A Demon's Devotion -- Ch. 02
Beatrice gawked in the mirror, droplets of water still streaking down her naked skin. Sticky steam lingered from her shower, clinging to her overheating body as she stared, transfixed by her reflection's revelation:
It was still there. An ornate crest formed from ribbons of black ink, emblazoned right above her pussy. The design was vaguely floral, with brushstrokes appearing to blossom from her crotch before flaring out towards her hips in short, sharp petals. The symbolism was unclear, but Beatrice knew all too well what it meant.
Something had happened. Something between her and Levi. Something that had given him access to...to...
Beatrice gripped the edges of the sink, struggling to control her breath as she cast her mind back to the previous night. She remembered kissing him. And coming back downstairs to take his picture. But beyond that things got increasingly hazy and...surreal. Murky images flashed through her mind, absurd dreams of Levi transforming into some kind of...cosmic sex beast or something. The things he did to her...the things she did for him...they all blurred together into a rapid stream of sensations and impressions. The feeling of her tits being mauled by powerful hands; the memory of tender heat pulsing in her pussy and mouth; the afterglow of orgasms radiating from her skin. It was all so vivid, yet indistinct. And horribly, infuriatingly unexplainable.
At first, she'd assumed he'd drugged her.
That'd seemed like the most likely explanation, at least at first. Even though she didn't remember leaving him alone with their drinks, it was still possible Levi had slipped something into her cocktail that had caused her to hallucinate. That would account for her strange memories, but the crest on her body still defied comprehension. There was no way it was a real tattoo, no way had Levi had the time, equipment, and otherworldly skill to mark her in secret. Yet the design couldn't be a temporary stamp either: for all her scrubbing, the lines remained as sharp and dark as ever, her long, laborious shower having accomplished nothing.
Well, besides revealing the crest's...side-effects.
Beatrice moved a trembling hand towards the glistening ink, almost convincing herself that this time, her fingers would wipe it away with ease. But moment she made contact, a powerful wave of arousal coursed through her, echoes of the previous night stealing her breath and curling her toes. Her pussy twitched, tension seizing her with monstrous might, only to ease the moment her hand slipped from the mark's borders. It was like she'd been racing towards the cliff of an earth-shattering orgasm, only to stop inches from its edge. The whiplash was dizzying, throwing her head into a mess of instincts and urges she had to fight to control.
Eventually, her spinning mind reoriented, anchored by the same question that had plagued her all morning.
What the hell was this thing?
And what was she supposed to do about it?
Fishing for direction, Beatrice checked her phone, and grimaced when she saw the time. If she didn't hurry up, she would still be around when her mother usually woke up. Despite seeming to spend every night in the campaign office, the house matriarch always had energy for an early morning interrogation. That was a conversation Beatrice couldn't afford to have right now.
Then again,
she thought as she reached her room and finished toweling off,
it's not like there's much to go off of.
Despite the violence and intensity of her memories, there was little physical evidence to back them up. There were no bruises or scratches on her body, no tears in her clothes or underwear, no spent condoms in any of the trash cans--hell, even her sheets were completely stain and stench-free. Somehow, Levi had dragged her upstairs and had his way without leaving so much as a hint of his presence.
Well, except for the crest, of course.
Beatrice hesitated as she pulled a pair of panties up her legs, fearing what would happen the moment the soft fabric made contact with her new ink. Fortunately, clothing seem to have a similar lack of effect as towels and sponges. Apparently, only her touch was able to activate the mark's powers, a fact as relieving as it was baffling.
Just to make sure, Beatrice rested a finger on the black wings peeking out of her waistband. Instantly, another hedonistic blast detonated in her mind, the shockwaves strong enough to break a shaky moan from her lips. She clapped a hand over her mouth, gritting her teeth as the tremors of pleasure subsided. After a moment of terrifying silence, she finally exhaled. It seemed her moment of weakness hadn't alerted anyone else. Flushed and still a little shaky, she finished dressing and hurried downstairs before temptation could strike again.
It wasn't until she was walking her bike down the driveway that Beatrice was able to breathe easily. The dew-slicked grass and dark blue sky welcomed her into the dawn, and the cool air urged her on as she hopped on her seat and began pedaling. Her morning ride was one of the few moments of peace she enjoyed each day, a fact which she knew set her apart from her peers. Most seniors--especially girls of her standing--elected to drive or carpool every morning, with an unlucky handful still forced to take the bus. But biking to school? Who in their right mind would do that? Not only did you have to get up earlier than normal, but you had to actually work up a sweat to get anywhere, threatening your hair and makeup just to show up at the same dreary building as everyone else. It made no sense.
Or so Lucy and the others argued. But for Beatrice, this was the one old habit she couldn't break. There was something comforting about the stillness of the morning, something musical in the whisper of her breath and the clicking of her tires. Astride her bike, she was at once exhilarated by the freedom of motion, yet enveloped by the quiet vastness of her surroundings. She could go anywhere, if she wanted to, but would always be a part of the ever-shifting landscape, another shadow under the trees and powerlines. Sometimes, she fantasized about vanishing, of fading like a dream into the green tapestry of suburban sprawl.
But not this morning. This morning she had to plan and prepare, lest she be victim to even more unpleasant surprises.
She couldn't tell her friends about last night. That much was certain. To let Levi slip out of her trap was embarrassing enough, but to somehow become his quarry in the process--she couldn't bare the humiliation. It would be different if she had proof of his misdeeds, or even a clear recollection of what he'd done. But all she had was a degrading tattoo, and a story that made less sense the more she thought about it. Lucy couldn't be privy to either, at least not yet.
Not until Beatrice had confronted the bastard herself.
No matter how she looked at it, Levi was the only real lead she had. Of course, she didn't expect him to be straight with her: if last night had proven anything, it was that the skinny creep was an even craftier manipulator than she was. But Beatrice was done playing that game. To hell with seduction and subterfuge. The first chance she got, she was grabbing that smug face of his and forcing the truth out of it, even if she had to take a few teeth in the process. Whatever he had done to her, she would make him undo it. And then she would have her revenge, whether through Lucy, the law, or both.
Whichever would be most painful for him.
