Page 27 of Semper

My hand tightened around my throbbing cock, the blood surging through it in time with my racing heart. With each stroke, I focused solely on her - her lithe form, the way she moved, the scent of her hair as it cascaded down her back.

My grip on my dick grew tighter, my imagination conjuring vivid images of her submitting to me willingly and eagerly. The thought alone was enough to make me groan. As I watched her rinse off in the shower, water streaming down her glistening body, I could feel myself reaching the brink. A single bead of water formed on her navel and trailed downwards, tracing the path of another kind of wetness that I couldn’t get enough of. The sight was too much for me to handle, and I almost groaned again.

Her soft humming filled the air as she remained completely unaware of the effect she had on me. That I was watching. Clutching my dick even tighter, feeling the veins pulsating beneath my skin, I stroked myself with a fierce hunger. The mere thought of bending her over that sink and fucking her right then and there had pre-come forming on my tip.

As she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, all I could think about was her naked body dried off and waiting for me.

"Lolita," I growled her name like a dark prayer on my lips. "You're mine." My cock throbbed in my hand as I pictured her spread open and waiting for me. My eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming pleasure spreading through every inch of my body like wildfire. And then finally, with one final squeeze of my balls, I groaned as I came hard, my orgasm so intense it was almost painful. My come splattered against my desk and the floor.

“Fuck,” I swore softly, reaching for the tissue box on the edge of my desk. I cleaned the head of my cock, and then wiped off mydesk and the bit of come from the hardwood, tossing the tissue in the trash can beneath the desk before I reached for my drink and took another sip.

I finally turned my attention to the work that was waiting, though my eyes kept drifting to the screen.

Lolita had padded through the bathroom and went into our closet, searching for clothes. I switched between the cameras, tracking her every move as she wandered around the room. There was something endlessly satisfying about watching her, even when she thought she was alone. The way she moved, unaware of my gaze—vulnerable, yet resilient. With a deep breath, I forced myself to focus. Running the Isle required more than just devotion, it demanded precision and ruthlessness.

The system had to be maintained at every level, from the coordination of our supplies and suppliers to the rituals that kept the people in line. Everything had to be accounted for. Every resource, every life on the Isle, and every booking granted to tourists. I scanned over a set of documents—mundane reports, logistical details, and requests.

Among the emails was one from Ryker, who owned the resort Lolita was employed at as well as his own more exclusive establishment. He’d requested a larger order from my butcher. I leaned back in my chair, calculating silently in my head.

The math was simple enough. How many humans would it take to fulfill the request? It wasn't just about meeting the numbers. It was about ensuring the balance remained—too much and the tourists might start asking questions. I also had to ensure my Isle natives got their personal orders fulfilled.

I forwarded the email to my brother, along with a note to check the inventory. I paused for a moment, leaning back in my chair again when a thought crossed my mind. Without a second’s hesitation, I pulled up Lolita’s ovulation chart, my eyes narrowing as I studied it. Tomorrow would be day 2 of her cycle.I had about a week before she’d reach her most fertile window, somewhere between days 10 and 14.

It wasn’t much time, but it was enough to keep her close and ensure everything fell into place when I needed it to. I’d told her I wanted her all to myself before I made sure she was pregnant, and I meant that, but I was factoring those nine months into the equation. Motherhood would be good for her. It would give her a purpose outside of me, that was still an extension of myself. I leaned back in my chair, a slow grin spreading across my face the more I thought about it.

A week to set the stage for what was to come. Timing. Patience. Control. These were all things I excelled at, and I had every intention of making sure this was no different. I checked her schedule, clearing a few things away. In the process, I recalled her tone and expression when I mentioned Selena. While I found immense delight in Lolita being jealous and possessive over me, I would never truly allow another woman to make her uncomfortable.

I pulled up the footage from the viewing room and began to review it. Nothing stood out at first. She sat with Osiris and Phoenix Electi, speaking to Pandora at one point to describe the service. I watched her distress as Nicolette and the others were punished, finding that harder to get through. She had to get to the point where she understood the punishments were for everyone’s benefit. The Chapel was part of her life now and all the services that came with it.

Just when I began to wonder if whatever happened with Selena was during an education lesson, I caught it. I dragged the cursor back on the video timeline and then slowed things down.

I was used to reverence; I’d been revered since the age of eight. I never failed to acknowledge it, letting my disciples know they were vital pieces of the Isle and Impío. Naturally,that included women. The look on Selena’s face, however, was something different.

I wasn’t expecting to see it.

There once was a time when I used her frequently. There weren’t any emotional stakes in the act. She was good at what she trained for, but I hadn’t touched her in years. Certainly not since she was taken from the Pleasure House to be an Acolyte at my order. The way she was watching me in front of my Lolita, my Electi, and the others, was unacceptable. It was not something to be taken lightly. AsDiabolus, I prided myself on maintaining control over every aspect of religion, including the loyalty and submission of my followers.

I knew firsthand how power bred envy in even the most devoted followers. Selena had been there from the beginning, but I had chosen someone else to be my Electi. I was meant for Lolita and always would be. I understood her longing, wanting to be fucked by me again but I couldn't allow it. Just as I couldn’t allow her to get away with this disrespect to my Lolita.

If a man had dared to look at her like this, I’d have his eyes. Selena would have to be punished.

I glanced up when I heard the knock on the door. “Enter,” I called out.

Ambrose stepped forward, stopping at my desk to place a photograph carefully on top of the papers scattered across its surface. I recognized it instantly—the one Lolita had taken from the lower level of the estate. I had watched her do it when I pulled up the cameras at the Chapel earlier.

“Is that the only one?” I asked, already knowing the answer but seeking confirmation.

“Yes. She left it in the library,” he replied.

I leaned forward, picking up the photograph. It was of Clarice and Melanie, standing side by side. Two women—best friends, each connected to me in quite different ways. Clarice,with her flowing platinum blonde hair, and eyes like piercing blue ice, always had a way of commanding a room without saying a word. Beside her, Melanie was the complete opposite—dark-haired, her almond-shaped eyes soft and full of warmth, reflecting her quiet, submissive nature.

Clarice had always looked at me with want, much in the same way Selena just had, even when Melanie was still alive. The subtle glances, the way her lips curved into a smile whenever I was near—there had been no mistaking her desire. And Melanie. Melanie was my first wife, the one who believed in loyalty and devotion to the Impío faith without question.

Even she hadn’t been enough.

I stared at the picture for a long moment, the memories rising to the surface. Melanie had been soft, too soft for this world, for me. Her submission had never felt complete and never met the expectations I had of her. When I carved her open I did so with the genuine belief whatever was missing from her would slide into place.

Clarice, on the other hand, was different. She was sharp, knowing, and ambitious. She had wanted to be my wife even when her friend held that title. She thought she could use her charm, her beauty, to manipulate me around her finger.

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