Page 22 of Altar of Flesh

“Oh, fu. . .”I bit off the word, hand shaking as I reached down to pull the demon’s head closer. At a slow and gentle pace, Furfur dragged its mouth up and down my length, tongue stroking every which way as it went. Furfur moaned, too, each time I did, and its left hand reached up to pat my belly. A touch of. . .affection? Intimacy?

Tears sprang up, not of pain but of fear. I felt suddenly exposed in a way I hated, like the skin of my stomach was being slowly pulled back, and all my insides were being picked up, inspected, and set steaming onto the ground. I could have been sick, then. I almost wanted to roll over and force myself to vomit, though I had eaten nothing but the flower and fluids of demons for however long I’d been there. Anything to expel this feeling in me. Anything to disrupt the vulnerability and the shame and the fear of letting myself relax into pleasure.

“Do not cry,” Furfur whispered to me, and it brought its wings even closer to frame my face.

I heard my voice. The wings around my head became like a cave, a chamber within which my voice echoed back to me.

“Enjoy yourself, Alessandro. Enjoy yourself.”

I did not understand what was happening, but I heard muffled song behind the blockade of wings, a beautiful choral sound. A thousand angels in unison holding a single holy note; my vision went briefly white, and my body relaxed.

Furfur murmured, “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”

It was Pslam 30:5. I think it was trying to tell me my discomfort was a fleeting thing, but the passage meant something different. I opened my mouth to argue, managing, “That’s not—” before it swallowed my cock whole again.

I threw my head back. It began to suck and lick in earnest. Saliva fell from its mouth in wet strings, and soon, even my balls were slick. Gently, it moved its forefinger and thumb up and down the base, the rest of its mouth sucking dutifully. I lost time like that, panting and moaning, and every time the pleasure built, it would slow down, start licking gently and out of any discernible rhythm until I grew frustrated and cried out, trying to force its head back onto my length.

Furfur laughed again. The tone bordered on triumphant; it was glad it was making me like this. Then, unprompted, it lowered its mouth—to my prolapsed hole.

I jolted, having completely forgotten about the state of my body.

“I—”

“Hush,” Furfur said before it began to suck and lick, tonguing up into the hole. I shivered, confused by the pleasure that overrode the discomfort. I clenched instinctively and felt myself try to tighten. Then, Furfur put its hand against the flesh andpushed.

“Ah!” I gasped, bucking up. It pushed and pushed until I was sure its whole fist was inside me.

“It’s back in,” Furfur whispered, though it did not take its hand out. It began to move gently, scraping my insides but barely deep. With only this small amount of friction, I was surprised by how good it felt, and when Furfur lowered its mouth again to suck at me, my consciousness and mind went black with pleasure.

The pressure built almost immediately. The feeling of being full, hole clenching over the angel’s knuckles, was nearly enough to make me cum. But then I looked down and watched my cock disappearing into that angelic mouth, watched those long eyelashes flutter as Furfur moaned, watched those reddish lips pucker and suck, and I thought:yes.Yes. This pleasure, this desire, was new. I wanted to fuck deeper into Furfur’s throat. I wanted to hear the angel gag and groan; I wanted to know what an angel looked like with human seed dripping over its face. And so I bucked up. I grabbed the back of Furfur’s head firmly and shoved it down. The angelic body convulsed, wings shuddering, and I heard it gag and splutter. I expected resistance, but the angel—the demon—justtook it.

“Oh, you slut,” I whispered, feeling as every demon must have felt fucking me. Its eyes rolled back into its head, alabaster cheeks flushed pink and saliva drooling from its mouth. It moaned and tried to move its head again, to choke itself on my cock.

“No,” I grunted and held its head in place. “Stay there. Let me use you.”

And Furfur did. Obediently, it held its head in place, letting me wrap both hands around its skull to fuck desperately into that warm, wet hole. Sloppy sounds escaped from its mouth, in amongst its groans and my heavy, eager breathing. It brought its wings around me, tighter like an embrace, and I heard in clear detail all my airy moans and sweet sounds. The chorus of angels still sang; theirs a united chorus. I felt urged on in an almost holyway, like embracing this side of me that so obviously desired pleasure was endorsed by the Heavens.

Yes,I thought I heard Asmodeus itself whisper.Yes, look at you, my little priest. Look how desperate you are. Look how pleased this makes you. You take your pleasure from others the same way you ask it to be taken from you. Every part of you desires filth. Go and make whores of my demons as they will make a whore of you. Let us all revel in pleasure together.

This endorsement made me snap my hips even faster until I was forcing myself down Furfur’s throat, and its grip on my stomach became desperate. It gagged and convulsed, and I was certain it would vomit, certain I was suffocating it—and it did not matter. All I cared about at that moment was cumming.

“Yes, yes, yes,”I began to whisper. The pleasure built and built, and glory fell upon me, and just at the crux, I pulled out to the sound of Furfur gasping for air, and its beautiful lips were wet with stringy saliva, eyes trembling heavenward, and the angel looked so pathetic and wanton that I came violently over its face.

I cried out, and as I did, Furfur echoed me, and in that moment of unity, lightning and thunder crashed around us, the world going bright like Hell itself shivered in orgasmic pleasure, the earth experiencing the delight of my flesh.

I gasped and panted for what felt like an eternity before I brought myself to look upon Furfur. It watched me and carefully began to drag its forefinger across its face, lapping up my cum. One eye had been streaked with it, and its eyelashes appeared sticky and heavy when it tried to open its eye. I moaned again at that sight. I had done that to this angel. To this demon.

Once it had cleaned itself, Furfur dragged itself over me and kissed me. Its breath smelled of cock and saliva and sex, and I kissed it hungrily, exhausted and pleasured and about as happy I had ever been.

And I realised belatedly what Furfur had allowed of me—that how it had made me wanton and begging was to transform my pleasure. It had allowed me the act of subjugatingit, rather than putting me in my place, as I had offered it.

It was almost—a kindness.

Except in truth, what Furfur had done was confirm my place here. Gone was the anxiety and the fear of not belonging. Furfur seemed to recognise this itself, for it smiled wide, and its form shivered back to that demonic hart.

I did not care. I let the creature rest upon my chest and stroked its furred head. And in that comfortable, pleasured silence, Furfur opened its mouth and began to laugh.

I was so used to the strangeness of demons that I did not react. I lay there and kept stroking it, even when it began to say, “Human whore. You cannot turn away from your nature.”

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