“Good boy,” it said, its voice molten with pleasure and pride. One hand squeezed my slick cheeks, the other pulled me into another kiss—and oh, how I melted beneath its grip. My eyes fluttered half-shut; my mouth still open with breathless moans. Beneath me, the stone was wet with sweat, spit, and arousal.
Then the demon spoke again.
“Now, you will learn what it means to be hollowed out.”
It withdrew, and I collapsed forward. My palms caught the ground, and I stared at the stone below, wide-eyed with aroused dread. A fresh tremor took root in me. I pressed one hand against my aching cock, the words circling in my mind like a prayer.
Hollowed out.
Asmodeus rose, and with a single gesture, the air shifted.
The sigils carved into the floor flared to life; not the dull, blood-warm red that had glowed beneath us before, but a blinding, divine gold, white-hot and searing, as if the foundation of the Court had been turned inside out. The stones beneath us shuddered. The scent of brimstone faded, replaced by something richer, more cloying: blood, sweat, myrrh.
The ground cracked. And from that crevice rose an altar.
It was not marble, nor gold. It was made of black stone: smooth, gleaming, wet-looking, like polished obsidian. There were no runes, no glyphs. Yet it beckoned to me. I felt its call, deep in the marrow. It tugged at me with the same gravity that bound me to Asmodeus.
You will learn what it means to be hollowed out.
I had, I believed, a fairly good understanding. My body had been fucked in numerous strange ways. My hole had slipped out when submitting to the centaur demon Furcas. But something told me Asmodeus meant this in a way that was not entirely literal.
Oh, I had no doubt it would obliterate my body. But I feared the hollowing would not stop there. It would reach into the mind. Into the soul. If I believed I was submissive now, what would I be after?
I stared too long.
Asmodeus placed its palm between my shoulder blades and shoved. Half slipping in the pool of sweat, saliva, andprecum that had apparently gathered beneath me, I crashed against the altar with a hiss.
But I climbed.
Breath ragged, limbs trembling, I pulled myself atop the stone. It burned beneath me, heat rising from within, and I stretched over it like some sacrificial beast—cat-like, docile, obedient—warmed from below by the altar that would remake me.
Asmodeus watched me for a while. The Court of Kings watched, too, in silence. Though there were no jeers and no commentary, the weight of their ancient and appraising eyes was a crushing thing.
Focus on your Lord,I thought, and pressed up onto my elbows. I parted my thighs for Asmodeus, willing myself to ignore all else. It let out a low hum of approval. Somehow, that sound stirred my heart to race faster than any command ever could.
I knew what I looked like beneath that gaze—offered, open, already slick and trembling. I was a wanton thing, brazen and bare before powers eternal. Yet when it said, “Touch yourself,” I went still.
The words struck low, like a bell in my gut. Old resistance flared—faint, but not yet extinguished. But I swallowed hard, spread my legs wider, and bowed my head in assent.
“Let them see what you are now,” it added. “Let them witness how you beg.”
Heat rushed to my face, but I obeyed.
“Whatever you wish,” I whispered.
My fingers wrapped around my cock—beyond aching now, glazed with need—and I bit down on a moan that spilled out anyway. The heat of the chamber and the warmth of the altar beneath me had loosened every limb. At the barest touch, my cock jumped into my hand, greedy, eager.
I stroked slowly at first, shuddering beneath my ownhand, pressing into the altar for leverage. The heat of the stone met the burn of my flesh, and for a moment I could not tell which was hotter.
I opened my eyes—and found the Court was watching. I glanced over them. The thrones rose in shadow. Mammon, mercifully silent. Belphegor, face unreadable. Satan sat with shoulders squared, a monument to dominion.
And Lucifer?—
Lucifer was smiling.
9
Fuck.
