August 25, 2014

Angelic

Today, instead of our usual post on writing technique and style, I've got a sweet little treat; a sexy excerpt from one of my works. Hope you enjoy! 

 

Reaper’s skin was like fever heat, a velvet warmth running like a current just below the surface of his flesh.  All other things in the Darklands were cold: stone and ice, gleaming black marble freezing to the touch, even the fires burning with no heat and the bitter winds crisp and crackling with frosty breath.  But Reaper—Reaper smoldered, his demonic heritage sparking an intimate pleasure in her every time he touched her.

 

 

She relished his caress. She surrendered herself to its small pleasure even before she knew what it was to lust for a man.  He would trace his fingers across the back of her neck, and she would close her eyes to savor it.  When he would take her chin in his hands, staring into her eyes with his molten, crimson gaze, it was all she could do not to faint from the subtly overwhelming rapture of his palms on her flesh.  She grew to love him through his touch, the feel of his warmth against her. His touches came like little gifts in the cold, heartless fortress he kept her in.

 

The demon was kind, and that was his poison.  He treated her as a perfect blessing: dressing her in gossamer gowns; speaking to her in a voice low, patient, husky and adoring.  He ran his long fingers through the cascade of her dark hair, whispering ancient poems in the language of the otherworld into her ear.  He hovered just a step away from her, even when she wanted him embracing her, enveloping her in his arms.  He waited, gently, for just the right moment, and as he waited he held her apart to admire her. He was always gazing long at her, gently running his hands along the back of her arm, placing his palm firmly on the small of her back, delicately taking her hand in quiet hand-holding games.

 

There was no question she was his woman. He would wait until the dawn of the next age to claim her, if he felt it was what she required.  There was no concern that she would age and die… his magic would keep her forever young and beautiful, his angel in the darkness.

*** 

There was no moon in the sky when Reaper came to her, as a bridegroom to his bride, in her chambers in the fortress tower.  She stood on the balcony overlooking the cold and barren lands below them. Then he was simply there.  His arms entwined around her waist and that comfortable warmth bloomed in her own body, warding away the cold of the alien world around her.

 

“Angel,” he whispered to her.  She leaned into his embrace, turning her face towards him.  For long moments, silence settled between them, and she only listened to the beating of his dark, inhuman heart.

 

His lips touched her head; she felt the warmth of his breath in her hair.  She drew in a heavy, strangely anxious breath, and  Reaper chuckled.

 

“Just like a blushing virgin on her weddin’ night,” he murmured.

 

“I can’t help it,” she replied.  “You frighten me.”

Darlin’,” he drawled, and he swayed with her a little, ducking his head down to press his lips against her neck.  She shut her eyes, a little groan escaping her.  Reaper made a small sound of encouragement between kisses.  The rasp of his unshaven jaw brushing against her shoulder made her shiver and she felt every muscle in her go taut, quivering like harp strings, anticipation of his heat racing through her blood.  

 

 She was only a girl, her knowledge of him limited to the desire she’d only recently come to recognize as deepening affection, hungry yearning.  She had no knowledge of how to welcome him to her virgin bed, how to serve him there as she served him in all other ways.  He was a devil, a prince of beauty and wicked knowledge. Women would lose their minds and open themselves to him in a heartbeat. They prostrated themselves before him and spread their legs for him to own them.  He could, with the snap of his fingers, have the most chaste of nuns on all fours begging him, in tears for him, dancing on the edge of madness to feel his hot iron invade her.  She, Angel, a girl only newly initiated into the first yearnings of womanhood...she would be too clumsy for his pleasure.

 

But he buried his face between her head and neck, his warm hands caressing the curve of her hips, closing her more tightly against him.  She could feel his want for her; she knew that even in his congress with other women, even as he had indulged himself with willing whores and wives and mothers in each town they passed through, he had wanted her. His want for her was terrifying, but it was beautiful, and she knew somehow she, a homeless waif, a witch-child, had won the very mind of the devil himself.

 

Reaper turned her around to face him.  His deep, red eyes, the color of fire and wine, were dark with his desire.

 

“Yes, Angel,” he said, answering her unspoken thoughts.  He ran his fingers across her temple and she saw the countless women turned into desperate, mad whores at the sight of him. But she felt his contempt for them, too, as he took them, using them like breeding mares, each time coveting the cold, dark perfection of the girl-child he kept until it was time for her to blossom.

 

He wanted her.

 

And now was the time.  He leaned close to her and for the first time she felt his lips on her lips: the heat, the taste of blood and salt, the tip of his hot tongue caressing hers.  Pain unfolded in the heart of her sex: yearning, eager pain.  She pressed herself against him. She hoped she was not like the others, disgracing herself in ugly desperation for him.

 

Reaper broke their kiss, and gently lifted her into his arms.  The wind teased her dark hair as he carried her through the tall, glass doors into her chamber.  The long, ghostly, gossamer curtains swayed delicately, but the room was dark until Reaper lay her gently down on the bed. By way of his deep magic, the lamps to either side caught light, glowing gently.

 

He ran his hand down the length of her body, relishing the curve of her breast underneath her silken dress.  She sighed, lifting her hands to touch his face, daring for the first time to touch him, feeling smooth, unlined contours of cheek.  She had never touched him before—she had never been allowed.

 

He slipped a hand beneath the collar of her dress, and slipped it from her porcelain-white shoulder.  His lips found her there, and he carefully stripped the dress away from her, following its retreat with his kisses; her pussy, warm and curiously aroused between her thighs, gave a throb of small, petulant yearning as his tongue found the tiny peak of her nipple.

 

The warmth of his touch ignited a flame of warmth from within her, too, a flame growing steadily hotter.  His breath against her flesh was unnatural heat, and he blew gently on her nipple before taking it between his lips, tasting it with an eager moan, sucking it hungrily.

 

“Reaper?” she breathed. She was wanting him too quickly; she wanted him to end the curse of childhood and take her.  She worried at that—was she so like the women who panted like dogs and whined like sows when he took them?  Would she be as brass and rude as the whores?

 

Slowly, Reaper shook his head, tracing his tongue from one nipple to the other and cupping his palm over her navel.

 

“No, Angel,” he whispered.  “You will never be a whore.  You will never be a bitch beneath me.”

 

“I… am so eager for you,” she whispered back.

 

“I want you to be,” he replied.  “And it excites me.”

 

He slipped his hand down to the heat of her sex and she gasped suddenly, then closed her eyes with a moan.  His warm hand traced the cleft of her flesh, finding it hot and ready.  He stripped the dress from her completely and she lifted her hand again to tug at his breeches.

 

He was naked then, too, perfect and beautiful, the shaft of his cock standing up from the dark hair between his thighs.  She stared at it, curious and awed, even as she dared to reach out and take it in her hands.  It was hot, nearly too hot to grasp, throbbing with an inhuman heat and ravenous desire.  Angel swallowed her nervous uncertainty as she stroked it, exploring it, and Reaper chuckled huskily in her ear.

 

“Did you think it’d bite?” he asked.  He leaned on top of her, pressing his hard desire against the round of her belly.

 

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.  “Everything about you is beautiful.”

 

She closed her hand around the shaft and slowly explored the length of it.  Reaper ran his own hand down her side, returning his kisses to her throat, rolling the hard nub of her nipple between his fingers.

 

Slowly then, he drew away from her, sliding down so that he was between her thighs, breathing gently against her.  She felt the warm length of his tongue probe delicately along the cleft of her pussy, his breath hot, the spark of his deep, carnal touch racing through her.  He was careful with her, only barely touching her, exploring her until she opened willingly beneath his patient adoration, and he slipped his tongue inside of her—

 

Angel arched her back, unable to stifle the eager moan that escaped her.  His tongue lapped up the wetness of her, dipping deep inside of her, tasting the hot desire. It withdrew, and she thought she might start crying as she felt it recede, and then it delved deep into her again, electrifying her with its heat, its wet, hungry penetration.  He drew away for only a moment and closed his lips around the soft pearl of flesh above her wet cunt, sucking it, rolling it with his tongue, and she moaned again, close to tears.  Then he was lapping up the wetness of her opening again, licking deep inside of her, in and out, his tongue soft and firm at the same time, caressing, exciting, filling her.

 

She felt the first echoes of electrifying, overwhelming pleasure blooming in her, deep and secretive and sinful.  She cried out, throwing her head back against the feather pillows and delving her fingers into his hair. The wave of rapture threatened to overtake her entirely, flood all her senses and leave her breathless, lost, mad with her hunger for him.  Reaper licked deeper, harder; the quaking sensation renewed itself, overtaking her again before she could regain her senses; and again, with each careful thrust of his tongue deep into her hot and ready cunt, she clutched his head and cried out again, moaning his name.

 

He slipped a long finger into her; her breath caught as he laughed to himself, and then was on top of her, the length of his engorged member both unbelievably tempting and incredibly frightening.  She wanted it, all of it, wanted to take it into her and feel its searing heat all through her. At the same time it scared her, large and demanding, the iron that had plunged into the secret depths of so many older, worldly, unashamed women, that had taken the blood of so many virgins. Now it was about to shed hers, too, under its questing head.

 

He was gentle. She felt the tip of his cock running up and down the wet rim of her cleft, carefully probing her.  He held it just outside of her quivering opening, all the time holding her eyes with his own beautiful gaze, the warmth of his body lying the length of hers...

 

And then, slow, hot, perfect, she felt him enter her.

 

The feel of him—the overwhelming satisfaction of his manhood invading her—was too wonderful, too satisfying.  She came again, almost immediately, thrusting the entire length of her body to meet his with a groan of delight.  Reaper withdrew, then slowly thrust again, torturing her inch by inch as his perfect member slid into her, and withdrew again.  Every inch of his flesh sent a new thrill through her, and soon he was in a rhythm, sliding in and out of her tight pussy, the heat incredible, each thrust spiking her adrenaline even higher as she surrendered to its pleasure.

 

He dipped his head and kissed her, at the same time thrusting himself deep, deep into her, until the entire shaft of his manhood was buried inside of her, and she moaned desperately beneath him.  Slowly he slid out and gently moved away from her, gesturing for her so roll over onto her stomach.  She did, and again he probed her with his fingers, feeling the wet, quivering flesh, before he raised her hips and entered her from behind.

 

Again she felt the hard, hungry length of him fill her, feeding the desperate hunger, sliding in and out, hot, wet, satisfying, deeply satisfying.  He thrust harder this time, faster, sending tiny sparks of intense pleasure through her.  She could feel her orgasm building this time, responding eagerly to each penetration of his swollen cock, prickled, electrified as she felt the hot flesh of his scrotum pressed against her skin.  He thrust deeper, harder, more hungrily, and he wrapped his arms around her, covering her and grasping her breasts with his hands as he plunged into her over and over.

 

She moaned—it seemed she couldn’t stop moaning.  Every part of her sang in ecstasy as he made love to her.  And her climax climbed higher, higher, higher.

 

He thrust hard, deep, filling her; she felt the throbbing course of his seed all through his cock as it poured into her, hot and sinful, and at the same time she climaxed again, her muscles convulsing, greedily closing around him, pulling him deeper, wanting him deeper, ever deeper, invading every part of her, filling her up with him. 

 

She threw her head back and cried out in joy, even as the sticky heat of his seed spilled from where he had invaded her.

 

“More,” she begged, no longer caring if she sounded crass.  “Please, Reaper… more.”

 

He chuckled, and as he withdrew from her, she felt a shiver of almost disappointed pleasure tickle the lips of her sex.

 

“As much as you want, darlin’,” he promised.  “The rest of the night… the rest of eternity.  I’ll give you all the pleasure you could ever want.”

 

“Teach me to pleasure you,” she insisted.  “Like the others do.”

 

“You aren’t like them,” he assured her. 

 

 “I want to please you,” she murmured.  “I do not care if I am disgraced.”

 

“You?” he asked, sounding surprised.  “No, darlin’.  Not you.”

 

He pressed his lips to hers and she felt he was still hard, still perfect and ready, like a prize stud, like a king.  

 

 Like a devil.

 

“You can’t be disgraced,” he whispered.  “You are too beautiful, too perfect.  You are my bride, Angel darlin’… and it’s my place to pleasure you.”

 

2 comments:

  1. Wow! That was... incredible. Thank you so much for sharing that!

    ReplyDelete

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