Page 16 of Lake of Sin

Vassago’s hole opened for me with ease, and I sank all the way inside.

“Oh.Oh. . .”

“Fuck—ah!” Vassago cried, and a garbled noise escaped him when I slowly drew my cock out, focused on feeling the smooth walls and tight clench of the sphincter over the sensitive head. With only the tip remaining inside, I plunged back into the warmth with a heavy thrust.

Vassago wailed. His hands tightened around his calves, and his brows crashed together. His mouth hung open, and his spine arched.

He was wanton. Pathetic.Beautiful. My heart seized at the sight of him, another man exposing himself to me, opening his body for my pleasure.

All I could think of was the tight heat hugging my length, the walls convulsing as Vassago moaned and squeezed. I thrust in and out of him slowly, feeling every part of him; my whole body trembled with the pleasure.

How had I.Managed. For so long. Withoutthis?

I knew if I fucked him how my body wanted, I would reach climax in moments. I relaxed the muscles in my lower belly in the hopes I could delay orgasm, and I grinded my hips down untilsomethinghappened, and Vassago’s hole relaxed so much I felt the warmth of his insides envelop part of my balls.

“That’s it,” I whispered, as the feeling changed. Now that Vassago was relaxed, I pounded into him without care. I was ruthless, thrusting hard and revelling in every reaction the demon had: his breathless gasps, heavy cries, Vassago’s deep voice growing steadily higher in pitch with every thrust. Then Vassago’s eyes snapped open, lust and fear and delight filling up his brown eyes, and each slick fuck had Vassago screaming.

Then, I slowed and moved slowly. Vassago’s hands wrapped around my head. He pulled me down into a kiss and moaned into my mouth as we moved together, the divots of our pelvis locking together perfectly. He turned his head, and I dove into his neck, kissing and licking the exposed flesh there.

“You feel—so good,” I told him.

Our chests were connected. Sweat pulled between us. I didn’t care—I loved the noises I was pulling from this man. I loved the way he was looking at me, like I was a divine thing.

This slow pace only made the mounting pleasure difficult to ignore. He felt it, too; his hand was between his thighs, and he was rutting up eagerly into the palm of his hand. At one particularly deep thrust, Vassago’s eyes slipped to the back of his skull, and I felt his hole clench.

“There,” he breathed, and so I focused on the knot of nerves I had found, pressing into it again and again in time with Vassago’s moans. “Yes,” he cried out. “Yes, that feelsso?—”

Vassago came in a silent scream that melted into a long, protracted moan. His hole spasmed just as cum spurted from his cock. Vassago fell back, still in the throes of his climax, and I pounded into the wet heat with a desperation. My cock was pulsing, throbbing—I stared down at the moaning mess of a man beneath me and squeezed the two soft cheeks of his ass. I rammed up into him three more times, and seconds later, with Vassago’s holeclenchingtightly around me, I came hard inside him. I spilled everything I had into that man.

My own moan had me throwing my head back with pleasure. I kept moaning and thrusting, even when the sensation became unbearably sensitive. I wanted to milk myself of every last drop.

When the exhaustion hit, I closed my eyes and spent a moment suspended over Vassago’s body.

Then I pulled out slowly, watching as his hole fought to keep my deflating cock inside. When I popped out, my cum oozed free in a gush. I moaned, thumbing the liquid back into Vassago’s hole. He looked positively ravished. The sweat sheen on his forehead had made his hair stick to his skin. His eyes were heavy. Drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. And I loved what I had done to him: that I had filled him up like a propheticdream, the way the fear of God had always filled me up. In fucking Vassago, I had made myself relaxed.

I slumped down beside him, and we moved close to hold one another—something I had never truly experienced. As the vulnerability bubbled up in me, I fought it down, thinking to myself that I was well beyond such worries now.

Instead, a new worry was filling me.

I longed for Asmodeus.

The realisation hit me like a curse. IwantedAsmodeus, all of it. I wanted it to treat me as I had treated Vassago; for it to look into my eyes and see my desire and my love. So, too, did I want its total domination. I wanted to be a mewling mess and lover; slave and taken care of.

Vassago looked more human than ever. He breathed heavily, air whistling through his nose as if he was asleep. But what was more terrifying than a demon who could make you forget he was one?

I turned and lay on my back, letting myself fantasise that this was my life: that I was still alive, as human as I had once been, and committed to a man like Vassago’s bed rather than to the cloth. Would it have mattered, I wondered—for such a thing would not have been possible. The blasphemy, the constant threat of sin and being discovered, all would have destroyed me in some way or another.

Again, I thought: this was the only solution for me. Coming to Hell.

I closed my eyes and reached out for Asmodeus. Bravery filled me up. I told it, “I wish you and I will make love. I wish you would wreck me and leave me in the afterglow of rough pleasure. But so too do I wish you will love me.”

I didn’t know, in truth, what I wanted or what I was asking. Could I really assume a demon of Asmodeus’ standing would ever have anything beyond lustful feelings for me? I hadadmitted to many demons along the way that I knew I was nothing special; just another set of holes for the demon to fuck.

But now I said, “Call me your little priest. Mean it when you say you are proud of me. These are things I wish for but not things I need.”

Because in the end, I would take whatever it had to give me. Sex or soft touches, a rough breaking, or a slow loving—I would be Asmodeus’ toy.

7

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