Page 6 of Lake of Sin

It was a blasphemous, broken cry. Tears welled in Marchosias’ eyes.

Samael, Lucifer, stepped forward to comfort Marchosias, a hand squeezing its shoulder. “Because He intends to subject Himself to the mortal form.”

And I saw the vision of the Incarnation, when God would come to Earth as a human, and experience mortal life.

Marchosias was appalled. “Samael?—”

“I cannot allow it,” Lucifer said. “I see you cannot allow it either. Nothing divine should experience such a thing. I will fight God for His seat, and I will rule this place better than He. Will you fight with me?”

I did not need to see the rest to know Marchosias said yes. But all these memories were tinged with regret!

When my vision cleared, I was still dangling from Marchosias’ fingertips. I writhed in its grasp, feeling how small my body was before it. Gasping, I managed, “You wish to return to Heaven?” and I was surprised by how quickly its dark eyes filled with sorrow.

“It is a false hope but one I cling to yet. I wish for heaven to open its arms to me. I wish to return home.”

I knew why this Marquis was the one sent to me by Asmodeus. Here was a once religious creature languishing inregretat its choice. Would I regret what I had done one day, when the sobering passage of time had stripped away all lustre? After I had been fucked and used and pleasured for lifetimes over lifetimes, would I wake one day, to think, “O! I should have died in that monastery!”

It seemed ridiculous to me at that moment, but I felt I owed something to my old self. I felt I should be sure. So I asked, “What is it that you regret?”

And as Marchosias searched my eyes and thought for an impossibly long moment, I knew it could not name a thing. I knew it wasn’t Heaven it lacked, but purpose: that it was hosting festivals and tournaments for entertainment. Marchosias was bored.

I told it: “Heaven gave you a purpose. Direction. Asmodeus has given me a purpose, and with it, my life has changed from dull piety to passion.

Marchosias’ eyes flickered. I walked a thin line; it might turn on me at any moment, frustrated by my mortality.

“At the very least, you could put me in my place. You could touch me and fuck me and prove to yourself I am the lowly creature you suspect all humans to be. I want you to use me. Use my flesh for pleasure, and perhaps you will find Heaven there.”

Flames burst in its eyes, a hunger that I understood.

“Yes,” it said with a slow nod. Its eyes flicked from me to the giants locked in battle. “What will give me pleasure is the truth of humanity’s pitiable depravity. Enough friction, and you are pushed into the abyss of orgasm. Contemptible little creatures.” I said nothing, but its warm breath, its anger, its general disgust when looking at me—Iwasas depraved as it claimed, and my body twitched, arousal tingling through my cock.

And it ordered, “You are not allowed to orgasm.”

3

Ifroze. The order itself was tantalising, but it was also—improbable. Not something I could uphold. “What?”

But no answer was given. Marchosias opened its mouth. Cracked lips craned wide and exposed the wide, fat tongue. The giant licked up my body.

My whole lower half grew wet and warm with its saliva. I yelped, bucking at onceawayandintothe feeling. And this pleased the demon, for it laughed at my distress, and it pinched my wrists slightly harder until I felt the bones of my wrist and forearm strain, the metacarpal crunch and ache. Pain radiated to the tips of my fingers and up my arm, burning even in my shoulder. I couldn’t help it: I let out a yelp.

Marchosias chuckled. It grazed my whole torso with the pad of its thumb. My cock bounced from the movement. I kicked the air; I must have looked pathetic, suspended like that, with my cock responding in such a degenerate way. Marchosias spun me and let go of my wrists, gripping my body instead around my waist. My arms dropped heavily, and I gasped, ribs aching from the new pressure. It lowered me down, and I became frightened of being subsumed in the ever-constant light radiating from itsgroin. The fear overrode all sense. What might give this fallen angel more pleasure: to split me over a cock it lacked or to smite a sinner in the golden light of its nether region? A cruel joke, as befits a demon!

But it did not do anything of the sort. It positioned me gently over its thigh, hand moulding how I sat, how my legs straddled its large thigh, and when it was pleased with this position, it pressed its large forefinger against my back and pushed me down. I folded over and relaxed immediately. My body knew what was coming. My face pressed against curling hairs and warm skin, an early moan curling deep in my chest as my cock twitched towards the warmth. Marchosias grazed my back, thumb large enough to wedge between my cheeks and spread me with one deft motion. Its finger pressed against my hole, nudging between the cheeks like a cockhead. As large as one, if not larger, too.

“F-fuck?—”

I expected it to press inside, but it kept one finger close to my hole, and it crept its other hand up my body, stroking over my waist until I was shivering from the stimulation. Its free hand caressed my pointed nipples, and I couldn’t help but writhe forward towards the sensation.

Marchosias chuckled.

The full extent of my arousal was a sudden thing. I was rock hard against Marchosias’ thigh and grinding desperately in every direction, eager for any kind of pressure.

Marchosias’ hands left my nipples. A single finger stroked my head, like I was some pet, and with every touch a starburst of a vision exploded behind my eyes. Marchosias mined my mind for information, for every illicit thought I’d had during my time in the monastery. It rubbed my hole and teased all areas of my body, and at the same time, it called forth humiliating memories, things that had been so shameful I had buried themdeep. The memory where my wandering mind had made my cock swell in the middle of a sermon. The memory where I’d taken the confession of a brown, bearded man from the town I was serving, how I had stumbled over my blessing as the thought of his work-hardened body pressing against mine ravaged my attention. I’d thought of his stubble against my balls, the hot tongue sucking gently. I’d imagined him standing up to tower over me, to put me on my knees. I’d been so enamoured with the thought I had almost forgotten to absolve him of his sins.

And then the thoughts changed to the feelings I’d dealt with afterwards. The shame. Or worse: how the shame and the taboo had only made my erection stronger, how I’d fucked my own palm like a desperate slut, rutting up and panting, and only when I’d found that release could I sit with the horror of my mind and what it had conjured.

Now, with Marchosias calling these forth, a flicker of that old shame resurfaced. I couldn’t stay focused. The pleasure waned—I felt the blood rushing from my cock to my cheeks—and I tried to press up. Marchosias withdrew its finger from my head and used it to slam my lower back down.

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