Chapter Twenty-Three Lucifer
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucifer
She submits so sweetly, her ass bared to me as she crawls at my command.
If she were any other woman, I’d take her there before evening’s end. In that tight, unpenetrated bud. Or perhaps give her a little jewel to wear for me. But even though she’s no virgin, Charlotte is, and always will be, more Madonna than whore, and while I plan to push her, I have no intention of hurting her. At least, not beyond what she agrees to.
Her submission is a gift. One I do not take lightly.
When she reaches the rack, she sits back on her knees for me, waiting for my next move.
“Daddy trained you well, I see.” I smirk.
She bristles at the mention of her father, but it’s her rebellion she’s seeking here tonight. With me. A two-fingered fuck-you to the way she was raised. One I find I’m able to appreciate.
Despite her hatred for me.
“What would you like me to do now, sir ?” That single word is filled with all the bratty hate and desire she feels. But the steady rise and fall of her chest gives her away.
She’s eager for it.
“Stand and face the cross for me.”
She does as she’s told, silently rising as she gazes up at me prettily. She doesn’t speak, but her eyes say it all.
Prince of Darkness. Prince of wicked deeds.
It’s like a silent prayer.
This was always what she wanted from me.
I make my way toward her, drinking her in as a light, embarrassed blush coats her cheeks. Despite everything we just did.
Despite how I can still taste the sweet nectar of her pussy on my chin.
“You’ll look perfect spread open for me.”
I grip one of her wrists in my own, bringing it up and over her head to place it into the first shackle of my custom free-standing Saint Andrew’s cross. Her eyes widen, a look of fear and panic there as she shivers at my touch. But she has her safe word, and she doesn’t use it. So I keep going.
The danger thrills her. That’s more than apparent to me.
I repeat the same action on her other side before I move to do the same at her ankles, each movement causing her breath to become shallow, needy. I pause momentarily at her feet. I want to feel her legs wrapped around me as she comes apart.
Though kindness isn’t what she expects of me. Not tonight.
Only my punishment will do.
“Spread your legs, little dove.”
She follows my command, and I shackle her ankles quickly.
She nods, swallowing as I watch the delicate lines of her throat move. “What are you going to do to me?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Tell me, Charlotte,” I say as I begin to circle the cross’s frame. “How would your father punish you? What would he do when you’d been a wicked, wicked girl?” I slip my hands between her legs, parting the lips of her pussy until I find her swollen clit and circle, roughly.
She sucks in a harsh breath, trying and failing to buck against me. But I’m the one in control here. That’s the power she’s gifted me.
“He ... he’d beat me,” she pants.
“And how would he beat you?”
“With his belt.” I push two fingers inside her, and she lets out a sharp hiss at the sudden intrusion. “With his hand.”
“And how many times would he beat you?”
“It ... depended on how sinful I’d been,” she mutters quickly, her eyes tracking me like she can’t possibly understand where I’m going with this. “God forgive me.”
She’ll learn. Given time.
I smirk. “And how sinful have you been tonight? How sinful were you when you came all over my cock, milking me like a good little slut?” I retrieve a belt from my array of toys on the wall, cracking the leather between my hands with an audible snap before I run the smooth leather over her skin. A little impact play to start. Just to see how she takes it.
She lets out another hiss as she shivers. Trying and failing to move toward me.
Always toward. Never away.
“Does this mean I’m going to Hell?” she whispers.
Tears gather at the corner of her eyes.
“No, darling. Though why wouldn’t you want to? After all, I’m king.” I circle in front of her as I stroke my hand over the head of my cock.
Her eyes fall there, almost greedy.
She watches as I make a meal of it, stroking myself several times from base to tip until her tongue unknowingly darts out to wet her lips at the sight of the moisture that beads on the crown.
“So needy,” I purr, continuing to circle her. “So eager. Do you know what my chair does, little dove?”
She shakes her head at me, her eyes tracking my every movement.
“It allows me to see your darkest desires. What you truly want.” I stand behind her now, whispering into her ear. “And tell me, what did you truly want this evening?”
“You,” she breathes.
I touch her, and her pussy is practically dripping for me.
“I wanted you,” she whispers. “Your attention. The power it gives me.”
“Bad enough you were willing to misbehave for it?”
She nods, whimpering as I paint the head of my cock over her seam.
“Foolish girl. If you wanted me inside you, all you had to do was ask.” I thrust into her, claiming her as she cries my name. I pump several times, enjoying the way her pussy strokes me. She takes my cock like a dream. “I could have stayed buried in you all night,” I whisper, “but now I have to punish you.”
I pull out of her. Depriving her of the very thing that makes her scream my name. Abruptly, I draw back the belt and gift her the first lash. She cries out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, the skin where the belt hit burning a bright, blushing red.
“Next time you want to fuck, Charlotte, you will ask for it.”
“Y-yes. Yes, sir.”
“Not sir. Not this time. Say my name.”
“Lucifer,” she pants. “Yes, Lucifer.”
I continue working her. Until she chants my name like a poisoned prayer.
Each lash bringing her closer to ecstasy.
Five lashes. Ten. More.
“Give me a color,” I growl.
“Green,” she pants, practically keening.
I watch as her world condenses to a single point, reveling in the power she’s gifted me. Until I know all she can think—all she can feel—is me. Until I am a tool for her divine will. A channel for her power. Her restaging.
Then, and only then, do I take her.
She cries out, my cock filling her as I grip her now-red bottom and spread her open for me. Already I can feel how close she is. How thoroughly she’s lost herself to me.
I twist her chin up, forcing her to look into my eyes at the very last second.
“Come for me, Charlotte. Come for me, darling.”
Her pleasure rolls through her like fire, burning and singeing us until we’re both coming apart. I empty myself into her, nearly coming out of my skin as I find a kind of release I didn’t know I had in me, until suddenly, I’m standing over her, holding her where I’ve broken her shackles free from the rack to wrap her legs around me.
“More,” she mumbles, almost incoherently. “I need more.”
She’s talking about the punishment I gave her. I know that instinctually.
I stare down at the place where we’re still joined, the last shudders of my orgasm rolling through me. At the human woman in my arms, my cum dripping from her pussy. And for the first time in my long existence, I feel ... I squeeze my eyes shut.
Humbled. By her beauty. By the trust she’s placed in me.
By the way she wants me to hurt her. Beyond what’s necessary.
Instantly, I go still.
Her eyes flutter slightly, the incoherent pleasure of subspace clearly overtaking her as her eyes search for me. “I’m sorry, Father,” she breathes.
Something lodges inside my throat.
I don’t know whether it’s to me, my own Father, or to some distant memory she speaks, but the knowledge that she still believes she is wrong, sinful, nearly undoes me.
“You were never the one in the wrong, Charlotte. It was his shame. Never yours.” I whisper it to her without thinking, no longer used to the sound of kindness on my lips. It feels foreign. But in this moment, with her, it pours out of me. Almost naturally. “You’re such a good girl, Charlotte. Always such a good girl.”
At my fevered whispers she comes apart in my arms, this time, in a different way, crying in big heaving sobs that shake the small mortal frame of her body. I release her from what remains of the rack as she crumples against me, and for the first time in a millennium, I’m ... uncertain what to do, but then almost instinctually, I wrap her closer, cradling her to my chest as I carry her out of my playroom.
“Let it out now, little dove,” I whisper to her. “You’re safe here. You’re safe here.”
I whisper it over and over again as I lay her down in my bed, even long after she’s fallen asleep, uncertain whether the words are for a long-forgotten part of myself ...
Or for her.