Satans Whore Ch 04

The chiming of the doorbell echoed through the large house. Kat debated ignoring it, but then set aside the book she'd been reading and unwound herself from the sofa. She knew that Isabel and Jean-Paul, both night owls, wouldn't be up to answer the door.

She opened the door and took a step back in shock.

"You," said Kat. "How on Earth did you find me?"

The boy looked terrible. Dark rings framed his eyes and there was a look of general dishevelment about him. "I followed my heart and asked a few questions. You're not hard to find."

"What are you doing here?" asked Kat, her heart racing. She stood in the middle of the doorway.

"May I come in?"

Kat was about to refuse him but feared making a scene out here where the neighbors might see. Scenes, particularly in this neighborhood, were to be avoided. She stepped aside, inviting him in. She led him to the sitting room.

"Nice place," Daniel said.

"It's comfortable." Then she added, lest Daniel think her a snob, "It has been in the family for generations."

"I can imagine."

Kat asked him to sit on the leather sofa and she took a seat on an armchair. "Can I get you anything?"

Daniel shook his head.

He looked pale. The cocksure energy of their first meeting was gone, replaced by energy of a different kind. It was an energy that, without release, would consume him. She had caught hints of it over the last few days as she went about her business in the town. It was nothing she invited or responded to, it was just there like background noise that seemingly grew louder in the absence of distraction. At least that was the way it had started. And once she became consciously aware of its frequency, she found it difficult to ignore. Often there would be nothing more than a muted hum, and then a wave of yearning, focused and intense, would wash over her, particularly in the early hours of the new day. She wasn't surprised that Daniel had found her.

And now its source sat before her.

Kat noticed that Daniel wore a bandage around his hand and made a move to touch it.

Daniel snatched it away, closing his fingers around and wincing as he did so.

She watched him for several moments as he fidgeted on the sofa and looked at everything in the room but her. Finally, his eyes fell on her, eyes suffused with such pain and confusion that it was Kat who had to avert her gaze. "Please don't visit me anymore," said Daniel finally.

"Visit you? I don't even know where you live."

"That's not what I mean."

"What then?"

"At night. You visit me. If you have any decency in you, please stop."

"I've done no such thing."

Daniel looked at her, trying to spot the lie.

"Honest," said Kat.

"And I'm to believe you?"

"Believe what you want. I've never visited you."

He leaned back in his seat, confusion and anger etched on his face.

"Could you have dreamed it?" Kat asked quietly.

Daniel remained silent for a long moment, obviously debating what Kat had suggested. She pitied him.

"It was so real," he said finally, his face betraying loss and relief at the same time.

"You sound almost disappointed." Kat immediately regretted the words.

"Of course you would think so. Imagine someone not wanting to be tormented by you. It was a mistake to have come here, expecting to reason with a demon."

There, it was said, thought Kat. Yet she felt none of the surprise and anger that she would have expected at being identified for what she was. Nor did she feel compelled to deny or dissemble. More than anything, she was curious. For the first time in a long time, she was faced with a mortal who knew exactly what she was.

"Any torment you feel is of your own making," she said. "I have done nothing to encourage you."

"Your very existence torments me," said Daniel. He glanced at her. There was nothing even remotely suggestive about the way she was dressed, yet she felt his attraction to her.

"I feel possessed," he continued. "Don't you understand? You occupy my dreams. You come to me every night and I am powerless."

"These things are in your mind."

"You come to me every night," he insisted again.

Kat felt a sudden wave of desperate yearning. There was more to it than what Daniel had suggested. "And we do things," she said quietly.

"Yes."

"Things both sinful and wonderful."

"Yes."

"Things that you would like to do. With me."

"Yes, but you're evil. That's the terrible thing."

"Do I look evil?"

"You are though. Do you deny it?"

Kat took a deep breath. "No."

If she'd expected her admission to be greeted with triumph, she was disappointed.

Daniel looked thoroughly deflated and cornered. "There's nothing I can do. Can't you talk to a priest or something?"

"I try not to think of you," continued Daniel as though Kat hadn't spoken, "but you can't not think of something. I read the catechism until I can read no more and the minute my eyes close, you're there."

"But I'm not. It's all in your mind."

"I don't believe you. I can't believe you. There's too much detail. Tell me that you don't wear body jewelry, for example. Tell me that your private parts aren't pierced."

"That's ridiculous." Kat was stunned. How could he have known? It was impossible. She hadn't visited him.

"There's a ring," Daniel continued. "It pierces your... clitoris. It has two bumps on it. Please tell me you don't have one. Maybe then I'll believe you."

The ring, a souvenir from her time in what was now the Czech Republic, pierced the base of the clitoral hood where it met the inner labia. The ring had no beginning and no end, and featured two little horns, each tipped with a ruby.

"I can tell by your reaction that it's true."

Kat stared at him hard. There was no way he could have known.

"You are a liar," he said.

Impossible or not, there appeared to be some kind of connection between them. What was going on? Kat wondered.

***

Kat didn't hear them enter. She was still stunned by Daniel's apparent intimate knowledge of her. Only Daniel's look of surprise and fear announced their presence.

She turned. Isabel and Jean-Paul stood, both stone-faced, in the doorway.

Her heart sank. "You heard?" asked Kat.

Isabel nodded and Jean-Paul merely scowled. He did that well.

"Who are these people?" asked Daniel.

Isabel ignored him. "Kat, this is an unconscionable breach."

Kat shrugged helplessly. "I know. He found me."

Isabel stared hard at Daniel. "You've made a grave mistake in coming here."

Something in Isabel's tone momentarily robbed Daniel of words. He paled visibly. "God, there are more of you," he finally managed to say.

"More than you know," growled Jean-Paul.

Daniel fumbled for the cross that hung from a chain on his neck. He held it up.

Jean-Paul laughed. "We're not vampires, for Christ's sake. Really, Kat, where did you find this guy?"

"Put that away," said Kat.

"I can leave," he said eventually. "I'll forget what I know."

"I'm afraid that is no longer possible," said Isabel.

Kat feared for him. He had walked into a situation he could not possibly understand and now things could only get worse for him.

"I have no doubt," continued Isabel, "that you would bring unwanted attention to not only Kat but our entire house. We're comfortable here. It has been a long time since the last mitered buffoon came here, sputtering a few verses in broken Latin and waving his arms around. He was quite harmless to us, but a nuisance nonetheless. We have no desire to repeat that experience.

"Just so you understand, we have no fear of exorcists. You might be tempted to make a lot of noise about the demon who inhabits you, but in all likelihood, you'd be institutionalized if you did. No one really wants to believe that Satan's wolves walk among the lambs. Not in these times of sophistication and skepticism. But there's always a chance that your wild statements would reach the right ears. Things are in balance now; we turn a few souls and another few repent. Everyone's happy and there's enough activity to keep things interesting. However, there are times when it would take almost nothing to whip up the zealots and upset the balance.

"That, unfortunately, would escalate this oldest of wars to an extent neither side wants. No, until we figure out what to do with you, you're not leaving."

Daniel's mouth hung open.

"Take him to the guest room," said Isabel to Kat. "Jean-Paul, ensure that security is enabled."

"What's happening?" asked Daniel.

Kat stood. "Come with me."

***

Daniel's mind whirled as Kat led him up the stairs.

"Where are you taking me?" he stammered.

Kat ignored the question. "As Isabel said, you made a mistake in coming here. I don't know what's going to happen."

"So I'm... what? A prisoner?"

"So it seems. Until we decide what to do with you."

Daniel stopped on the stairs. He couldn't believe this. "I refuse. I'm leaving."

"And what would you do if I let you go?

"I'd have to return to the church."

"And?"

"Tell them everything. I couldn't remain silent."

"Isabel and Jean-Paul won't let that happen. I won't let that happen."

"You can't keep me here against my will!" Daniel shrieked.

"For someone who has exhibited some intelligence and intuition, you still really don't know what you're dealing with. Unless you have a martyr complex, I suggest that you come with me, be quiet, and wait."

Daniel hesitated, his eyes flitting to the base of the stairs. His escape route took him past the room in which Isabel and Jean-Paul conferred. He couldn't possibly make it. Besides, Jean-Paul scared him.

"You can't win this fight," said Kat.

Daniel allowed Kat to take his uninjured hand and lead him to a door at the end of the long hallway. She opened it, revealing a sumptuously furnished bedroom.

She pushed him into the room and closed the door behind them. His confusion and the sudden proximity of the succubus made him dizzy.

She grasped his upper arm and gazed at him with what appeared to be genuine concern. "I suggest that you don't try to escape. Don't give Jean-Paul any excuses. You'll be comfortable here. I'll be back up as soon as I can."

She removed the key from the inside of the door. "I suggest that you rest if you can."

She exited and he heard the lock turn from the outside.

After Kat's footsteps had receded, he went to the window and looked out on a dense woodlot. He couldn't imagine flagging anyone down. He then examined the window itself and noticed the sensors that were undoubtedly connected to the alarm system.

As far as picking the lock, he wouldn't know where to begin.

He sat on the edge of the bed, defeated.

He was a prisoner.

***

Kat stood just outside the room in which Isabel and Jean-Paul argued.

"Kill him," said Jean-Paul again. "It's the only way."

Kat knew that this was a very real option, but it was still difficult to hear Jean-Paul say it.

"Let's examine the possibilities first," said Isabel with unnerving calm. "I'm unwilling to kill the boy unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

"Then I will."

"No," implored Kat, entering the sitting room.

Jean-Paul turned on her. "You would risk the peace that we've enjoyed and bring attention to us now? For a boy, far from home, unlucky enough to have uncovered who resides in his adopted city?"

"There's got to be another way. I can leave, go to another country. He doesn't care about you and Isabel."

"But he knows about us now. We'd still be left with the possibility of exposure."

"Enough," said Isabel.

"You think that you can ask him politely to ignore what he's discovered?"

"Enough," said Isabel again, forcefully enough to silence them. After several minutes, she asked, "Have you ever visited him?"

"No."

"But he appears to know you." Isabel put emphasis on the word 'know'.

"I honestly don't know how. I've never visited him, consciously."

Isabel nodded and fell silent again. Jean-Paul stood in the corner, shaking his head, his eyes shooting daggers at Kat. She considered sticking out her tongue at him and then thought better of it.

"You could bind him," said Isabel.

Kat scarcely heard her. Bind him. She recoiled at the thought. Killing him would be more merciful. And yet...

"But that is something we must consider very carefully," Isabel continued. "We can't let him go, and killing him," she turned to Jean-Paul, "may just bring to this house the attention that we wish to avoid. We cannot be rash in our decision.

"Jean-Paul, until I have come to a decision, you are to leave the boy alone. Not one hair on his head is to be harmed. Do you understand?"

Jean-Paul scowled and nodded.

"Kat, the boy is your responsibility. He is to remain here for as long as is necessary. If anything more should happen that imperils this house, the blame is yours and yours alone and you shall bear the consequences."

With that, Isabel swept up the stairs to her quarters.

Jean-Paul glared at Kat furiously and then stalked away.

Once again, Kat stood alone.

***

"Troubles, Isabel?"

They were seated in the priest's study. Isabel swirled the single-malt scotch in her glass, watching the light flicker playfully through the amber liquid.

"One of your lambs appears to have wandered into the lion's den."

The priest raised an eyebrow.

"It's a complication neither of us needs," added Isabel.

"I agree."

"We're comfortable now," said Isabel.

"Perhaps too comfortable," mused the priest.

The priest was right, of course. A time that enabled priests and demons to discuss current affairs over a drink couldn't last. It was a cease-fire, nothing more. But it was a détente even more precious for its fragility. Isabel planned to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. And of late, her enjoyment of it extended to the company of a priest.

The priest stood and positioned himself behind her chair. His hands fell to her shoulders and gently kneaded them. "You're tense."

Isabel smiled. "And you know just how to relax me."

"I've had practice."

After a few minutes, his hands left her shoulders and moved to her forehead, smoothing out the tension that furrowed her brow. From there he ran his fingers through her hair to the location where he knew her horns to be.

Isabel purred her pleasure. "Do you want me to assume the form?"

"Please."

"Only if you promise to keep your collar on."

"Done," he said.

Isabel's horns materialized from her wavy auburn locks. The priest's fingers stroked them, tracing the twin spirals from the base to the blunted tips.

After a minute, Isabel said, "I can't feel that, you know."

"I can," said the priest, but took his cue and willed his hands elsewhere.

"What do you propose we do?" asked Isabel.

"Make love with the abandon of the damned?"

"Please don't talk that way. About the boy."

"Ah." He deftly undid the buttons of her blouse and exposed her bare breasts, each crowned with a small pink jewel of a nipple. He cupped their fullness and kneaded them gently. "We could give it a few days. See what happens. Let fate take its course."

"There is no fate," said Isabel, a little more sharply than she'd intended. More softly, she added, "There's conflict and brutality for all of the fleeting moments of peace. But I'd come to the same conclusion."

"Of course, when either of us feels that intervention is needed, all bets are off. It's back to our respective corners."

Isabel sighed. "I know."

"That being said, we'd have to discuss matters every day."

"As we're doing now?"

He pinched her nipples playfully. "We'd be remiss if we didn't."

Isabel hummed her pleasure. "Deal."

In the kind of choreography of those who've been intimate for a long time, he walked to the front of the chair and Isabel rose. He wrapped his arms around her. "I've missed you," he said.

"And I you," said Isabel earnestly.

He unfastened her skirt and allowed it to fall to the floor. "Let me look at you."

"I'm yours," she said.

The priest took a step back and allowed his eyes to travel up from her feet to her head. Isabel could see his arousal. His eyes lit upon the horns and he shook his head sadly.

"I know," said Isabel.

She approached him then and quickly removed his clothing except for his collar, as per their agreement.

Her being shimmered and wings materialized from her back. Like Kat's, her wings bore feathers rather than the leathery tissue common in depictions of succubi. She walked into his waiting arms and wrapped her wings around him, cocooning him in their soft warmth and pressing her breasts to his chest. She held him tightly and felt his hardness against her abdomen.

"Nothing good can become of this," whispered the priest.

Isabel didn't ask whether he meant the two of them or the boy. "Let us try to forget for a little while," she whispered back.

She reached for the table on which rested her glass of scotch. She took a mouthful and, without swallowing it, squatted before him. She grasped his cock and guided it to her lips. Scotch and her tongue swirled around the thickly veined shaft in her mouth.

"Oh, God," whispered the priest.

That's one of the things she found interesting about the priest. He could compartmentalize. He was a genuinely good man, an able leader of his flock, yet he still enjoyed having his cock sucked by a succubus.

After several minutes, she could taste his pre-come mixing with the smoky flavor of the scotch.

"Stop!" he gasped.

She did as he asked and retreated. The priest's cock, primed and proud, glistened in the subdued lighting of the study. She swallowed the liquid in her mouth and rose to her feet.

"I almost...."

Isabel winked. "I know, but I like blended scotch too."

The priest grinned. "Your turn."

Isabel allowed herself to be steered to the armchair. The priest had her sit and lowered himself to his knees in front of her.

This was something she treasured – a man who gave himself willingly, with no influence from her. That he was a priest, an agent of the church who professed abstinence among other things, made his actions all the sweeter.

He worked down from her lips, kissing them and then her neck. He brushed his lips against her breasts and then sucked her nipples as though gathering nourishment there. Perhaps he was, thought Isabel.

He pulled her legs toward him so that her ass nearly hung off the chair. Gently he pushed her legs apart.

He lightly licked her. Moreso than any other man she'd been with, he went about his exploration of her in a deliciously unhurried pace. He teased his tongue around the tender flesh that framed her labia for several minutes while ever so gently brushing his fingers her tender folds. At length he pressed the tip of his tongue against her perineum and then commenced a slow and deliberate passage from the very base of her sex to her clitoris, leaving an excited tingle in his wake.

She watched his head between her legs and caught the occasional flash of tongue as it danced on her. Eventually she closed her eyes and gave herself over the feeling of his tongue and fingers. This had nothing to do with feeding; this was pure enjoyment for its own sake. This was a man who wanted to give pleasure without any coercion on her part and who demanded equal pleasure in return. Both might pay a price for their unnatural liaison, but in this moment, it was well worth it.

Isabel felt herself melting under the priest's ministrations as jolts of electricity warmed her core.

He inserted a finger and hooked it gently, rubbing that blessed spot from the inside while his tongue mirrored the motion on her clitoris. She opened herself wider to him now and tilted her pelvis. She could feel that familiar rush that presaged release. He could feel it too and he quickened his pace.

Her attention focused on that glowing, molten spot of pleasure that radiated a tingling warmth through her being. She gasped as the priest worked mercilessly on those twin spots of ecstasy, one outside and the other inside. Soon the world dissolved into little more than those sensations and the outflowing of release as she arched her back and let herself be swept away.