Page 10 of Lake of Sin

What kind of demon was I to meet next?

As I wondered this, I heard a rumbling growl echo in my ears. I went rigid, waiting in the dark. The imps continued forward, little feet stomping on the stone, but I blocked them out and strained to listen.

“Asmodeus?” I said aloud.

Abruptly, the imps stopped. They looked back at me and said nothing.

I closed my eyes to avoid seeing their impish eyes, and I said again, “My Lord?”

An appreciative sound as slow and deep as rolling thunder crackled across my senses. I felt Asmodeus abruptly, there like lightning, and I gasped that I could feel it near me.

“You look good like that, little priest.”

“W-what?”

“On your knees, skin red and scraped. You look good crawling towards what you want. It is a natural state for you: you waited not at all to go down.”

I swallowed. “You are watching.”

Not a question: a statement. A hurried, near-nervous statement.

Asmodeus replied in that same sultry tone: “Are you pleased that I watch you?”

What could I say? Of course I was pleased! But if I were to voice this to Asmodeus, Prince of Lust, a King of Hell—I foresaw a punishment waiting, a destruction of my ego. The last time we had spoken, I had breached an unspoken contract. I had asked Asmodeus if it would pleasure me when I was next in its presence.

“I do not know what to say, my Lord,” I mumbled, which was the truth. I shook frightened in the tunnel, and I did not know what I could say that would please Asmodeus. I feared it as much as I loved it—and that had always been my relationship with things I worshipped.

As if hearing me, Asmodeus’ growl began again.

“Are you my slut?”

I needed no time to think. I shivered and said, “Yes,” and something about admitting this calmed my nerves.

“My good little lamb?”

“Yes.”

“Are you learning what pleases you, Alessandro?”

I exhaled noisily. “It pleases me to crawl for you.”

A laugh, deep and happy. “Does it?”

“Yes.”

A moment passed where Asmodeus said nothing, and I assumed it had grown bored with our chat. But then, almost as quiet as a whisper, it said to me: “I watched you with the Marquis Marchosias. I watched you squirm and bounce and moan. I watched orgasm tear through your body. Are you closer to knowing yourself now?”

“Yes,” I said, though I was flushed. And then, somewhat brazenly, “Are you teasing me, my Lord?”

A very deep and serious, “Always.”

I slumped back on my haunches, not understanding. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, little priest. Not at all. You questioned me, and I questioned myself. For I am not like God, who will take no criticisms and will smite any He does not favour. You are right: you cannot be wholly mine if you are not wholly yours first. You are still the Church’s child in many ways. You are good at being fucked, but you find it difficult to be pleasured. Yet you try—you try to be good for me.”

I swallowed. My head buzzed with the praise.

“I want you to focus now. I want you to be good for me. I want you to please my Prince and my Duke, and I want you to come to me willing, with all your qualms quelled, and all your past wiped clean.”

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