Asmodeus - Demon of Lust: Pt. 06

A/N -- Hello readers! I'm so sorry for the delay, it is truly humbling that so many of you enjoy my writing. Thank you all for sticking with me and for your continued support; you all keep me writing. The storyline will pick up from the next chapter onwards with the introduction of a few new characters. In the meantime, after you've read this chapter, post a comment below and check out my poetry. Asmodeus and Selena (sort of) cameo in of them and I reveal the name of their baby! Let me know if you figure it out. As always, please tell me what you think, either with a comment or you can email me. Happy reading!

Cheers,

Steelkat

*

The next morning I wake up in Asmodeus' arms again and nestle myself closer to his wonderfully warm chest. I tilt my face up and watch him sleep, letting my breathing mingle with his. He looks so lovely; his face peaceful and exquisite as an obsidian angel's. I lean in and press my lips against his. When I draw back, twin rubies reveal themselves; framed by silver lashes. They are filled with only warmth and love for me while pearlescent white teeth flash fiendishly, hinting at something a little less innocent. My King has awoken.

I smile back at him, a genuine and sweet smile; one only he has seen as this is the first time I've ever had reason to show it. It speaks of a heart soaring beyond the sky and into the stars themselves. It sings hymns to the Gods and the Fates who have brought me here and allowed me to feel this way. It unearths the beginning of an ageless passion, too old and powerful for me to fully understand. This ardour is like a deep breath of clean air, it revitalises every cell in my body.

Now that I have decided to stay here for my baby, am I willing to admit that I feel more than passion or lust toward his father?

Maybe...

No. Humans don't love as demons do. How can I possibly love someone after only four nights with him?

It doesn't matter.

I'm here, nothing will change that. Whether I love him or not; I'm here with him. Whether I like it or not, I'm here. For the sake of my baby, I'm here; and for the schemes of a demon. And I may or may not love him, but God do I want him. He is after all, passionate and intoxicating, and he has been kind to me. Maybe love will follow.

Maybe...

I pry my subconscious away from thoughts of unrequited love as Asmodeus' hands snake down my abdomen to rub the smooth, stretched skin of my small protruding belly. The warmth of his skin on mine feels heavenly but a part of me protests, a little uncomfortable at being touched on such sacred a place. I had felt absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever when he touched me before, in the most intimate ways a woman can be touched.

But somehow, this feels different; I can't place my finger on it. It feels like some archaic instinct, imbedded deep within every expectant mother, the irrevocable need to protect my baby from anything that could break through the thin layer of defence which is all I have to offer. But it isn't only that, it's a feeling I can't explain, something which makes me angry and jealous and heart-sick all at once. I don't know what it is, but I do know that whatever the reason, I can't stand him touching my womb.

Irrational?

Of course.

Do I care?

Hell fucking no.

I squirm away from him.

He pulls me in closer, running his hand down my side, over the curve of my butt.

Ahh... now that's more like it.

I'm fine with this kind of touching of course, and happy just to lie here and revel in his caress. That is, until his hand wanders back over to my abdomen.

Annoyed, I push uncomfortably against his hand, a whiney groan rising from my throat.

"Stop, Asmodeus, you're creeping me out."

All the glowing contentedness I'd been feeling only moments before vanishes into thin air as my irrational annoyance grows. I know he's being loving and gentle but all I see is an almost maniacal possessiveness, and I don't like it.

"What troubles you my Selena?" he inquires, although I wouldn't be surprised if the question was just a formality. He seems to know me better than I know myself.

Still I hesitate, feeling ridiculous.

"I just..." I huff in frustration, "I don't like you... touching me there."

"And why would that be love?" he asks, sliding his fucking hand over my belly again.

I grind my teeth together, my anger rising. Why must he insist on pissing me off? Yanking at his arm proves useless, so I slip off the bed and away from his touch.

"I just don't alright!" I raise my voice. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

His eyes dance with amusement and the corners of his firm lips curl up into a frustrating little smile. He's still lying on the bed where I left him, in all his bare glory, with an elbow propping him up and a hand disappearing into his tousled silver hair.

"As a matter of fact my love, there exists nothing that I would consider better than basking in the pleasure of your company." He purrs, ignoring my heated stare. "There is however, the less appealing chore of managing my slice of the underworld. I shall leave you if that is your wish."

He hauls himself off the bed when I say nothing, his muscles rippling with the movement.

"I will summon Ida in my stead, to watch over you while I am occupied," he says, walking towards me.

He presses his body close to mine, combing the fingers of one hand through my hair while the other wonders lower, brushing against my thigh. I shudder delicately, a spike of pleasure slicing through my heart, and a part of me cursing my innate need to fight with the one person who has ever made me feel this way. Then his lowered hand brushes not-so-subtly against my abdomen again, and I remember precisely why he makes me so mad.

I shove his arm away and march back over to the bed, hunkering down angrily.

Chuckling he walks leisurely toward the exit.

When he parts the bumpy wall, Ida is waiting already. Instinctively I grab a bed sheet again and cover myself as she walks in nervously, dipping her head in a bow past Asmodeus. No words are exchanged between them yet Ida seems to know her job already. Does she have some freaky telepathic link with her master?

"Play nice ladies," Asmodeus calls as he exits, walking through the archway and closing the cave behind him.

When the grinding din at the doorway finally stops, silence as heavy as winter snow falls between the demoness and me. As with the day before, her tail is wrapped tightly around her leg, physically betraying her fear of me.

Well I can't say I blame her, after the way I treated her.

Regret hits me suddenly, and for the first time since our ill-fated meeting, I realise the impact of my behaviour. Sure, I'd been jealous, in pain and afraid but I shouldn't have taken it out on Ida. She did take care of me after all.

The silence lengthens as she waits for an order, her head bowed and hands clasped against the rough material of her skirt. I struggle to form my apology, guilt lodging the words in my throat. She shifts her weight like a skittish little bird, looking so pitiful that my heart goes out to her. I call her toward me. She watches me warily, untrusting of my intentions.

"Come on," I call again, "I won't bite."

"Begging your pardon, majesty, but I fear you will do much worse." She winces as she says the words, as if they escaped without her consent. She is quick to take them back.

"Please my Lady! Forgive my rash words."

Poor woman, looks like she's about to pass out with the fear. Tears start to roll down her face before I can respond.

"No it's okay," I try and assure her, rushing off the bed toward her.

I reach out to pat her shoulder but she cringes away from my hand. Yanking it back, I retreat a step as she covers her face with her hands and sinks to her knees. I lower myself into an awkward crouch, by body still barely covered by the sheet. I keep my distance, afraid that one false move on my part will plunge her into hysterics.

"Ida." I say, trying to coax her out of her broken despair.

She mumbles feebly in response and folds tighter within herself.

"Ida, look at me," I command.

She shakes her head, her face still hidden behind delicate hands.

Losing my patience, I scuttle forward and pry them out of the way. Her tear streaked cheeks are stained dark with heat and fear.

"Spare me, your majesty. I wish to live."

This stuns me for a moment as I try incredulously to process the motivation for her words. Why on Earth would she think I'm going to kill her? Surely I wasn't that harsh the night before?

I stare into her distraught face for a second, watching fear and revulsion take turns distorting it, before I finally remember why she and every other lesser demon here has reason to fear me.

Of course, why wouldn't she think me capable of murder? I, who behaved like a rotten, spoilt child last night and threatened her when all she did was care for me. I, who left the broken body of my attacker in my room as a warning against all like her.

"Ida, I'm not going to kill you. I'm sorry for the way I treated you yesterday," I say, rising and offering my hand down to her.

She looks up at it, still dubious and unwilling to trust me.

"Look, I know you have no reason to believe me but I really am sorry for my behaviour. I know there's no excuse but I wasn't thinking clearly alright? I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you. Please forgive me."

She tilts her head up to look at my face, flinching under my gaze.

"You killed Corbin," she says accusingly, "You left him in your chambers for us to find."

"Corbin?" I ask, anger sparking, "That creature had a name?"

She eyes me reproachfully; I'm sure this is not the response she was waiting for.

"Will you get off the ground please? I swear I'm not going to hurt you so why don't you sit with me on the bed and I'll tell you why I killed... Corbin."

"Fine!" I huff, when I realise she has no intention of moving, "If you don't want to listen to me then you can just sit there on the floor. Mourn the passing of a rapist! But don't expect me to feel remorse for what I did, I would do it again in a heartbeat."

I turn my heel and stalk back to the bed, gripping the bedpost tightly and trying to quash my fury.

There is silence for a time as I fight to get my anger under control.

How can she side with that pig over me?! Ida, of all people who I remember now to be the same demoness from my first night here; the same woman who was raped in this very room. Has she really been here so long? That she is somehow desensitised to the nauseating reality that is rape? That she would consider a rapist, like the creature that violated her, to be her kin? The ideas both repulse and depress me.

I feel sorry for her, this shattered creature who, with all her physical strength is weaker than I have ever and will ever be. My utter refusal to back down from a seemingly hopeless situation has been seen by many in my past to be a sign of weakness but I've always seen it as a strength. Ida has proven me right, for I would rather fight -- even kill or be killed -- than lie on my back and spread my legs for a rapist. I know first-hand the fear that infects a rape victim, the fear that can either cripple or strengthen its host. It could have gone the other way for me also, but in those desperate moments, completely at the mercy of a sadistic predator, I found my strength.

I need to teach her this. I need to ignite in her a spark of defiance, stoke the fire and help her forge her own steel reserve, so that she can fight back.

But first I need to test her.

"I remember you now," I say, turning back to face her. "Yes, I remember you. You were that whiney little bitch from my first day here."

She snaps her gaze back toward me at my harsh words.

"Yes, I saw what that filth did to you." Her eyes brim with tears again at the memory. "What? Do you expect sympathy? You'll get none from me. You just laid there and cried like a child. You let him take you."

Her eyes widen with shock.

"You didn't even fight back. You let him fuck you."

The amber globes harden with fury, all tears drying up.

I'm getting good at this provocation thing, I think pensively, focusing on the next step.

"You were weak. You let him rape you."

"No!" she screams and I jump at the abruptness of it. Before I even know what has happened, she is on her feet, body rigid and tail lashing furiously.

That's it girl, let me hear you roar.

"No what, Ida?! What? No, you didn't let him rape you? No, you're not weak?" I scream right back at her, "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been letting men piss on you your entire life! Seems like dying hasn't made you any tougher. Can it even be considered rape, if you don't fight back?! You are weak!"

"NO!" This shriek is louder and her fingers ball into shaking fists of rage. She's almost there; she just needs one little push.

"Then show me! Show me how strong you are. You can't, can you?" I snarl, watching her teeth bare and nostrils flare, as I egg her on. "You can't do anything, because you'll always be the victim. You will always be we-"

A solid blow to the jaw shuts me right up.

I stumble; the strike has me bewildered and surprised. Of course, I'd been expecting Ida to take a swing at me -- hoping for it, in fact -- but that didn't prepare me for the actual physical sensation of being punched in the face. The pain is sharp and deep, boring through my jaw like a drill. Having never been in a fight before, the sheer ferocity of it stuns me.

When I finally gain my bearings -- after an embarrassingly long time moaning and clutching my jaw -- I find Ida staring at me as if I've grown an extra head, holding her fist to her chest like a broken wing. I wipe the back of my hand against a warm trickle at the corner of my lips, bringing the hand back down and finding it smeared with blood.

"Nice hit," I grimace, wiping my hand clean on my make-shift dress.

She looks at me with a stunned silence, tears forming once again. I'm not angry that she hit me, but if I have to see her cry again, I'll probably have to hit something.

"No! Don't you dare fucking start that shit again!" My voice makes her jump. "Don't you dare start crying when you've finally grown a backbone. Own up to it! Let this be the day that you finally stand up for yourself! You enjoyed that didn't you?"

Slowly, uncertainly, she shakes her head.

"Don't lie to me, and for fucks sake stop lying to yourself. Admit that you liked taking control and making me pay for what I said. I'm not going to retaliate, if that's what you're worried about. Did it feel good when you hit me?"

This time she releases the tiniest squeak of assent.

"Speak up! Did you feel powerful?"

"Y-yes, my lady."

"That's good. Do you wish now that you could have fought back?

"Yes."

"Do you still feel like hitting something?"

"Yes, my Queen, I do." I finally hear the power in her voice; for the first time since we met, she sounds like a demon.

"Alright then," I say, a smile slowly spreading across my face, "Follow me."

She hesitates briefly, as if still afraid this is some elaborate trap, before eventually following me back to my chambers.

We enter the cavern which I claimed as mine, kept in exactly the state I left it, minus the body of the monster named Corbin. A stained patch of earth is all that remains as proof of his existence, the only reminder of what I'd done to him. Given her reaction to his death, I expect that Ida will be uncomfortable being back here. When she enters the room however, a surprising coldness hardens her face as to looks down at the earth where Corbin lay. Sheer fury clouds her face for a split second and she spits on the spot before turning to face me.

Banishing my shock at her sudden change in attitude, it doesn't take me long to figure out the motivation for her actions. She may have been horrified at Corbin's death (most likely because she feared that she would go the same way), but she hated him, of that I have no doubt now. He must have been one of her tormenters. And judging by the way he treated me, I fear that he would have been especially cruel to her.

Just the thought has my fury mirroring hers. But the difference is that I have taken my revenge, while she still needs a way to vent; now that she has been denied her own vengeance.

Using my power, I create a life-sized leather dummy, filled with sand. I give it a tail and clothe it in a filthy looking loincloth. I make it anatomically correct.

Excited rage sparks in Ida's eyes as she realises what I've created for her. She seems eager to start; her tail whips the air and her knuckles crack. Had I known nothing else of Corbin's nature, Ida's fervent need to hammer away at his likeness would be enough to tell me all I needed. And the picture it paints of him is hardly what one would call tasteful. Malicious, more like. Revolting, malevolent, cruel and just plain evil.

"Have at it," I say and she doesn't need telling twice.

She launches a running attack against the figure of her torture, smashing her fist against its face with a satisfying smack. I watch her with a mixture of heartbreak and satisfaction; devastated at the thought of what was done to her but immeasurably proud that she is finally fighting back. My only regret is that she has to enact her revenge on a dummy instead of the real thing.

I leave her alone when her rage boils over and she begins aiming her attack against the combat doll's groin. I retreat further into my cavern and take a long time going through my hygiene ritual. After I have relieved myself on a make-shift toilet, had a shower and brushed my teeth, I pick out a loose fitting red dress from my stone chest, slip it on and make my way back to Ida. By this point her furious screams and grunts have been replaced by small sobs, and I no longer hear the slap of her fists against the leather. It seems that she has finally been placated.

When I reach her, I find her crumpled on the ground, sobbing into bleeding hands. The dummy is a misshapen mass of leather, loincloth discarded. The material lies next to a growing pile of sand, pouring onto the ground like time through an hourglass, from a gaping hole in the crotch. I follow a trail of the white sand with my eyes, and locate the dummy penis about fifteen feet away. Ida's so far gone that she doesn't even flinch when I sit down beside her and take her into my arms.

"I'm so sorry for what they did to you," I whisper, and she moans in response, burrowing her face in my neck.

I let the demoness seek comfort in my arms a moment longer before helping her to her feet. I walk her toward my supernatural bathroom and lead her to the shower. I turn around as she obediently removes her meagre clothing but realise that I'll have to help her bathe. It's a good thing I turn back just in time, Ida is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she sways under the warmth of the falls.

I catch her before she faints, getting soaked in the process and finding it difficult to hold her dead weight. I sink to the ground with her in my arms, just out of the shower. Scooping up a handful of water, I splash some on her face and I'm stroking her hair when her yellow eyes finally open.

Wordlessly, she sits up and covers her bare breasts with her palms. Watching her, I'm reminded of how damaged her hands are; the knuckles raw and bleeding still. I reach toward her with my own hands, offering silent aid. She hesitates one second longer before finally surrendering her hands to me. But this simple act holds even more significance, for I sense that she is also surrendering herself to me -- and not in a way which dictates she should fear me. Have I made a friend?