"Cell Twenty-Seven, Your Highness," the dark priest hissed, his breathing wet and just as sibilant as his words had been.
The young baroness still clung to looks of newness, of having just emerged from sacred locked chambers reserved only for royal bloodlines of demons. Of course one could turn any mortal creature to bring it into the bloodline. Such things were easily done and commonplace for bolstering the ranks of servants and warriors. But for the families themselves, the ancient, traditional methods were necessary. They had to procreate.
No demon is born a child. They are not like mortals that way. The nutrients they require could not be gotten suitably as infants or children, and so that time of their maturation was kept sealed away, with many runes and seals capturing the power of orgies of dedication inscribed into the incubation chamber. There the creations would be left to sleep and mature, to dream and be taught thus by their elders. To learn how to be proper demons, how to hunt, and how to live.
The baroness, having emerged months ago to great acclaim and familial excitement, was still feeling her newness. She was mature in body and had long practiced in dreams how to feed, but only lately had she felt the hungry need to do so awake. The runes had been drained long ago and could no longer sustain her. Keeping discreetly hidden in dark halls during feedings one room away had helped, but the pang of it was getting to be too much.
She wanted to feed, but she wanted to feed on something exquisite.
Baronesses are often born spoiled, of course.
Cell twenty-seven loomed on the right, the strong, wooden door barred in iron and inscribed in glowing marks of icy blue. Once she reached out and caressed her fingertips over the wood did the markings hum and dim into an inviting amber, and the lock opened with a sharp and heavy clank. It took only a moment for her to disrobe to full nudity, stepping out of her dress and taking a deep breath to ready herself. Her body was adult and ready for feeding, she knew she was beautiful and without blemish. All she had to do was go in and feed, a ritual performed by every member of her family before her, a task so mundane and simple even lesser demons could do it. Surely this would be easy. Surely her nerves were pointless. Her petite fingers grasped the wrought iron handle and twisted it down, admitting her into the room.
Within was a circular chamber outfitted for obscenity. Lit oil lanterns hung at regular intervals along the walls, their licking flames shivering and fluttering their spheres of light towards a central circular altar some four feet tall and ten feet wide. And upon the deeply veined black marble was chained a young, slender male angel with wings and hair of purest white, his arms and legs spread far apart and chained with silver links. His skin was fair and unblemished, and his eyes were a soft robin's egg blue ringed in a slender band of black. Those eyes were wide with nerves, his cheeks blushing softly as he looked upon the Baroness.
She, like he, was slender and delicate. Yet unlike him her skin was a deep mocha in hue and her hair was thick and black. From her brow grew two slender black horns that ended in needle sharp points, and her eyes were a deep gold flecked with red. A slim and prehensile tail coiled behind her, sliding around her ankle as she, too, looked on at her prepared meal with apprehension.
"I am to feed upon you," she announced, sucking in a breath and standing up a little straighter, setting her jaw and narrowing her eyes. She was a Baroness. She was dignified. Her nipples were also tight upon her soft breasts and her throat felt a little dry.
Silver chains held the angel upon its back, naked and exposed, but even so he could look down the length of his own body at his fate and admire her. Well, what he could see of her before his own erection obscured his view. It bothered him and he squirmed and laid back again, biting his lip. He shouldn't be so excited to be defiled in such a way. This was not dignified. This was going to be disgusting.
His stomach tightened and a glistening, thick drip of precum leaked from his slit down to his belly, just clinging to a downy, nigh invisible hair or two.
The Baroness sucked in another breath and looked down at herself, imagining how she was looking to her prey's eyes. Judging by his arousal, she felt a bloom of confidence and the first coiling satisfaction of feeding, and so she proceeded to climb into the altar, resting on her hip near to his own. Her dusky, sharp-nailed finger caressed along the quill of a pure white feather and she raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, waiting until the angel looked back up at her again.
He squirmed once more, his chains clinking loudly in the still, warm room, and breathily he asked, "Are you going to hurt me? Will this hurt?" He seemed genuinely scared by the thought of it.
She pursed her lips and tapped the spade tip of her tail against the side of the altar twice. "Only if it excites me to hurt you."
The angel wilted and closed his eyes tightly, the young man of seeming twenty mortal years showing no courage at all.
With a smile, she shifted closer and caressed his chest, the points of her nails softly teasing along his milky skin. The angel whimpered, flushing hotly, then his nosed wrinkled in confusion. As her taloned touch traveled lower and lower, the worry softened from his face and his lips parted, his head rolling to the side as his cock pulsed and his back slowly arched. To either side his wings flared slowly, the muted hiss of feathers caressing stone coming to her from all around. It was a delicious sound.
