I flicker my long lashes at him, staring right into his flaming eyes as I say, “But you won’t, my love.”
He huffs through his nostrils like an angry bull and runs his claws through my hair before wrapping it tightly around his fingers and holding my head firm. Using his free hand, he slides the mask off. I shut my eyes, not wanting to remember how he looks in his true form.
“Open your eyes,” he orders.
I peel them open, and my breath quickens as his skeleton-like face stares back at me with red, bloodshot eyes, fire retreating behind them. “Kiss me, my Little Sinner. Not the masked man. Kiss me.”
I steady my breathing, remembering how he makes me feel ninety percent of the time. This is my punishment for allowing my juices to flow into the Reaper’s palate. I close my eyes and open my mouth, letting his massive tongue slither inside. I try to push his tongue back, keeping it from blocking my airway, but he wraps it around mine like he’s twisting a cherry stem, holding it as it heats up, scorching the inside of my mouth. I scream inside my throat and buck beneath him, slapping and clawing his chest. He unwraps his tongue from mine, backs away from me, and stands.
I can’t move. I mean, my eyes can, but that’s it. I can barely talk or think. Every muscle in my body feels weighed down by some unseen force. It’s like he’s injected me with a paralytic.
He disappears, leaving me spread-eagled on the bed, helpless and unable to defend myself. Seconds later, he returns, the grisly skeleton face gone and now resembling the man I just killed, stealing his likeness to make me more comfortable. With his body fully human now, he climbs back on the bed and kisseseach of my breasts with tender lips, releasing me from my state of stasis. Every inch of me is on fire, burning like a blistering sunburn as he holds a bottle of green gel he grabbed from my refrigerator in one hand and squirts a large amount on my chest. It startles me with its cold as he rubs it gently across my skin, massaging my burns and blisters. He moans, his human cock rising, coming to life as he becomes aroused once more. “Oh, my Little Sinner, look what you do to me.” I reach for his shaft, and he drops the aloe gel and grabs my wrists, forcing them above my head. His knee wedges between my legs, separating them quickly as he positions himself to enter me once more. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispers as he grabs the aloe gel, squirts it the length of his shaft, and slides it inside me.
A squeak escapes me, and I reflexively move away from his cock as the slow rhythm and chill of the aloe does little to kill the pain of the internal burns. He reaches beneath me with both hands, holding me tight against him, forcing himself further inside me and keeping me from pulling away again. I groan softly, starting to enjoy myself, when suddenly he stops and peers down at me. “Is this what you like?”
I nod my head, not thinking about the repercussions of enjoying him in human form—enjoying the memory of the Reaper inside me, tasting me.
His eyes turn black, and his human cock pulls back slightly as he roars, “Then let me give it to you as you deserve, my little whore.”
Pain floods through me, shooting daggers into my abdomen as he forces himself hard and fast inside me. I grip the comforter beneath me, my heels digging into the mattress as I move my body back and away from him. He grips my shoulders, pulling me back to him as he rams me hard, too hard. Nausea creeps into my throat, and a sharp but brief pound from his cock makesme cry out for him to stop as he strikes my pubic bone, sending a crushing pain through it.
He stops. Without hesitation. Without a word. Without asking why. He knows my limits. If I tell him to stop, he knows I’ve had enough of this torturous game we play.
His eyes dart to mine. “You’re mine and so is this.” He grabs my pussy lips tight, crushing them in his grip. I wince as he glares at me. “Every ounce of your juices belongs to me, Little Sinner. Don’t forget your place.”
I nod, and he unfurls his clenched fingers from my pussy lips, letting the blood flow return to them.
My punishment could have been so much worse, but the benefits of our relationship outweigh the sin I’ve committed in his eyes.
He needs me, despite it all. I’m more of a benefit to him alive than in hell.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, “ I say with a coy smile.
His eyes scan mine briefly before asking, “Would you like your treat, my love?”
I close my eyes, breathing heavily, trying to regain my composure. Everything inside and outside of me hurts. I want to crawl beneath my covers, curl up into a fetal position and sleep for a few days. Being the submissive of a sadistic incubus is exhausting, painful and intoxicating.
It’s not like I don’t deserve the punishment for what I did…what I’ve done. That’s what brought him to me in the first place. Similar to the accident I caused, it felt great at the time, but the consequences after are like a recurring, torturous nightmare—the headaches, painful scar, and memories of that night, coupled with the searing burns of his touch and desire for me, blur everything together and somehow make me feel a small amount of absolution.
The sad thing is, I love it. I love the way he hurts me and cares for me when it’s over. I love the way the pain brings me right back to the moment he sends an orgasm racing out of me. And although he terrifies me and I know at any moment he could decide to take me to hell for my sins, where I truly belong, I find it worth it to feel again, if only for a short while.
I clear my mind, wipe the moisture from my head, and force a smile, stretching beneath him, tucking my hands under my pillow with a satisfied grin. “Yes, please.”
He kisses my abdomen, and the bed rises as he climbs off and saunters away, the tight ass of the Reaper looking back at me. Too bad Mastyx couldn’t keep the body of anyone I offered him forever. He returns seconds later, sucking on a red, white, and blue Bomb Pop from my freezer, melting it partway. “Open wide, my love.”
I spread my legs as he kneels on the bed and slides the popsicle inside me, moving it in and out of my traumatized pussy. I groan and rub my clit as he swirls it around and around, inside and outside of me, before plunging it back inside his mouth. “Mmm…it tastes so much better with you coating it.”
He pushes it back inside me. “Now for the trick to your treat…making it disappear.” I giggle as he uses his thumb to push the popsicle off the end of the stick, and it vanishes inside me. He tosses the wooden stick over his shoulder, spreads my lips apart with both hands, and dives between my legs, searching for the patriotic pussy pop that’s already melted into me. I grip his bald head, wrap my legs around his back, and dig my heels into him, closing my eyes as I fall into the abyss of euphoria that only Mastyx can provide.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Blisters
Pain draws me from a deep state of unconsciousness. I stare up at my ceiling fan, whipping faster than I have ever seen it. It wobbles unbalanced, ready to launch from the ceiling at any moment. Mastyx must have turned it on high before he retreated to the place he calls home.
Hell.
I’ve never been there myself; mortals aren’t allowed. I can only imagine it. A place where fires burn constantly and sinners are tortured with red-hot chains thrashing across their backs as they maintain the hellscape. I roll to my side and sit up slowly on the edge of my bed, my head spinning, my body traumatized. Mastyx did a number on me this time. I touch the blistered handprints where he held my legs and shift the liquid inside the bubbles.
