Surprisingly, at least to me, I managed to get past the writer’s block keeping me from the next part of Second Coming this week. This particular point in the story had a life of its own, needing to be told. That wasn’t a simple thing to do. There comes a time when souls are bared, if not to themselves, then to others that wish them to be. When that happens, when needs are boiling and an offer is made, then is selling one’s soul for one’s desire a bad thing? Perhaps, it is just coming to be who one is.
If you’d like to read the prior six parts of this story, you can find them here on the Tale.
The Second Coming
The sight of the grounds outside of the window were something he didn’t see, as his mind was elsewhere. The encounter with Cléophée troubled him. She had him, there was no question that she could have pushed him to the ground, straddled him, sunk herself onto his shaft and fucked him into submission. The power she held, even weakened as she was, was terrible. He’d felt her call, had been unable to resist her claws digging into his soul. Even now his thoughts drifted towards finding her, pushing her down to her knees. He looked at his hands, a spark of the past taking him back. Red hands gripping Cléophée’s horns, thrusting his shaft between her amazing lips, forcing her to deep throat him. The gleam of lust in her eyes as her tongue swirled around his shaft, a single thought driving him onwards:
fucking her into submission.
A shrill tone snapped his memories away, and he found himself standing by a window in the abby. He’d been dreading the phone call ever since Cléophée had appeared. His tone, once again, was neutral: “Your Grace.”
“What news do you have? Has Sister Miranda been to see you?”
“She has …”—there was a short, telling pause—“… a good soul.”
“What does that mean?”
He considered lying to her, but if this was a test, then he’d fail and any chance they had to save Cleo would be doomed: “It means, your Grace, that she shows promise.”
The next words she spoke were guarded: “Sister Cléophée?”
His hand gripped the receiver tightly: “I’ve … seen her.”
A single word, accusing in tone: “And?”
He couldn’t help his answer: “A Cléophée of sex and wanton power. A creature the likes of which …”
He couldn’t remember the last time her Grace had shouted. “Enough!”
He didn’t in reply and felt rather pleased with himself: “No, it isn’t. She’s starving. She needs to feed, and she’ll take from any unfortunate soul she encounters.”
The threat was clear: “We should have killed you both.”
As was his reply: “Hindsight is a wondrous thing, isn’t it?”
Her threat was, if nothing else, expected: “We still can.”
His sight passed over the roses outside: “You know where I am; best of luck finding Cléophée. I wouldn’t at all be surprised if she was there with you, hovering over your shoulder, biding her time.” He could just make out the frightened gasp, and couldn’t stop himself smiling slyly to himself. “They love bright souls, you know.”
The line went dead.
He put the phone back down and returned to looking out of the window. It wouldn’t be too long before she’d return to sink her claws into him once more. Cléophée was hunting. That hunger inside couldn’t be ignored for long, if she was even trying to.
A little part of him was jealous of her.
A larger part was hoping, praying for her.
The phone rang again: “Yes?”
“What the hell are you hiding from me?”
There was a pounding behind Amber’s temples as she walked around a very different room. The Sister was nice enough at the door, but something was pressing at her thoughts ever since she came in. Something about her seemed familiar, but she’d never met the woman before.
The visitor turned her attention to Ben: “Sit.”
At least she didn’t think she had. Cléophée’s red hair ticked at her, thoughts captivating her, nibbling away at her mind, and she was trying to put the pieces together. There was a hole in her memories—there just wasn’t any other way to explain it—a deep chasm that she couldn’t see the bottom of.
What she could see, however, caused Amber to shiver. The Sister was sitting, almost regally, on the one good chair in the room, her eyes fixed on Amber as Ben settled himself on Cléophée’s right: “Amber, sit with Ben.”
She considered the command—it wasn’t quite a request considering the tone the Sister used—then shook her head. She was being a terrible hostess: “Would you like something?”
Cléophée’s smile was almost feral as she looked at Ben: “I’m starving.”
The shiver that crawled up Amber’s spine made her wet her lips as she rushed from the room: “I’ll … be right back.” If the young woman’s mind wasn’t so muddled, she might have realized the double entendre the nun used: “I’m sure that Ben will amuse me.”
Ben watched his girlfriend leave the room, wanting to call out to her, ask her to stay, but there’d been a force behind the visitor’s command to him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything except what he’d been told.
A slim hand, tipped with long red nails, appeared in his vision, then snapped fingers in irritation: “Here.” His eyes fell upon the redhead beside him, her expression somewhere between anger and impatience: “So … tell me. Do you love her?”
The words came out with no hesitation: “Yes. Completely.”
She snorted in derision: “Love … How quaint.”
He could only watch as she rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirt: “What you really want is to fuck a hot piece of ass.”
Cupping his chin, she forced him to look into her eyes, for the first time he realized that they were completely black, his thoughts falling into their depths, swirling down, deeper and deeper still.
“You remember don’t you? Hammering your cock into her pussy, fucking her raw as she screamed?”
A memory pushed itself into Ben’s thoughts. A vision of Amber bent over the table in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder, her eyes black. His shaft so hard, hands digging into her ass, ramming himself into her slick and hot depths. But there was something wrong. Amber didn’t have red hair, she didn’t look like a walking wet dream. It wasn’t Amber … was it?
She’d moved closer still, now straddling his legs, filling his vision. Confusion reigned his thoughts now. Wasn’t she wearing something before? He remembered Amber answering the door, the redheaded goddess standing there, nude, tracing her fingers over her thighs and licking her lips. Two sets of memories warred with each other, fighting for control.
“Poor thing … All confused. Goddess will help.”
The sound of fabric tearing was unmistakable, but he didn’t have the strength to resist. Her eyes held him, all else fading away, immaterial to listening to her. She wrapped a hand around his shaft, toying with it and smiling.
“Oh … such a shame … You weren’t claimed. How delicious!”
Her lips found his own, slipping against them, teasing him. Heat from her breath warmed his lips, curling around his tongue and cascading deep into his core. Thrusting his lips, her stroking of his shaft became more instant.
“All mine … every morsel of you.”
A corner of his mind howled that this wasn’t right; he needed to push her away, be free of her. But that corner was being pushed against, driven off to cower in the darkness that was consuming his mind as her will, her power, her being poured into his own.
“Nooo … I …”
Her tongue, impossibly long, slithered past his lips, twining around his own before licking at something within him. Something that screamed into his mind, changing his sense of self: “Toy.”
If he’d been hard before, that was nothing as the word sunk itself into his mind, smoothing over his thoughts, eliminating all else and leaving behind a blank slate to be drawn upon … exactly as the Goddess wanted. Her Toy moaned, anticipating her desires, wanting to please her above all else. The facade that Cléophée had woven over Ben and Amber’s thoughts fell away in the next moment. There was no need now. Her wings were wide, sending her scent throughout the room, covering the small apartment with her taint. Sweat covered her red skin, glistening as her hunger pulled at her, demanding she take from her Toy until he was spent.
Cléophée purred as her tongue, with a wet slurp, pulled free of Ben’s month. He’d been taken before, but Amber didn’t go all the way with him. She left him on the edge of being the toy of a succubus, but didn’t have the time to claim him. Giggling lightly, tail darting behind her perfect ass, she licked her lips, pleased that Cleo had interrupted Amber before she’d finished.
There wasn’t going to be anyone to stop her this time … especially not Amber.
The young woman had been working away in the kitchen, trying to make a cup of tea for their guest, but her thoughts kept drifting off, more often than they had been earlier in the day. Standing at the table, her hands holding the edge, her sex was wet and slick, hips jerking to and fore, feeling a long thick cock pounding into her. She’d stifled the moans, biting her hand, but the feeling just kept coming and coming … she just couldn’t get away from it.
The whistle of the kettle woke her from the daydream, but did nothing to stop the ache between her legs, the slickness between her thighs and the blush of embarrassment she felt knowing that she’d have to go back into the living room as she was. That last thought only served to make her wetter still and moan again.
Stirring the cream into the cup, her mind drifted again: lapping at Ben’s cock, devouring his cream, smacking her lips in delight before coaxing another serving from his aching balls; making him serve. The shock of the cold liquid pouring over her hand made the mesmerized woman gasp in surprise, scrambling to clean up the mess.
Goddess didn’t like messes, after all.
That thought brought Amber up short, clearing her mind for an instant. She thought she heard something from the other room: a moan … a whine … something. Then a tantalizing aroma teased her senses and the sound didn’t mean much anymore. The ache in her pussy did. Her hands were trembling as she picked up the cup and made her way back. Her attention was held by not dripping the drink all over the carpet as she came back into the room: “I’m sorry! All I have …”
Amber’s words were interrupted by Cléophée’s snarl: “Come in, bitch.”
The cup slipped out of the hostess’ hands, falling to the floor and shattering as she fell to her knees in disbelief: “What the hell is …”
Ben was stripped bare, his eyes fixed on the woman … no … the demoness that was straddling his lap. Red … so much red … black wings … a tail … hooves. Amber didn’t resist as a hand found itself beneath the waistband of her pants, one finger toying with her clit as she watched from afar.
“Who … Oh ffffuck … Where’s Cléophée?”
The demoness smiled as her attention turned to the newcomer: “Right here, slut, enjoying the delights of this toy.”
She was rooted to the spot, unable to look away as the redheaded nightmare slid off Ben’s lap and kneeled before him. Black eyes gleamed as she continued to pump Ben’s cock like an afterthought: “But he’s not perfect … Not yet.”
Flashes of long red nails surrounded his shaft, her lips moving closer to the crown of Ben’s throbbing shaft. She licked her way around the purple head before kissing the tip, her fangs scraping on either side, her Toy bucking as the sensation flooded his senses.
“You remember… don’t you?”
The memory crashed through Amber like a tidal wave. Her plain, ordinary body transformed into … sex: long, red hair; seductive curves; a voice that dripped with ecstasy; controlling Ben, forcing him to his knees; fingers clutching his hair, forcing him to lick her twat; keening in delight as she came, dripping; bent over at her waist, her hands on either side of him; wrapping her lips around his cock, taking him deeply; slurping and sucking, stroking his shaft, sinking her cunt down his length, her folds gripping his shaft, milking him; thrusting her ass out, hands gripping the edge of the bed, looking over her shoulder, growling for him to fuck her; screaming in delight as he fucked and kept on fucking until he collapsed, spent, used up. And then it started all over again.
Cléophée’s voice purred in delight: “You want to fuck him, dominate him. That makes you cum, doesn’t it?”
Amber shuddered. The vision was so wanton, so tempting: “No! I love him!”
The giggle made her pussy tremble: “You lust for him.”
She couldn’t help the whisper that escaped as a fingernail scraped over her clit: “Fuuuckkkk.”
Cléophée flowed to her hooves, dominating both of them as her wings spread wide: “Come here, slut.”
Amber felt the pull, the power. Her nipples ached, her clit throbbed. Her lips parted, a string of drool dripping onto the carpet as Cléophée drew a long red nail over her folds and moaned: “Give yourself to me.” Her clothes were torn away without another thought, her need to obey, to worship upon the altar of her goddess consuming her. She crawled on hands and knees, eyes held upon the vision that claimed her mind.
Her goddess had returned her attention to her Toy, bent over at her waist, lips wrapped tightly around his cock and taking him deeply. Over and over, as the slut crawled closer, she took her Toy’s entire length easily before drawing off and starting again. Amber watched her goddess deep throat her Toy six times before her own tongue was licking against her goddess’ calf, whimpering for attention.
Cléophée’s voice took her attention: “What is he, slut?”
Amber answered with a long wet lick of her goddess’ hoof: “Yours, Goddess, forever yours.”
Cléophée pushed the slut to one side, a cruel sneer dancing over her lips as she returned to her chair. The sneer became a smirk as she drew her legs wide, a finger pointing at her sex, still dripping: “To your place, slut.”
Amber’s moan of delight was followed by her crawling to her goddess. Her eyes never left that of Goddess as she licked her way towards her goal: to taste of Goddess upon her tongue, to thrust her tongue deeply, to obey and nothing more. As her lips caressed slick folds, Goddess commanded: “Toy. Fuck her hard.”
Then the slut gasped as her goddess entwined her fingers, pulling on her hair and forcing her lips against her sex: “Lick, slut.”
When Her Toy took hold of her hips, Amber arched her back, baring her cunt to him. When he teased his cock against her cunt, she thrust backwards, impaling herself on him. A thought from deep within took hold of her: “Fucking Toys …”
Cléophée howled in delight as the two mindless slaves started fucking each other, she feeding on both of them as Amber’s tongue slithered within her sex. Two delicious souls at once! Delightful! The front door being kicked open didn’t stop any of them for an instant.
Mandy’s voice overcame all else in the room: “Cléophée!”
Lazily—she was enjoying devouring the souls far too much—the succubus turned her head: “Why Miranda! Mmmm … I will have to punish my Pet for letting you escape.”
Mandy’s disgust was more than evident in her anger and her voice: “Let … them … GO!”
Mandy had never heard Cleo cackle, and the sound was awful: “They … are mine. Their souls are mine … My Toy and my Vessel. I’ll do with them as I wish.”
Mandy could tell that the two others in the room were Amber and Ben, but they weren’t exactly as they were before. Cléophée had dug her claws into them both. Their eyes white, just like those of Cléophée’s pet. Their bodies changed, not like Cléophée’s own, but nonetheless the girl and guy next door now looked like porn stars fucking each other.
Ben was more muscular, more animalistic. His hair was red, almost the same shade as the Pet back in the hotel. He didn’t take a moment to look towards Mandy, his eyes only for Cléophée, his cock only for Amber’s cunt as he fucked her without stopping. Amber looked exactly like she did when Mandy and Cleo had first seen her. Red hair, again, a body made for sex. Her moans of pleasure as Ben fucked her muffled by her lips pressed against Cléophée’s cunt.
“Join me, Miranda. Be one with me.”
The waves of damned power from Cléophée circled around Mandy, her sex dampening, her breath catching, her eyes starting to become unfocused as the trio continued to fuck themselves into oblivion. The sight was raw temptation, feeding on fantasies that lurked deep inside. Cléophée crooking a finger, beckoning Mandy to come closer, to join in, to give in, demanding that Mandy fall to her knees and worship the demon whore.
The anger that rose like bile from within burst out in a growl: “Fuck … YOU.”
Cléophée’s laughter was cruel and unremorseful: “Don’t worry, Miranda … You’ll be cumming for me soon enough.”
Mandy’s voice was seething: “Like fuck I will.”
Cléophée laughed, tugging on Amber’s red hair, Ben still fucking away mindlessly: “Yessss, you will.”
Light flared around the awful scene and Mandy blinked.
They were gone.
The apartment was empty save for the smell of sex in the air and the scorch marks that blackened the carpet and the chair where the trio had been moments before. Turning on her heel, Mandy slammed the apartment door behind her. Cléophée’s next destination more than obvious. He’d warned her, told her exactly what the bitch from hell was going to do.
He was next on that bitch’s list, and he’d better be ready.
Pausing at the stairs, Mandy knelt down to retrieve the cursed book she’d taken from the hotel and sighed: “Not … ready.”
What the book had revealed made that crystal clear.
She wasn’t ready … wasn’t prepared … damn it all to hell.