Page 15 of Lake of Sin

Vassago’s beard grazed against my clean-shaven face. I drew him closer and breathed deep, inhaling his scent, and a valve opened in my body: a flood of warmth as blood surged into my already aching cock. Vassago noticed. He smiled against my lips and reached down to squeeze around the member, tugging carefully and teasingly as I spread my legs for his touch.

“What do you want?” he whispered, and I thought of Asmodeus at my first summoning. The answer I had given then had beenyou, but it seemed insubstantial now. I wanted something precise.

I closed my eyes and thought back to the decades of fantasies I had entertained in the monastery. They came to me in ill-formed flashes. Most of them had been nothing more than picturing my fellow brethren naked, and it had been years before those simple sins lost their flavour. When I’d wanted to access the same thrill I had felt in those early days, I thought of greater taboos: of someone’s hand edging up my cassock in the middleof a sermon or something surging towards me when I was bent over in the garden pulling out the weeds strangling my beautiful flowers. And then the fantasies had become more specific.

Oliviero spread on my bed, back arched and looking back at me; a lustful stare framed by long lashes, face shadowed by lust. I imagined the swell of his balls, the sharp angles of his hips, and how the meat of his thighs might spread as he settled into the bed.

It had been a fantasy that seemed most inaccessible. Looking back, I could understand why so many of my desires had focused on my body as the object of fucking. It seemed easier to comprehend myself as a vessel to be used by other’s desires, and it kept my own desires safely locked behind a door of deniability. If I was used, it didn’t mean Iwantedto be used.

But to direct Vassago now would confirm what I had always known: I was whorish in every conceivable way. I wanted to enjoy the bodies of men as much as I wanted to be enjoyed. I realised I could desire both: that even if, in my heart, I was most drawn to being taken, I did desire to give on occasion.

And such an occasion was now.

“I want you on your knees,” I whispered. Vassago let go of me and shifted. He removed his hose, and the mattress creaked as he changed positions, and then he was lying with his face pressed into the pillow and his knees tucked beneath his hips. He was arching, chest pressed to the mattress. I shivered and pushed off the bed to see better.

Vassago’s was all perfect angles and curves bent over the bed like that. His ass was firm and round, and the muscle of his hamstrings was evident, tiny black hairs curling sparsely along the skin. I couldn’t see much of his head from this angle, just the rush of black hair obscured by the curve of his upper back. My eyes were transfixed on the heavy droop of his balls, which fell so perfectly I was transfixed by the sight of them. I reached out andcupped them. Vassago leaned back into the touch with a shiver, his cock straining hard. I ran my fingers over his back and over his ass, and I watched the twitch of his hole as my breath rushed over it.

I got off on the bed, lowered myself, and pressed my face between the cheeks.

Now, this felt like the most dutiful of all acts I had partaken in. I was on my knees off the bed, the way I would be in prayer, my hands clasped either side of Vassago’s cheeks to spread them apart. My tongue lapped over his balls, up his taint, over his hole, tentative and unsure, until Vassago pressed back with a moan and another blockade lifted from my mind. I buried my face eagerly between his cheeks and licked like it was my duty, tonguing up and down and around the hole as deep, breathy moans filled the room. Vassago’s hole kept twitching closed, and I pressed my tongue against it, wanting to fuck it open. My tongue lacked the strength.

Frustrated, I reached around to fondle Vassago’s cock, slowly stroking over the slick tip, just as I pressed my thumb to Vassago’s ass. I pressed hard, and it slipped inside with a pop.

“God,” Vassago heaved, a false prayer that made me whine loudly.

“What of Him?” I whispered back, understanding perhaps for the first time the sadistic pull the demons felt whenever they saw me desperate like this; a religious man overrun by lust.

Vassago began to rock back and forth on his knees. My finger popped free of his wet hole with ashlick, and again and again, Vassago rutted back onto it with a grunt. I tore my finger free at the next rock backwards and delighted in Vassago’s rough cry. His pink hole twitched, small gape quivering, and then I drove forward again with my tongue. This time, I had no trouble slipping in. I flexed my tongue and pushed it deep, and when that began to make my jaw ache, I rocked my head back andforth, fucking in and out of Vassago’s ass until it was warm, wet, and open.

Vassago arched into it, thrusting down to meet my tongue and moaning loudly. He pushed himself off the pillow for a better vantage, and his wordless cries became a “Yes, yes, yes,” percussive and deliberate.

Saliva ran down my chin, and my own moans filled the room, and I thought of the perfection of this design: of how muchfunI was having, of Vassago’s beauty, of the way we fit together. I found what I wanted wasn’t always total domination. I wanted to give and to receive. I wanted a symbiosis of pleasure, an understanding I could reach with each partner.

So when Vassago said, “I want you inside me,” I pulled my tongue free and urged him onto his back.

In any other instance, I would have wanted a man—a demon—like Vassago inside of me. But I couldn’t deny the urge I had to feel the depth of him.

“Alessandro.Alessandro,” Vassago hissed. He looked back at me over his shoulder, dark hair covering one eye. His mouth hung open as he panted. “Touch me. Come now; I want you to fuck me.”

His head pushed back into the pillow, and I was thrilled by the excitement driving him to move so eagerly. He looked beautiful on his back.

“Hold your legs apart.”

He shifted and held his beautiful legs. Brown eyes framed by thick brows and curled hair. Hair covered his chest, belly, arms, legs. I ran my fingers over his feet, which were smooth and bare, and I came close to him. Our cocks were straining. I looked at his ass, relaxed enough I could see it pulsing. I wanted to press inside, but I stopped myself. I leaned down to kiss Vassago slowly instead. He moaned and rolled his hips high. Our bodies touched, hips meeting, the bones of our pelvises lockingtogether as if our bodies were a shattered mosaic being pieced back together. Vassago’s fingers laced into my hair and tried to pull me closer, but I resisted. I pulled away and looked down at him, and said, “I am nervous.”

I expected a flicker of disdain to pass over his face, but nothing of the sort happened. I could forget what he was and where we were because he sat up, took my hand, and pressed it to his belly. I felt the warmth of the skin, the slight softness of the flesh.

“We are two men loving one another. What is there to be nervous about?”

Touch him, a voice whispered to me. Asmodeus itself, come to bear witness. But all the tenor of its voice had been stripped away, and with it, the heavy thrum of fear I often felt. Asmodeus’ voice was a warm and welcoming thing, an embrace to urge me forward.He wants to touch him, to slip inside. Give him everything you’ve ever wanted to give another man. Take from him your pleasure; be rough or gentle, but enjoy it. Make him enjoy you.

I ran my hands over his chest, fingers grazing over his nipples. Vassago’s smile was gentle but lustful. He settled back into the pillows and spread his legs, and the sight was delectable. I wanted to consume the feast of his flesh.

I pressed our cocks together and rutted forward. The both of us gasped as hundreds of pleasant jolts spread throughout our bodies. The friction was delicious, but not enough. I wanted more. Vassago reached up and held his legs apart. I dragged the leaking tip of my cock to his hole.

“Please,” Vassago murmured, eyes dark with lust.

And I pushed it all in.

---