Chapter VI
Cassandra
My chest shudders as I gasp for air, and I realize I’m staring at the ceiling, that I’ve been returned to the castle bedroom.
The demons and their dancing are gone.
All that I’m left with is an aching body that throbs with need and leaves me breathless. I mentally replay how the demoness caressed my skin, the sensations that sparked with every touch.
“I didn’t know that I could like women too,” I confess quietly.
The soft blanket slips across my skin as I dig my fingers in, clutching onto it in a bid to reclaim sanity and safety, to try to stop myself from exploring my body as I relive the revelry. To try to stop myself from tumbling over the edge and surrendering my soul.
I’m afraid that I would if it meant I could feel that pleasure again.
As a shadow looms above me, my heartbeat begins to thrash loudly, a feeling of terror weaving into my muscles. The monster is back. I whimper weakly, but I can’t work out if they are noises of fear or need.
I can’t blink.
I can’t look away.
He has returned, and I lie out beneath him like an offering, my limbs spread wide as his gaze roams my body. I am his meal, ready to be devoured.
His red eyes focus on the strap of my nightgown, slipped low on my shoulder, like he believes that I’m the temptress, that I’m the one with all the power. It couldn’t be further from the truth.
My stomach squirms as a queasy, churning sensation rises.
Up close, his face is truly hideous. The monster’s bald scalp glistens, too waxy. His dark veins twist like worms stuck on a hook, and his skin bubbles grotesquely, blistering, like heat rising beneath rotted flesh. Death itself is trying to claw free.
There’s nothing human about him.
Yet beneath the terror is an awful, shameful curiosity.
The darkness buried deep inside me claws its way to the surface, his thrumming power drawing it from me. The darkness within wants to know what it is like to belong to a monster. To be tied to something so evil.
I barely understand the thoughts I’m having towards this creature or what they mean, but for some inexplicable reason, I’m willing to explore. But perhaps I’m just securing my fate as this monster’s next meal. According to Clayton, I’ve never been smart.
With his eyes on me, he lets his coat drop slowly to the ground. My eyes widen at the sight of his exposed arms.
The dark veins marring his face continue their descent down, bulging, thick and swollen with unnatural strength. Every part of him is determined to be as inhumane as possible.
I’m all too aware of my heartbeat speeding up as he slowly shifts closer, giving me time to protest.
Only, I don’t.
My hands again grip the blanket beneath me, knuckles whitening, my body trembling with hunger and anxiety. Am I going to submit? I ask myself.
Will I be able to come back from whatever it is that’s happening here?
My thoughts are frenzied, but within that panic is a singular moment of clarity. Part of me doesn’t want to come back from what might happen, so I’m willing to set the world aflame with my actions and see what becomes of me.
The bed dips with his weight.
My thoughts turn to Clayton and the things he does when he forces me into his bed.
This is different, I reassure myself. I want this.
That may be true, but I can’t help the whimper, limbs trembling softly. My instincts scream at me to close my eyes and curl into myself—only my lips part instead, wet and breathless.
He crawls over me, his thick, corded arms coming to rest beside my head, supporting his weight. The size of him unmoors me.
Somehow his deep, earthy scent soothes me; it’s the smell of rain after newly disturbed soil. My monster smells of peace and comfort, which seems impossible given that he looks like a nightmare.
I feel like I should be afraid, should feel trapped, but beneath his sheer mass, I feel safe. Protected. With him sheltering me, nothing can hurt me. It would be us against the world.
I grip the blanket harder. My body yearns to move closer, as if being compelled towards him.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask softly, uncertain if I mean right now or his plans for me.
Bravery finds me as I look into his eyes. I’m relieved that I don’t plummet into hell once more. My stomach couldn’t survive another dizzying trip so soon.
There is only silence between us, the candles crackling before he moves closer, bringing his lips to my ear.
“Consume you.” He nips my earlobe, and I shudder. “Devour your soul,” he hisses, and I feel his warm breath against my neck, shivers running along my spine.
My fingers tangle themselves in his shirt, feeling unsteady, as if the world is crumbling beneath my feet. As if this will be my reckoning.
His mouth stretches wide, pointed teeth gleaming, and for a second, I’m afraid that he’s going to swallow me whole—rip into my flesh, gnaw through bone, feast on me like something starved.
He descends upon me, claiming my lips in a brutal, possessive kiss.
I falter, questioning if this is what I want.
My lips part as I make my decision and seal my fate. His tongue is savage and unrelenting, marking me with every stroke. He steals the breath from my lungs, ravaging me without mercy.
He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, drawing blood, and I cry out before his long, slimy tongue laps over my lips, smearing viscous spit everywhere it trails.
He pulls back, a trail of saliva connecting us. He looks down at me, admiring my form. Hair wild, face flushed, body trembling. All for him.
My body mourns the distance, the warmth disappearing, so I reach out—slowly, cautiously, wary of those sharp, sharp teeth. I need him closer. I want him closer.
I want him.
“Please,” I whisper. Desperation clings to my words, but I’m unsure what I’m begging for. “Please,” I ask again as he grips my wrist, bringing my fingers into his mouth. With hooded eyes, I watch him suckle on my fingers, slurping, leaving each digit glistening.
“What do you seek, my wicked angel?” He leans down, holding both hands above my head with a firm, yet gentle grip.
His bulge presses against me, and I mewl, writhing, arching up as the wetness between my thighs becomes unbearable.
“Do you need me to satisfy your ache? Do you need me to fuck your cunt until I split you in half? Do you want to scream for me?”
“Oh God,” I moan, his dirty words shooting down my body to ignite something fierce within me.
He grips my face to squeeze my cheeks together, teeth bared.
Surprise strikes me momentarily as I realize––I’m not scared.
I know that the monster won’t hurt me, not in a way that would traumatize me or leave me wishing for the end. Not like he did.
“God will not hear you, wicked one. There is only me, for you are mine.”
When he first stood all-imposing and sinister within this room, I was afraid that he would make me feel like I was chained to the bottom of the ocean, that it would begin anew the same cycle of abuse I faced with Clayton.
Only now, I’m finding that I crave it—his obsession, and how his desire makes me feel.
I feel special.
My body softens. Perhaps I have been misunderstanding him. He looks evil, but true evil can be found in husbands who hurt instead of protect. Husbands who lie. Husbands who make their wives wish for the end.
“What is your name?”
His grin is fiendish as he moves down my body. My breathing stutters as his clawed fingers brush along my bare leg, exposed when my nightgown was hiked up over my hips while he ground against me.
“Izcacus.” He leans down to my pussy, takes a long, deep breath in, and moves his hands to my thighs, ready to part them.
“Wait!” I cry out, slamming my legs and eyes shut. “You––you can’t.” I quietly admit, “I’m on my period.”
The words leave a sour taste in my mouth, my stomach churning as I remember how much Clayton hated it when it was that time of month for me. His words echo through my mind—I am disgusting, my body is repulsive. No one would ever find me attractive.
My chin trembles, and the urge to punish myself returns. Clayton isn’t here to beat me, but I want to do it myself. I’m just not good enough.
My body readies to flee, and I begin to pull away.
“You are my perfect, exquisite little thing.”
I peek out at him through closed eyes. My breath hitches when I see him before me.
Izcacus kneels as if readying himself to worship at the temple that is my flesh, as if preparing to pray to the savage god that is my soul.
“Let me venerate this divine cunt. Let me feast like a starving man to replenish my essence with your sweet nectar.” He says it with such ferocity that my eyes fly entirely open, mouth dropping down, and while it surely cannot be possible, Izcacus isn’t leaving room for argument.
My monster pulls my underwear down and off before bringing the fabric to his nose. I watch with a strange fascination as he inhales, eyes rolling back in feral rapture.
My pounding heartbeat drowns the melancholy, the ache between my thighs washing it away with a fervorous, throbbing need.
Izcacus looks at me with a primal, lust-darkened gaze like he can already taste me on his tongue. He looks at me as if I will be his favorite meal.
With one talon he lightly brushes my center, his frown causing me momentary panic. What if he finds me repulsive…down there? I’m hit, suddenly, with the need to be everything he craves, but before I can spiral further, my alarm is interrupted by a familiar weight leaving my body.
He presents my dripping tampon by the string, and I grimace.
It’s not a pleasant sight, but before I can think too long on how the large, gelatinous clots that cling to it must disgust him, he surprises me.
Instead of revulsion, there’s a gleam in his eyes, and I watch, bewitched, as he places the tampon in his mouth, wraps his lips around it, and sucks.
The wet sounds of cotton being drawn through lips and teeth fills the room as he sucks on it like a lollipop, swallowing until it runs dry. His eyes drift closed, and the faintest of smiles graces his gaunt face.
My eyes are wide, equally parts disturbed and oddly turned on. When he turns his attention back to me he drops the tampon, hands quick to latch around my ankles so he can pull me down onto my back. I squeal from the playfulness of the movement and almost smile in return.
His breath tickles my center, forcing my back to arch off the bed in anticipation. Izcacus hovers as if he’s teasing me, and I wiggle, thrusting my pelvis into his face. He huffs with amusement and a dramatic whine leaves my mouth.
“Izcacus, please.”
I’ve never whined in bed or begged for more. It is always the opposite––praying it would end. It is a strange feeling, getting to experience this, and I tremble as he trails his finger down my pussy. I could become addicted to this. To him.
“Patience,” Izcacus rasps before he slips a finger inside. The talon causes me to wince, but as he begins to pump slowly, the sharpness turns into relief.
My eyes flutter shut on a heady groan. The slickness of my blood allows him to insert another finger soon after the first, and I tremor with the intensity of it.
“It feels so good,” I whisper. I revel in the tenderness of the moment––how slow, how gentle he is with me. My sweet monster.
I don’t know when I claimed Izcacus as mine.
It was likely when I realized I feel safe with him, and it might not be very smart to want him, but I’m starting to crave everything he offers regardless.
The darkness, the pleasure, the freedom from my chains.
If this is what life will be like bound to him, then I don’t think it will be so bad.
“Izcacus,” I plead as I reach above my head, trying to find something to ground me in the brewing storm of pleasure.
There is warmth against my clit. Too quickly for me to anticipate his next move, he sweeps his tongue over my pussy, greedily lapping at my menstrual blood, fingers thrusting in and out as my cries grow louder.
He rumbles his own pleasure, preventing me from feeling embarrassed or shy. With him, there’s no chance to overthink. Only feel.
“Oh, oh…Izcacus.”
When I raise my head, needing to see him, I find my period blood streaks his chin and cheeks. He looks at me like a feral beast, eyes wild. “Repeat it,” he growls, before diving back between my legs.
“Izcacus, Izcacus, Izcacus,” I chant like a prayer. Each word is punctuated by thrusts of his fingers in time with his tongue against my clit.
Another breathless moan leaves me as I writhe under his touch and my back arches with need.
His tongue swirls around my clit, hungry as he devours me, the room filling with the obscene sounds of my bloody arousal. My cries intensify, chronicling the evolution of my descent into insanity.
When he sucks hard, I cry out. Everything shatters inside of me as I come undone beneath his mouth, my body shaking with an immense and wholly new pleasure.
All while he fulfills his promise of bringing me to ruination.