At last, its grip softened, and I surged forward. I opened my mouth wide, eager to take more. I licked over the head, then sealed my lips around it, drawing it in with glee. Salt and spice burst across my tongue—dark and rich, like the breath of something ancient.
I lingered there, worshipping with my mouth, licking along the shaft and suckling at its base, spreading my spit in a slow, deliberate gloss. I worked to ease the way, to prepare mybody for what it must accept. But still, as I lowered myself further upon it, my throat seized with sudden resistance. I tried to yield, to open, but the sheer girth of it choked me at once.
I gagged and pulled back, gasping, tears pricking my eyes.
Undeterred, I closed my eyes and took the head once more, slower now. I tongued over the slit, laved around the tender rim of the glans, letting saliva dribble freely down my chin. I brought my hands to its base, slicking it with the wet of my mouth, stroking in time with the rhythm of my lips.
I focused on the sounds of Asmodeus’ breath, low and steady like a distant storm. As they grew heavier, I grew more determined, certain I was pleasing it. Its cock was a sacred burden on my tongue, and I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Prove to it how hungry you are.
I used everything I had—lips, spit, throat, hands, breath—offering myself wholly to the task. I sank lower on the stone by opening my hips, which angled my body in a way that the head of Asmodeus’ cock might slip past the clutch of muscle at the back of my throat. When I needed to pause, I worked it with my hands, bobbing my head in practiced, eager devotion.
I made every motion loud. Iwantedto be loud. Let the Court hear. Let all of Hell know what I had become.
And then, at last, Asmodeus’ heavy breathing became a sound of pleasure. It groaned. Its hips rolled forward, just slightly.
A fire lit within me.
I moaned around its cock, the sound thick with gratitude and hunger. I pressed down harder, until I gagged. My throat convulsed. The sound was wet, obscene. I felt the tremor in its body, and I knew—Iknew—I was reaching it. I thrilled tothe thought that this creature, this ancient and exalted Prince of Lust, could begin to fray beneathme.
But that brief, flickering taste of power did not last.
One hand wrenched tighter in my hair. The other gripped my jaw and pulled me back. My lips, red and slick, parted helplessly. Saliva clung in strings between my mouth and its cock. I panted, dizzy, my chin soaked.
It touched a single claw beneath my chin, guiding my gaze upward.
“You forget,” it said, voice lower now, touched with something grim and holy. “I allowthe offering. ButI takewhat is mine.”
Before I could answer, it forced itself back into my mouth, utterly without patience.
And then itfuckedmy face.
Used me, not as a person, but as a throat, a vessel. And I was. Iwas. I let it happen. My arms dropped limp at my sides. My body jerked involuntarily, flinching against the force with which it struck the back of my throat.
Both its hands locked behind my skull. No struggling would free me.
When the pressure grew too much, my palms braced against its thighs. I was choking. I would suffocate to death. I pushed, gasping on instinct, before remembering—there was no need to breathe. I was no longer mortal. No matter what my body believed, I would endure. The struggle, now, was not survival, but submission.
I forced myself forward, choking and accepting. This was my purpose: to be little more than a mouth, a hole, an offering. So, I held tightly around its thighs as it rammed into me. Asmodeus grunted low, feral, and tears blurred my vision. My eyes rolled back.
My body twitched with arousal. My cock ached, untouched. I was drooling, weeping, my nose running—and Istruggled on instinct, but made no serious moves to stop. I took all of it. Every inch, every thrust, every sound from that terrible, sacred mouth.
The pain in my knees had dulled to numbness. My jaw screamed. Still, I did not pull away. Because Asmodeus was mine. Because I belonged to it. Because here, in this infernal court, in this desecrated Heaven, the act was divine.
It growled, a sound deep in its chest, and then, without warning, it pulled free.
The swollen head caught on the edge of my reflex, and I gagged as it slid from me. I collapsed forward, gasping. Saliva spilled from my open mouth and struck the stone in thick strands.
Tears and snot streaked my face. I panted, sobbed quietly—less from pain than from the sheer intensity of it, the dizzying reverence. My body trembled. Perhaps from arousal, perhaps from the weight of what I had just borne.
Do not forget, it had seemed to say,what you are to me.
Before I could rise, Asmodeus crouched before me.
I looked up through the haze. Perhaps it was the endorphins, or some lingering echo of devotion, but a great, encompassing calm swept through me. The fear left my limbs.
It looked like an angel when it leaned forward. I felt unbecome and elevated, somewhat outside my body. And then it kissed me—mouth messy, wet, and trembling—and I received that kiss like benediction.
