most “right” thing, sinking deeply between them. He was hers, after all; it would be up to her to figure out the best way to deal with him. A tingle of humor in her stomach - perhaps she would command him to stay in his true guise, like he was now, and herself, stay nude, and simply indulge in him like this, to keep his focus so tied on her that he had energies for nothing else.

She could feel him grow, mold from nothing into something. It was the heat of him, raw power, cooling as his will brought his member into being, behind her. A minor twist of her head to see, and, oh -

The excitement surged through her anew, a child presented with a gift that had been longed for for ages. It, no, him, would hold her attention momentarily. Then, her gaze was back on him, and the energy that flowed through her, primordial chaos and nothingness and the void from which all could be born, illuminated her eyes, added more light to her smile as she looked down at him, luminous as she caressed his face, grasping the sides of his head in her palms. She touched her forehead to his, exchanging energies, a transfer from the proverbial Third Eye into him, flooding him with her, with the things that she didn’t have words for. Joy, though - that was there, first and foremost, a heady foam on the top of the ocean that flowed into her.

And his question?

She was smiling, her eyes damp - but was it from the blood she’d shed earlier, or tears? His head was still cradled between her hands as she leaned down, pressing her lips to that slit in his head.

“You.”

His flesh, his body, his form, yes - but more than that, his essence, past the petty pride and jealousies that would take his attention from her, but him, all that he could be, all that he would be, he was nectar poured into the empty bowl that was her body, the shell of flesh that was capable of feeling so much, these new things that she’d felt, only because of him, the good and the bad, the tying together, the way he owned her flesh; he could feel it now, couldn’t he? The way her body molded into his hands, the lack of fear to see him as he truly was, the wonderment of his power, and the desire, yes, oh yes - that was there, leeching off of her, twisting her body until it was on the razor’s edge of pain, she wanted and needed him so bad. But there was patience there still, a waiting, a calming of her body in the same hand that the fire continued to bolster. She wanted to be wrapped in his arms, to be beneath him, to feel his heat split her, take her apart, and piece her back together.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her emotions surged, like the swell of an ocean wave, crashing into him as she pressed her head against his. Her magic swelled with it, a vast ocean all its own, wrapping around them both, cradling his essence and her soul in its embrace. Her Joy sang through loudest of all, filling him with its warmth, its clarity, overpowering nearly everything else as it invaded his being. But still, other things shown through, guilt, apology, lust, excitement- all of it a roiling mess within her mind, his mind, the magic. It was getting harder to distinguish who's emotion was who's, which feeling belonged to which mind, for her magic tied itself tightly around all, connected everything and nothing, separated and combined. And then her answer came, the word piecing through the air, piercing through his essence, demanding his attention, his obedience, his understanding.

"You."

It held within it all her desires, rolled into a single word, spoken with voice, will, magic. All sent the surety of a command, the depth of her want, her need, her desire to have all of him. He felt it, whispering in his thoughts, echoing in his essence. In this moment, bound as they were, she wished only for HIM, to be bound to HIM, to shape herself to HIM. She pressed into his clawed hand, molded herself to the shape of his chest, even as her hips still rocked with barely contained want, even as he noted the wet evidence of her desire across his chest. Fear was gone now, utterly and entirely, replaced only by impatient want, dark need demanding satisfaction, under the surface of something far tamer. He felt her patience, her waiting, her strangely calm surface, keeping all her chaotic emotions from pouring out entirely, her steel will allowing her some semblance of control over herself still.

He moved then, clawed hands grasping her torso so gently it was almost comical. They were turned, both tumbling, until her back was pressed against the floor, the demon's form almost covering her, his hellfire born warmth enveloping her smaller frame beneath him. Somewhere in the switching of their positions, he had pushed her farther down his body, his hard arousal pressed against the searing heat of her core, legs spread wide to accommodate the bulk of his demonic body. Yet still he felt the want, the needs, pulsing from her, echoing from him back to her, the want, the need, his own seeking her confirmation, some final part of his logical mind pointing out that without bolstering, she would almost certainly be rubbed painfully raw, simply from the scrape of his bone hide against her very human flesh. The idle thought was answered, his demonic power sent surging forth to harden her flesh against his touch, to keep her from further injury. But still, he waited, one final time, his burning hellfire orbs finding her star-touched eyes in the dark, seeking that final something- permission, command, demand, entreaty, whatever it would be that would finally, finally, drive them together, push them to action, grant them the moments to satisfy lust, desire, pleasure, hunger, all that roiled within them both.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Down, she must have felt to him - pillow down, a collection of feathers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, or what would have passed for it, as he turned with her, her arms going about the armor of his neck. Though he was rough, what was such little discomfort in the face of everything else that she had experienced with him, the pain from bringing him here? No, if anything, it served to carve him that much deeper into her. Less demon and human, more colliding creative forces -

She adjusted neatly beneath him, even as she wound her body around him, vines trailing up a wall, fastening him securely to her. The damped folds of her sex brushed against his head, hotter than him, close to audibly dripping, the deep pink of her folds succulent fruit waiting for him to take, to savor.

Her eyes, crinkled in mirth, locked onto his, all too human, all too frail, and all too temporary, even with the flicker of the unknown there, powering her, anchoring to him. In them he would find his answer - please. Yes. I was made for you. That’s why you came when you were summoned, wasn’t it? I can take you, all of you, just like this. Join us.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her unspoken agreement, wish, desire, was all that he required, all the was necessary to push him forwards. His length pushed into her wet folds, the searing heat of her wrapping around the searing heat of him. A growl of wonderful pleasure shook through his body, growing louder still as he pushed himself as deeply as he could go into her. There was a moments pause, of simple enjoyment, as his hips met hers, as there was nothing but the pleasure of her sex, tight around his girth. He could feel the pulse of magic within her, like a heartbeat from her very soul, echoed within his body as his essence responded in kind.

Then impatience took hold, hunger, desire, naked want. This was not enough, he needed more, he needed to taste of her. Her pleasure, her lust, her dark desire, all would be tasted, all would feed his essence, sends pleasure of his own coursing through his body. Without preamble or warning, for what use were those when she could feel his every intention with her own soul, he pulled his length from her, only to drive it deep into her once more, again and again. Each motion, at least for now, was calmly controlled, testing, in some sense, how well she handled his demonic frame, the hellish strength he still held firmly too, lest he break her body further.

Through all of this, the hellfire within his eyes cast its glow upon her face, so close were they together. Shadows flickered across her features, deepened by his existence that should not be. He watched her for any sign of discomfort, for every sign of ecstasy, for every emotion and feeling and thought that passed across her features. The near bottomless hunger of his essence demanded it, wanted it, to taste of her in every manner that could be managed, to take from her every drop of what she willingly gave.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

A widening of her eyes, a fluttering of her eyelids, then, a glimpse of white as they shifted upwards, before being hidden by her eyelids as they closed. Her expression was the beatific bliss of a saint, touched by the hand of the divine. Her entire body throbbed, her heart racing in finally being granted her body’s desire. Her breath was held as he pushed inside of her, his girth stretching, slight bits of pain sprinkled throughout, but it would only heighten the experience, before even that had faded away, replaced with the strangest feeling of being…whole. Not in a physical sense, no - but emotionally as well, a richness of his body pouring into hers, until she was overflowing, the magics between them building as well, darkness pulling into itself tighter and tighter, compacting what it drank from him, from her -

Fruitlessly, she rained kisses on the armor of his face, her arms about his neck holding him close. Cheek, throat, chin, brow - kisses of supplication, of wanting to share, childish, some, yes, others, at particularly deeper thrusts, full of lust, expressing how good he felt, and still more, still others, as simple and as chaste as conversation. Getting to know the way he felt, to bathe in the hellish light of his eyes when her eyes could be forced open, for their natural state now was to remain closed, her mouth, when not busy kissing, lips parted, so that breath could puff out, energy slipping out there, too, almost tangible, caressing his face, slipping into him.

Words, if she had them to give, would have been meaningless, not have come close to expressing how she felt, how good each thrust was into her body. The roughness of his body was a novelty, one that would be in her favor, for each movement of his hips against hers continued the work she’d started astride his chest, jostling the firm nub of her clit, sending newer, more intense pulses through her body.

It truly would not be long, not from the way her sex tightened around him, the way she nearly dripped onto the floor beneath him, from the way each new thrust brought a torrent of warmth from her, or how her arms clung desperately to his neck now, almost to the point of strangulation. Her soft cries, breathy sighs, were louder now, sharper, whimpering, startled out of her louder and louder, her hips winding beneath his, canting back and forth to meet each thrust the best that she could, to drive him deeper, to cling to him as he pulled out, not even wanting the temporary loss of him.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her kisses, her conversations, were both shocking surprise and intimately familiar. He'd tasted of her soul, felt her roiling emotions through the binding force that pulled them close, knew her as she knew herself. That she would shower him with kisses, each a new thought, a new conversation, a new emotion was unsurprising. His demonic essence, his demonic mind, rebelled against the thought, surprise, paranoia, uncertainty, each flashing through his body like wildfire, only to be swallowed up entirely by the pleasure of her yielding flesh coiled around him, tightening, clinging to him with every motion and thought and desire.

He could feel the magic flowing from her, brushing away the damage of long tortures, lending energy to tired limbs, every sigh of breath brought more life back to him, every whimpered sound, every gasp of delight, every cry released more and more magic into him. Like a loop, an endlessly connected cycle, his own power, restored through her indulgence in her pleasures, in her feeding of his essence, flowed from him into her. Where her breath carried his salve, his power flowed into her from the point where they joined. Every thrust of himself into her depths carried his power with it, flowing into her with bursts of searing heat, chasing away the pain of exhaustion, restoring damaged organs to their rightful purpose. Just as she healed him, he healed her, each feeding the other through the bond that held them fast.

He could feel the shift, the sudden change, as she grew ever closer to the precipice of release. The steady rhythm of their motions stuttered, replaced with a primal seeking of nothing more than pleasure. She clung to him, wanted him, the desire to never have him leave her, to fill her completely and stay there, drove like a spike into his mind. He drove himself into her more harshly, control of his strength slipping from his grasp, the force of each thrust growing in strength, growing in demand, growing in lust. He wanted, demanded, pleaded, for her to scream, for her to reach her peak and let the world pulse with her satisfaction. His own mounting pleasure demanded it, as her cries grew louder, his own deep, rumbling growls rose to match it, as if answering her call, as if signaling his own closeness, his own pulsing need that built and built until it was almost unbearable.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Sparking from deep within her, her building orgasm was the ocean pulling back from the shore as an earthquake shook its depths. Stuttering gasps, attempts to catch her breath, the movement of her hips weakening, though erratically, and struggling, to keep pace with his own, all the while, the wave of her senses was drawing back, building higher, stronger.

When it crashed, it did so with the force to knock the air from her lungs, her five senses from her. The sheer intensity stole from her the ability to let loose her voice in a wail, though her healed throat could have. No; instead, she clung to him, tighter, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyelids, her whole body shaking violently, her fingers, her nails, scrabbling to find purchase against the rough armor of his body. Her orgasm would last eternities of raw, violent pleasure, wiping free every thought in her body, finally snapping that ball of dark energy curled within her, a veritable Big Bang of power that exploded from her, snapped into the real world around them.

The next morning, those in the neighborhood would muse about the strange power outage - it had been sudden, and the initial thought was that someone had hit a transformer, or a power pole. As suddenly as the power had gone out, it was back on, though it would continue to flicker, threatening to go out, well into the next day. The elder among the witches and mages and dabblers in the neighborhood would have felt the power as tugging on the fine hairs of the backs of their arms, their necks, the deep feeling, like a dream, of witnessing the birth of a new celestial body. But as to who, or how, the power had come to be, it would elude them.

In the present time, the orgasm wringing her body out, pulling it higher, higher still, one orgasm somehow molding into another, two, then three, her body convulsing, soaking him, the floor beneath them, she kissed his face desperately, pouring the overflow of her body into his. It was too much, much too much, for her mortal flesh to handle; it would have turned her mortal body to ash had she not had him there to pour it into, torrents and torrents of energy, recharging him, filling his body to the brim, and past it, beyond it - he would be able to take it, to drink and drink and drink to fill himself, demonic energy merging with something older than even that.

When her orgasm, no, orgasms, had finally eased from her, she lay limply beneath him, her dark brown eyes glazed over entirely black, a reflection of the deep void of Chaos, though he could sense her soul, the flickering spark of who she was, the unique essence that was Ava beneath it all, still alive, still there, marinating, ruminating, absorbing what she could before the void was completely removed from her.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He felt the build up first, a momentary halt in her emotions, in her feelings, all coiling together into a single moment, a single feeling. Then the release, that crashing wave, exploding from her soul, coursing through the confines of her flesh, tearing away thought, leaving behind only pleasure and helpless, merciless release. He felt her quake beneath him, felt her tighten to her utmost limits. The magic channeling through her followed suit, rippling outwards, manifesting fully, exploding into existence and collapsing all around it, like a star suddenly igniting into glorious life.

His own release was triggered by hers, by the sudden outpour of magic, by her desperation in clinging to him, by her sudden kiss, lips pressed to his armored face, magic pouring into him. His deep, pleased rumble became something more, something echoed within his essence, something that shook the very air, made shadows tremble, made the lightning force arc from his frame and scorch the wood of the house's walls. It grew deeper still as he drove himself one last time into her, exalting in her trembling body, his seed pouring into her in violent bursts, filling the woman beneath him. His demonic magic filled her in equal measure, flowing freely into her being, pulsing into her existence, marking her in ways that could not, would not, be defined by mortal words.

Even as his power surged from him, it replenished itself. That magic that flowed through her, that she poured into him, he drank of deeply, drew it in and consumed it upon the pyre of his own essence. The inner hellfire of his existence roared ever higher, the heat building within until his bone armor was burned at the touch. Still, his essence warped and shifted, twisted by this ancient, unknowable magic, torn apart and born anew. His essence gained new form, new power, new heights. All of this would go unnoticed, unheeded, for he was lost to the sensation of pouring himself into her, of drinking of her, of power exchanged again and again between the two, a cycle that did not end until she had given all of that strange magic to him, and he had poured the demonic back into her.

She lay beneath him, exhausted, tired, worn. She lay beneath him filled, healed, made whole. He could see, sense, the roiling chaos that covered her, this strange existence that covered her soul like a blanket. He could feel her contemplation, her absorbing, as much of this strange existence as she could. He watched her, his eyes still burning, brighter than they ever had, watched her and waited. His fire was strong, his essence stronger still, and for the first time in his millennia long existence, he found himself content to simply watch, to pick apart the features of the woman beneath him, consider them not for some ulterior motive or web-like plan but simply for the sake of seeing.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Her eyes closed; her chest rose and fell, rapidly at first, then, calming, to a smooth lull. For long moments, she seemed to doze beneath him, the force of their orgasms knocking her all too mortal flesh into slumber. She needed rest, yes, not just from the strain of freeing him, but from being a conduit of that deep power, power, had he not been there, she would have not been able to achieve, or handle.

But, slower still, her eyes opened, and when they opened this time, they were back to her dark brown, as human as ever. There was a faint hint of confusion; uncertainty of what she was looking at, where she was. Looking to one side, then the other, registering that she was safe, at home, and in what would pass for arms, she seemed to settle, comforting herself with him. Something had happened; she could sense it. Feel the lingering essences in her body as they departed, smoke blown on the wind. The last thing she remembered clearly was fighting her way into the shop to free him; driving home. All else was a blank spot. Though, from the feel of him still within her, from the outpouring of his seed from her body, she had a fair guess as to what occurred.

And…she found that she didn’t mind. Now, idly, she ran her hands up and down the armor of his arms, exploring still, trying to remember him. There was something between them, as tangible as his body on hers, but she didn’t have the words for them. The urge to stroke the armored plate of his face was there, yes, but she withdrew, her mind, struggling to piece together what she needed to do next. Her body still hummed, sang with the faint echoes of the chaos from before. That was new, she knew that much. Something extraordinary had just happened - and now, she couldn’t remember it. Couldn’t imagine or begin to piece together how to climb to those heights again.

She was back to the earth, yes, but it wasn’t a cold or harsh drop; a dreamy one, yes, as she felt herself reawaken, reorient. Slowly, she would unwrap her legs from him, her arms still about his neck to anchor herself, to allow that last bit of sensation to pass between the press of their bodies, though she didn’t try to hang onto it. Her mind, waking, started to buzz with questions, but her body, in spilling his seed lazily, hushed it. He had filled her, past the point of absorption, and her thighs, her sex, were glistening, soaked in the spendings of both of them. Her sex still twitched slowly, rippling in the aftermath of pleasure she’d never comprehended or thought possible.

There should be words. She should say something; perhaps give him a command. But what? She was at a true loss; it felt that words still would be incorrect. She was long past the point of a smart comment, some pithy thing to be tossed out to severely undercut the intensity of what had just happened. So, she sat, thinking, struggling, until it became too much, and she had to say something:

“…Are you…restored?”

She wasn’t sure if that was the right word. It had been his pitiful appearance that haunted her dreams, tugged her forward into action. That appearance that drove her to save him. And now, he was completely different, not just from having cast off the semblance of humanity, he was more powerful, bigger, stronger, than she had ever recalled him being. And though her body was tired, her clit sore, there was enough still, in seeing him like this, to still call to that arousal within her.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

"So it would seem. And not entirely through Sin."

He was restored, his essence burning bright within him. He was also more, the power she poured into him igniting his essence into something new. Already some part of his mind was examining the change, curious, cautious, uncertain, paranoid. But it was an idle curiosity at the moment, a passing concern that would be addressed in the time to come. Now, his firelit eyes watched her, the Betrayer, with the calm he'd always had. Even then, with his face an impassive mask, if only because the armored plates of his features could not move, she could feel the emotion, the intent, behind some of his actions. He was watching her, not out of paranoia or distrust, though that was there, a slinking, slimy feeling snaking its way beneath his emotions. But above that was interest, curiosity, echoes of pleasure still ripping through his corded muscles and above that, like a beacon, further lust still.

He stood then, her arms around his neck dragging her with him, one clawed hand moved to grasp her frame and steady her against him. A sense of amusement, across the channel of their loose bond, as her feet lifted off the ground, though he made no move to set her down, he would not stop her from attempting to stand on her own strength. Still he watched her, waited as she gathered herself, reached across the bond and tasted her confusion, her uncertainty, her attempts to resolve what had happened, was happening, her almost reluctance to speak. That to received a trickle of amusement. But the arousal that whispered through her mind at the sight of his demonic form...

"You find my appearance pleasing."

The words were some strange mixture of question and statement. She'd see the surprise, or perhaps feel would describe it better. She'd feel his intent too, that he was not done with her now that he knew of her interest, that she'd be given pleasure once again and that the only reason she was being left alone now was for her fragile, mortal body to rest. She would be provided the opportunity to gather herself, to make conversation as she saw fit, at least until his patience wore thin. If the feelings across the bond weren't enough, the fact that the demon's length had not receded or grown soft would have made that readily apparent, the heat of it pressed against her inner thigh as she hung from his neck.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

His answer was considered, rolled through a mind still trying to process a massive gap. Just what had happened between them? Through the faint cords that bound them together still, thin as gossamer spider thread, she could feel the change in his emotions, his curiosity, the unshakeable paranoia, confusion. And the desire, yes - that beckoned to her, caused her sex to tighten in anticipation, of wanting more of him, and perhaps, yes, even receiving more.

“That’s…good.”

Somewhere, in her mind, she was kicking herself at not having the ability to say more, the fear that she must have sounded beyond foolish. But what could be said? He was restored, and then some; she could both see and feel that. Stronger than he was when she first summoned him, a fact that somewhat surprised her. Had she been capable of giving him that much power? She couldn’t sense that her own power had been drained, him sipping from her - not like the Angelmakers had glutted themselves on him. No, there was a lightness to her feet, her body, that had eradicated all of the strain that had felt baked into her bones not too long ago. Something powerful, deeply so, had happened, had crossed between them.

But what?

He was standing, and, a flare of panic from her, the grip of her arms tightening, keeping her close to him. Then, the reassuring feel of his massive hand against her back, her side, nearly dwarfing her torso. She would look up at him, a look of confusion there, but trust, yes. That was something new. She trusted him, even if she didn’t fully know or understand it. But her feet would find the ground soon enough - and her legs instantly buckled. Before she could fall entirely, she was secured by his hand, claws biting lightly into her skin. Her arms, able to keep their purchase around his neck once she was lifted, or when he was atop her, was impossible now; he towered so high above her. So her grasp went to his waist, clinging to him as her legs continued to shake, still not up to the task of holding her upright.

He spoke again - though the length pressed against her body, pressing between the soft valley between her breasts, gave her more of an answer as to how he felt about it. “Yes,” it was said quickly, softly - with a bit of hesitancy. She wasn’t sure why she found this form desirable - his size, his power, the fact that it was him, without artifice? Or was it simply that she, freed now, even if she wasn’t aware of it, would find him pleasing regardless of what form that he chose to wear, because it was still him?

“Yes,” she repeated, letting gravity take control of her now. If her legs were too weak to hold her up, then she would kneel. And kneel she did, before him, her arms caressing the muscles of his thighs, from outside to inside, savoring the heat of him. If she looked up, her nose, her mouth, would nestle against the base of his cock, the semblance of his sack, inhuman, but similar enough for her body to know how to respond to. The wetness between her legs, still dripping of him and of her, increased as she licked one long, savoring stripe from the center of his sack to the midpoint of his length, the rest of him too high for her to reach from her kneeing position.

There it was again; the flicker of that chaos within her, responding to his desire now, bolstering her own. She felt that she couldn't control herself; she wanted to engulf him whole if she could. Wanted to worship him with her mouth, her tongue, to further bring him to life, to burn her mark upon him as he had to her. Love - no, not that, but more than empty lust. A connection, yes. Something that had little definition beyond that, a neat tying of him to her, perhaps a true completion of the contract between them, pulling them closer than either had ever experienced, or were to anticipate, through the old tomes of contracts.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Her tongue upon his cock, traveling up his length, sent a notable shiver through his frame. It was cool against the heat of him, drawing a hiss of pleasure from the demon, even as he noted her inability to reach the rest of him. He could feel her wish, her desire, rippling through the gossamer webs that still connected their beings together. Instinctively he bent down, knees lowering his hips that she might have access, that she might satisfy her want. He could taste her carnal reaction as well, the heat rising in her core, the wet hunger that was different yet the same as lust. Deeper somehow, than mere want, more grand than wanton desire.

Even still, his length seemed to harden further, if that were even possible, at the sight of her kneeling before him. Visions, desires, held from months before, of feeling her lips upon him, her tongue tasting him, for her to submit fully, flashed through him mind. But even that was somehow different to the woman before him. She submitted, wanted to submit, to worship, to taste his cock with her tongue, and yet even in that she remained somehow equal. Somehow more than simple service or submission. It was... confusing, annoying, unknowable. He could not place the feeling, could not grasp at the half heard whispers of whatever this was between them, that even as she knelt, like a succubus before her master, she retained the image of strength, of iron will, of something greater than the position suggested. This frustration echoed across the void between them before it was banished entirely, ignored in favor of the pleasures that awaited him at her touch.

"Please me."

Once more the words spoken served to communicate so little. Once more nothing more needed to be said. All that needed to be known was left unspoken but understood. Though he spoke as if to command, as if to lord over her, the echo of request, of want, of invitation, would be known to her. He wanted her to touch him, to want him, to do as she wished with what was presented to her, to give him the pleasure he desperately sought from the tongue she had, knowingly or unknowingly, teased him with. He wanted to see her, eyes darkened in lust, lips wrapped around his length, not because he wished it of her but because, somehow, they both wished it of her.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

His words weighed down the air, settled on her shoulders. She ducked her head, reaching up with her right hand to stroke the length of his cock, from the base to the head, her thumb lightly rolling across it. He was warm, warmer than her, the skin, if it could be called that, inhumanly slick and smooth that called for her mouth. With him kneeling, it was easier for her to shift as well, engulfing his head in her mouth. He was so smooth, a texture similar to that of a sea creature, but not abhorrent. No, something about the softness, the nearly translucent nature of his skin there made her want to protect him, it, in a way that tugged at her stomach. Give him a place to dwell.

To the outside, perhaps it looked strange: both of them on their knees like this. Well, she had started on her knees, but no longer. She was inching forward, on all fours, little better than a beast. Pillowing her breasts on the thickly corded muscles of his thighs, she lapped at his cock again, experimentally, almost playfully, tasting him again, licking her lips to determine his flavor. Her body curved over him now, she deftly took as much of him as she could into the hot and wet confines of her mouth. She could taste herself, his seed, on him, and the mixture caused her to groan low in her throat, her sex to throb that much harder. Her left hand grasping the part of his cock that no amount of work, save supernatural intervention, could get into her mouth, her fingers tapped against him, as if playing an instrument.

Then, closing about his girth, her hand was working in slow tandem with her mouth, stroking up and down, languidly, relishing in the unnatural smoothness of his flesh. For long moments, it was just the stroking of her hand, her mouth busy sucking on what was there, her cheeks hollowing in her effort, lips clamped firmly around him. Her tongue wasn’t still; it traced the lines of his head, the smoother skin there, trailed down and around his girth even as she still sucked, the sound rising in volume as saliva oozed from the corners of her mouth, adding additional fluid to her motion of her hand, her right, slipping between her legs to part her own sodden folds.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

His eyes followed her every movement, watching with rapt attention as she traced his length with her hand, crept forward to press herself against his legs. She had seemed a jungle cat then, some exotic beast that had found prey worthy of its attention, of its undivided attention. A rumble of vocal pleasure as her tongue found him again, tasted him. His eyes followed the flicker of her tongue across her lips, a clawed finger moving to trace the lines of her mouth before she moved on, enveloping his cock in the warm, wet cavern of her mouth. The sensation sent tingles of pleasure up his spine, his armored head to tilting slightly, seeking a better angle with which to see her performance.

She was quick to prove her skill, or perhaps it was merely instinct guiding her now. The demon found he cared little, for either resulted in this act of lust and want. Her hands, stroking him, fluttering across the flesh of his length, teasing him with the slow, measured movements that seemed almost designed to infuriate. Calm was kept only with her worship of his cockhead, the ceaseless ministrations of her tongue, the suction of her mouth about him, its rising volume a testament to her intent. Still, his hands twitched, eager to grasp her face, his hips spasming slightly in some instinctual need to drive himself into her offered mouth, her throat. Restraint held him, for deeper still he knew, KNEW, that she would not leave him wanting, that her work pleased her almost as much as it pleased him.

He could taste it still, across the bond they shared, smell it in the air as he saw her subtle movements, her unoccupied hand descending between her own legs, to the glistening treasure hidden out of his line of sight. That alone provided some measure of distraction from the ecstasy of this woman. The act alone pleased her, but was it the act of debasing herself, or the act of giving of herself? He found he could not find the answer, perhaps having no answer to find, or perhaps it simply did not matter in the moment. It was this same instinct, to worship, to give, that had the demon calling up old, half-forgotten magics, sending them into the shadows that still surrounded them. Tentatively, he commanded them, extensions of his will, dark tendrils emerging soundlessly to creep up her legs, winding slowly, agonizingly slowly, as if to ask, to question, to hint at intentions that demon could not entirely understand.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

For as thin as the threads were that connected them, they slipped deep, slid beneath her skin, sent her body information like veins sending blood through her body. She didn’t have time to contemplate how the connection lasted, how much further she could have been falling into the debt of some malicious being. Just that self-same tug, deep down, that kept her working his cock. Slow, still, despite the eagerness of her tongue searching him, mapping him, her lips that loosened, tightened, as she worked more of him into her mouth. His clawed finger running across her lips made her hum in pleasure, her eyes hooding shut. In another place, with another being, perhaps it could have been considered a loving gesture. She wouldn’t read too much into it - just enjoying it as it was.

The departure of her right hand from between her legs as she lifted her mouth away from his cock with a breathy gasp, a sigh of contentment. Both hands would come to grasp his length now, her pressing it to the corner of her mouth, eyes closed, a small smile on her face, before she opened them, looking up at him. The smile would slip away as quickly as it came, melting into something deeper. Pulling back, she looked up into the armored plate of his face, eyes dark, unreadable, searching him. As quickly as it had come on, it passed; her lips returning to the happy work of caressing his cock.

A shift, and she was taking as much of him as she could into her mouth, swallowing to trick her throat into giving way, to allowing him that much more room to explore. Holding down until she nearly gagged, she swallowed more, more - before it became too much, and she was pulling off of him with a cough, a quick hand to her throat to steady herself. It had been her own eagerness that had convinced her that she could have taken more than what her hands held. One breath after another, then, she was sliding back down his pole, her hands working the wet flesh that she couldn’t comfortably take. It wouldn't take long for her to work out a smooth rhythm, sliding up and down, her hands working in turn with her mouth, her tongue, never stilling, flicking back and forth across his head.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

The slow movements of her mouth, her tongue, her hands, were in there own manner pleasurable beyond expression. The interruption, her lips separating from around his cock, led to a growl of discontent, of dissatisfaction, but her expression, held only for a moment, seeking something, looking for something in his unresponsive features, gave him pause. Burning orbs met her human eyes, holding her gaze in the few moments that she seemed intent on this somber moment, and then it was over, she moving on to more pleasurable activities, more eager worship.

Her work proved worth the wait. She took his girth into her, deeper and deeper, the tightness of her throat a delight, her eager participation a temptation he could not resist. Every swallow gave a surge of pleasure, her throat tightening even further upon him. Despite her mortal limitations, the amount she managed to draw into herself was impressive, broken only by her finally reaching her limits, the cough a signal of her retreat. He watched her, a small flicker of something beneath the surface at the sight of her discomfort, and then she had regained her breath and was at her performance once more, her rhythm found swiftly, her movement unceasing, a combination of hands and lips and tongue. She seemed then so intent upon drawing his pleasure from him, something she was proving to be skilled at, as his breathing slowly grew more ragged, the sensation slowly pushing him further and further towards his end.

But he had distraction of his own, his will flexing to manipulate the magics he'd called forth. Those shadowy tendrils slipping up her legs grew more solid, wound their way more swiftly up her legs, seeking the dripping warmth of her sex. They coalesced between her legs, a single tendril forming to brush against her folds, tease at her entrance with its tip, her lust coating the magical appendage with glistening desire. A gesture sent the tendril pushing into her, a slow drive into her depths, agonizingly slowly if only to tease her for her earlier, languid motions over his length.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

A gasp, a shift. What was happening - his hands were where she could see them. So how…

Before she had more time to contemplate what he was doing, or how he was doing it, the tendril was sliding inside of her body, and she sighed around his cock. Her hands stopped, her tongue slowed. Spreading her legs a bit wider, she ground her hips into the barely tangible tendril, pushing it deeper, clenching on it. Her body was pushed towards the max - no, past it. There had been hardly any recovery time from the intense orgasm, and already, he was sliding back inside of her. No, not him, but something like him, similar to him, pushing open her folds, rubbing against sore walls that were still coated in his seed, her own cum.

It was past her limit, yes, but she was still willing, her body still purring, still accepting of him. She leaned, trembling, over his cock. It was so much; too much, and she looked up at him, her eyes pleading, for the briefest of moments before she steeled herself. She could do this. She wanted to feel him spend in her mouth, to taste him.

The pleading look in her eyes was replaced by a playful determination, even as her lips clasped round him again. With a deep inhale, she was sliding his cock further into her mouth, swallowing him as neatly as she could, before she was working her way back up, exhaling, still clinging to him with her lips, before she let his head slip out of her mouth with a small pop. Rather than taking him back in, she let her hands do the work of her lips. Fingers moved easily up and down the spit slick flesh, rubbing his head, exploring the dip there that was human, similar enough to set her at ease, though the alien-ness of him was enough to keep her arousal burning higher, higher still. This monster, this demon, was hers, his strange body a new toy for her to experience, to learn.

“Mine,” she grinned, pressing her lips against the head of his cock, a gentle but possessive kiss. “You’re to look at no one else. Tempt no one else.” Words that had burned her stomach, would have never escaped otherwise, bubbled out of her. He could feel the sincerity burn through the connection between them, the only thing close to her hands tightening on his neck, a collar looped round his throat, a command, a question - what could she do, what could she offer, to keep his attention solely on her, to keep him away from all others? Was it not her soul, and hers alone, that was at risk? Why wasn’t it enough? “Stay with me.”

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He would have smirked at the sight of her squirming, at the sudden gasp as his magical construct slid into her. Instead, across their connection, a flare of amusement as she ground herself against the tendril, even has he directed it to writhe and caress the walls of her sex. He had no feeling to go off of, no tangible sense that could tell him her feelings. Nothing but her own reactions as she accepted the intrusion, slowed in her work upon his shaft as she focused on the sensations it provided. That brief look in her eyes, that brief moment as her gaze shifted to meet his, pleading for mercy, for relief, sent some dark part of his being purring, to see her, even for a moment, losing that steel that so made up her will. Then the moment was passed, a teasing determination found once more, her lips and tongue providing a fresh layer of saliva before she set her hands to stroking, exploring, feeling and her mouth to speaking.

"Mine"

Possessive. Greedy. It was a label, a title, a command, each in its own way adding a layer to this strange bond they now shared. Something within rebelled against the idea, a demon shackled to the will of a mortal soul, to be bound to such a fragile existence.

"You're to look at no one else. Tempt no one else."

Boundaries, to be followed at her whims. This he rejected fully, to tempt, to lead astray, that was a piece of his purpose, to seek souls, to gain more power. She had offered much, through the strange ancient magic that she'd wielded, but to be satisfied with what one had was not the way of hell's denizens. Still... perhaps he could manage to wait, to slow his endless drive for more.

"Stay with me."

Vulnerability. Her request, her begged favor, a deep wish that she sought from him greater than any bit of power or magical act. So much so that the words echoed with questions, asking, pleading, for him to just tell her what she must give to make it so, to keep it so. He had no words that would satisfy, even as he felt something tighten within his essence at the mere thought of leaving her side for any length of time. The thought caused him a growl to emerge from his frame, an anger he didn't understand taking hold. It was forced down, banished until it could be considered more carefully, more cautiously. But even as he did so, his voice formed words, a promise given free of debts, strings or unspoken payments, power thrumming through the very frame of the house as he spoke.

"I shall never be far from your side, so long as you live."

 

[Apollo Wilde]

A flicker of logic through the dream of lust, a bit of reality to take the high from her. Of course he wouldn’t leave her side; the had been part of the contract, an unwritten part, but one that was well understood. How else was he to humor falling in love?

There was no outward change in her motions, no woodeness that would slip in to show a lack of enthusiasm. But it was there; still too much of a gap between the human and what he was, too much to ever be surmounted. Yes, there was the heady power, there was the fun idea of playing pretend that he was hers, hers to command, that he was devoted to her, a knight and his lady. And she’d allow herself to indulge in that, right now, as she sucked him, as he pushed inside of her, rhythmically, but like a sleeper awakening, no matter how hard she tried to hang onto a dream, it was starting to fray at the edges, the connection between them narrowing, eroding, crumbling. The raw chaos that she'd tapped into, had drunk deeply of, was slipping from her.

It would be for the best - though healed, though passing the power onto him, there were limits to her flesh, to what her mind could take. Something about the distracting nature of pleasuring him, of him pleasuring her, was enough to mitigate the power, send it channeling into newer avenues than keep it trapped within her. Her eyes closed, there was a soft sigh against him. She would let herself be this much more lost, and then…she would have to wake up, and realize what she had on hand. What she would need to do to keep others around her from being in danger.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

He could feel the shift in her ministrations. To be sure, the physical act was the same, still the eager motions, the steady rhythm and slowly mounting pleasure she gave. But something beneath had shifted, tainted this strange ritual of bonds. Logic shoved its way viciously into the opening, taunting the image, forcing the demon to SEE what he had done.

A promise had been given.

He nearly jerked away from the Betrayer, thoughts suddenly halting in surprise as mind caught up with action. A promise, not a deal or a bargain or even a trade. He had simply given his word, and what surprised him further was that he found himself fully intending to keep it. The notion, to anyone else, any mortal being, might have been one to feel good about, to feel proud of. To the demon, it was terrifying, a binding oath without any recompense, an obligation without reason. What had caused such a shift, what had brought forth this sudden promise? The demon did not know, and that too was a cause for fear.

But even that cold logic couldn't entirely distract from the woman before him, or the feeling of her lips, her tongue, tasting him, drawing him into herself. Though his mind was free of the lust now, suddenly startled into awareness of everything that had been said, of the strange threads that connected them both in ways he did not understand, his body remained honest to the pleasure it was experiencing. The tendril that invaded her frame continued to twist within her, press against her sore walls with an almost gentle touch. His demonic power rose in response as he finally reached his end, cock stiffening until it was near painful but for the wet warmth of her mouth. Finally, blessedly, his seed spilled forth, pulsing from him in time with a nonexistent heartbeat. He watched her now, eyes burning quietly, watched her reaction, sought her emotions, though the bond had faded somewhat.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

It was hot.

Not burning, but hot - warmer than she would have expected, heat so that she almost expected it to be steaming. It was far more than her mouth could handle. Though she swallowed as much as she could - acrid, but sweet. Sweet - not what she would have expected, but, in a dull way, a flicker in the back of her mind, it made sense - all the more reason for her to want more of him, to taste more.

Spilling across her lips, she was temporarily lost in the act of cleaning him. Long swaths of her tongue, up and down his length, as slow and as savored as when she was trying to pull him to orgasm. Gentle twirls of her tongue around his head, sucking kisses placed to the side of his cock. Pulling back, she licked her lips, licked remnants of him from her fingers. The acrid taste had faded, to something that was on the edge of sweet, yes, that sweetness she was familiar with, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was without description, but once tasted, she knew she’d want more.

Sucking the last bit of him from his head, she leaned back on her heels. She could still feel the tendril inside of her, a secondary feeling to him spending across her mouth, her face. Now, freed from the task of servicing him, from the lean, she moved back to her rear - her legs spread lewdly. Her head canted back, her throat was exposed as she gasped in pleasure, her hips tilted upwards. Grinding down onto the invisible push inside of her, she writhed, her fingers curling into her palm, grasping onto nothing.

 

[WhisperedDesires]

Even in his state of cold logic his eyes followed her movements, exalted in those final moments of pleasure as she cleaned his length with slow, deliberate movements. He followed her tongue as she licked her own lips, cleaned the threads of his seed from her fingers. A rumble escaped him, lust rising again, but cold logic won out, forcing it back down, twisting his mind back to sinister calculation. Or it would have, but he found himself focusing on Ava as she sat back, ground herself into the tendril pushing into her depths. She seemed to revel in it, head thrown back, legs spread, hands curling. It was a different sort of temptation, an urge to dominate. Almost without thinking he moved, hand encircling her throat, clawed fingers ghosting across her skin in a measured restraint of his strength.

"Do you enjoy this?"

Even as he spoke, his will slowed the tendril's motions, pulled it into a languid, teasing pace. He wanted to see her squirm now, wanted to see her grinding herself to no avail until he wished it otherwise. A single claw came up to trace the line of her lips, bright eyes staring down at her face, seeking her response within her eyes. Would she cave and submit, or would she stand defiant, resistant to his suggestion of domination? Which, in the end, would he find more pleasing?