Collars 'N' Cuffs

by Wayward Ink

  Having met his monthly quota within the first two weeks of the month—lust never went out of style among the mortals—Asmodeus had considered going over his allowance again. Not to get Taharial back down there, not at all, but rather to give Heaven the finger. However, he’d changed his mind and had spent the last couple of weeks closeted in his room instead.

  The demons who never left Hell lived with the bare basics, but those, like Asmodeus, whose work required a considerable amount of time spent topside had grown accustomed to mortal comforts and mimicked that luxury in both their attire and their accommodations below.

  His room was furnished with the best the mortals could provide: a grand oak desk, shelves of books (mostly erotic texts), and a king-size four-poster bed decked out with velvet hangings and silk sheets, all in a vivid crimson that matched his eyes. His true eyes; the ones behind the emerald-iris mask he wore to fool humans. Of course, the furniture had to be replaced every few months when the Hell-Fire got to it, but that was no great hardship, and the benefits were worth that minor inconvenience.

  Usually his possessions brought him pleasure, but today Asmodeus was gripped with ennui. He’d tried to pass the time with one of his favorite books; however, on this occasion not even the creativity of the Kama Sutra could spark his enthusiasm.

  He cast the book aside and sank back into the chair. The leather squeaked a mild protest, but he ignored it and kicked his legs up and over one of the arms. Then he wriggled until he found a comfortable position in which to close his eyes. With nothing better to do, he decided he might as well enjoy a nap.

  The approaching footsteps registered in his subconscious enough that he noted their unsteady rhythm, but it was the tentative knock on his door that pulled him out of his doze. Though far from occupied, he hated being disturbed in his inner sanctum, and he prepared a suitable glower as he stormed across the room and flung open the door.

  “What is it? I’m bu—” The words died on his tongue when he identified his visitor.

  Taharial stared at a fixed point on the floor and fisted his robes. From the creased appearance of the cloth, it looked like he’d been gripping them for a while. Asmodeus cast a glance over Taharial’s shoulder, but the corridor beyond was empty. That didn’t mean someone wouldn’t come around the corner at any moment, though, and he had no idea how he would explain the presence of an overwrought angel outside his chamber if they were discovered. Unless he confessed to their last encounter—something he had no intention of doing. There was only one option.

  With a muttered curse, he clasped Taharial’s arm, dragged him into the room, and slammed and locked the door behind them. Then he backed Taharial against the wall and pinned him there.

  “I’m not over my quota this month, so what are you doing here?”

  In truth, he had a pretty good idea what had brought Taharial to his door; that flustered appearance and the suffusion of red across Taharial’s cheeks spoke volumes. Asmodeus was already half-hard at the thought of what this second visit implied, but he was disinclined to act until he heard the words from his visitor’s own lips. It was one thing to enjoy Taharial’s body; it was quite another to let him know how much. Far better Taharial think Asmodeus was doing him a favor by deigning to look upon him, to touch him.

  “I-I want you to…. I need….” Taharial bit his lip and hung his head.

  Asmodeus could all but taste the peculiar blend of desire and shame on the air. It was intoxicating. He could become addicted if he wasn’t careful. He finally understood why he’d felt so lackluster about work of late: nothing could equal this. Asmodeus was no stranger to playing the dominant role, but Taharial’s submission was all the more potent given who and what he was.

  Keeping his arm in place across Taharial’s chest, Asmodeus closed the remaining gap between them and rubbed against him. Taharial whimpered, and Asmodeus whispered into his ear, “I can’t help unless you tell me what you want, Taharial.” He drew out Taharial’s name and punctuated it with a lick across his cheek.

  “Touch me. L-Like you did before. T-Tie me.”

  Taharial raised his head, and those gorgeous blue eyes bore into Asmodeus’. Their expression was one of barely contained desire, but beneath that was something else—a pleading—and when Taharial asked to be bound, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

  All this time, Asmodeus had wondered why Taharial chose him. If he was going to fall, he could have done so with a mortal. There would have been less risk and far less stigma. Yes, an angel of purity would always catch more flak than others for giving in to temptation, but it happened every now and then, and most angels would turn a blind eye so long as it was a one-time slip. The nephilim who wandered the Earth were proof of that. Yet he’d sensed no desire coming from Taharial upon his first arrival; things had only changed once Asmodeus chained him.

  While he was in control, Taharial was able to keep a lid on all those desires angels weren’t supposed to feel. He was doubtless a good little worker who knew his role and stuck to it. But take away that control and everything repressed bubbled to the surface. Chained, Taharial could renounce responsibility. Unable to escape, he had no choice but to surrender.

  Asmodeus wasn’t sure why something inside his chest tightened at that thought. What was it to him if Taharial’s interest in him sprang from convenience and the excuse he provided? Taharial got his rocks off in a way that allowed him to cast the blame elsewhere, and Asmodeus got to despoil an angel. It was a win-win situation. That was assuming his reading of the state of affairs was correct, and there was a simple way to test the hypothesis.

  “Get on your knees.” He stepped back and shoved Taharial down, reveling in the look of surprise on his face. “Blow me.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Take my cock in your mouth and suck on it, angel.”

  Taharial’s eyes widened into a look of dismay. “I cannot. Not like this. Please, I—”

  In a flash, Asmodeus yanked him forward. He caught Taharial’s wrists, pulled them together behind his back, trapping both arms and wings, and whispered a binding spell. Though no cords were visible, it would be impossible for Taharial to free his arms until Asmodeus spoke the counter-charm to release him.

  He took his time returning to his original position, and when he looked down at Taharial he was pleased to see the lust back in his eyes. It seemed his hypothesis was no longer conjecture but fact: Taharial needed to be bound.

  “Now, blow me.”

  This time Taharial inched forward. He waited a moment, then raised his eyes, a frown creasing his brow. Asmodeus knew why he was confused, but he had no intention of making it easy on him; Taharial was going to have to earn his reward. By the time Asmodeus was done with him, Taharial would have more sexual knowledge and prowess than any angel in the history of the world. Hell, he’d rival a lust demon if he proved a quick study.

  Asmodeus held his hands in front of Taharial’s face, then clasped them behind his back as if he, too, were bound. “Open them yourself.”

  He could see the thought process as Taharial considered the instruction and how to fulfill it. In the end, it took less time than Asmodeus had anticipated before Taharial leaned forward and worked at the button with his teeth. It was sloppy and protracted—they would need to work on his technique—but at last it popped undone and Taharial turned his attention to the zipper. This went more smoothly, although Asmodeus did mutter a quick spell to ensure nothing important got snagged along the way.

  Once all the fastenings were undone, Asmodeus pushed down his trousers and stepped out of them, kicking them to the side. “Good,” he said to Taharial, offering a wide, proud smile. “Next, get me nice and wet so I’m ready for you.”

  Taharial’s approach started out tentative, but after Asmodeus gave a few instructions he wasn’t half bad. That’s what Asmodeus told himself, assessing only the physical sensations; however, there was the added thrill of seeing an angel swallow down his cock. That alone ensured
the experience a spot in his top five blow jobs of all time.

  He let Taharial work him for a few minutes; then he grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged him off. A sharp tap on the back propelled Taharial to the bed, where Asmodeus stripped him of his robes and positioned him facedown, slipping a couple of pillows beneath his stomach to raise his ass. It made a gorgeous tableau. The contrast of that blond hair and pale skin against the deep red silk of his sheets was mouthwatering. He could eat Taharial up. In fact, he would.

  He placed his palms on Taharial’s buttocks and spread him. Then he leaned in and lapped at his entrance. Taharial responded with a delightful moan that turned into a yelp when Asmodeus worked his tongue inside. He had to shift his grip to Taharial’s hips to control the writhing, but he continued his ministrations until he was certain Taharial was ready. Then he added some additional lubrication to his cock and slid in with a single, forceful thrust.

  It was every bit as good as he’d remembered, and this time he intended to enjoy it for as long as possible. He moved in and out in slow, deep strokes, refusing to speed up even when Taharial pleaded. He knew when he hit the sweet spot, because Taharial squealed and shook, and the begging ratcheted up a notch. Only then did he increase his pace, making sure he nudged Taharial’s prostate with every thrust. Taharial screamed Asmodeus’ name as he came, and hearing that pushed Asmodeus over the edge, too.

  Once he’d recovered from the euphoria, Asmodeus released the magical bindings and massaged Taharial’s arms. They’d been pulled back for a while. After a few minutes Taharial sighed and rolled over, and Asmodeus let him go.

  Taharial reached for his discarded robes, dressed in silence, and then made his way across the room. Asmodeus was pleased to see there was a slight stiffness in his walk; he would have something to remind him of Asmodeus for a few hours.

  At the door, Taharial stilled. “Asmodeus, I would like… that is…. May I return?”

  A pulse of desire shimmered down Asmodeus’ spine as his mind flooded with thoughts of all the things he yet wanted to do with and to Taharial. The promise of another visit was like finding an oasis in the desert. He still wasn’t keen to let Taharial see his enthusiasm, though, so he clicked his tongue and pretended to mull it over.

  “If you like,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then he turned away.

  He heard the mechanism rotate as Taharial twisted the handle. He felt the waft of heat when the door opened. Then the extra warmth was gone and the door clicked shut.

  IT WAS UTTER madness. Taharial knew that. To return to Asmodeus once was bad enough, but to then request future visits…. He’d insisted upon the bonds, but in truth they were pointless now. He could have used that excuse had it been just the once, but he’d chosen to go back. Not even the most naïve of his brothers would believe he’d been forced this time.

  And a part of him no longer cared.

  What he felt when he was with Asmodeus—the sensations, the burning desire—had become all he could think about. The weeks following that first visit had been agony. He’d tried to repent, to forget, yet his mind had continued to stray. His work had suffered. For how could he demand purity of soul from others when he had failed to hold on to his own? He resisted the call of the flesh as long as he could, but at last he’d crumbled.

  Asmodeus had granted his every wish and, though he’d never have believed it possible, this second time had been even better than the first. Why did it have to be so? Why this torment? Other angels had fallen prey to lust, but all had then vanquished their desire. Indeed, he could think of none who’d committed a second fault after atoning for their initial mistake. Why was it different for him? Was it because he’d lain not with a mortal like his brothers but with one of the damned? Did the demon weave a spell that drew him back?

  Asmodeus was a constant presence in his mind. When Taharial closed his eyes, all he saw were those fiery orbs, peering into his soul; all he felt was that huge phallus, filling him; and all he heard was that silken voice, whispering words of instruction and encouragement, and outlining sordid fantasies that made him burn with desire.

  Taharial told himself a request to return was not a contract. He could choose never to set foot in Asmodeus’ bedchamber again. It was a hopeful thought… and yet a hopeless one. He didn’t need to hear that inner voice to know how unlikely it was that he would be able to resist. Not when he was already thinking of the next encounter, and the one after that. He would fight the urges as long as he could, but in the end he would find himself at Asmodeus’ door.

  He was a fallen angel, beyond redemption. The only question was how long he had before his brothers discovered the appalling truth and cast him down.

  Chapter Three

  EIGHTEEN DAYS PASSED between the second and third encounters. That went down to eleven between the third and fourth. Then seven. Then five.

  Asmodeus now had six memories to replay on a loop in his mind as he waited for Taharial’s next visit. At first he’d found it amusing, the way Taharial’s failing willpower brought him back sooner and sooner each time, but now he, too, suffered the effects of their separation. He craved Taharial’s presence and grew impatient for his return. During their last meeting he’d considered chaining him to the bed on a permanent basis. It wasn’t worth the risk, though. Whether after an hour, a day, or a week, Taharial would be missed. The other angels would come looking, and when they found him, Taharial would be chastised and their trysts would come to an end.

  He flopped onto the bed and retrieved the single white feather from a hidden compartment within the bed frame. It was his second memento of their time together and held pride of place alongside the torn-up parchment from Taharial’s first visit. He’d found the feather twisted in the sheets after their tête-à-tête two days ago. During that session, Taharial had been on hands and knees, and Asmodeus had clasped his wings for leverage as he took him from behind. His grip must have been too tight; he hoped it hadn’t hurt Taharial when the feather ripped out.

  Turning it in his hand, he ran the tip in light strokes across his palm. So soft. So unsullied. Once, anyway. Taharial wasn’t so pure these days. His feathers might still be white as snow, but Asmodeus doubted the other angels would recognize their brother if they saw the way he acted in Asmodeus’ bed. The things Taharial screamed, the way he begged Asmodeus to take him harder, faster—his kin would die of shock. Though he continued to maintain a meek act at the start of the evening, by the end of the night there was nothing Taharial wouldn’t do.

  It should have been a victorious thought—the knowledge that he’d corrupted an angel, body and soul—yet it made him uncomfortable. He liked having Taharial bound beneath him, but as time passed, his desires were changing. Taharial’s faux forced submission was fine, but he would prefer submission freely given. That was the goal he was working toward. He’d made a start last time. He’d still had to chain him before penetration, but he’d managed to coax oral sex from Taharial without the bonds. Now he wanted him unbound for the whole of his visit.

  Asmodeus tried to convince himself this was only for nefarious purposes: to see Taharial take that last step and give himself over to lust with no means to deny his culpability. Yet a little voice in the back of his head whispered it was because he wanted to feel Taharial’s touch, to have Taharial pull him close. To experience something… more.

  He twirled the feather between his fingers. He knew he should go to work. He’d received an angry missive from the Boss this morning. Where once he’d exceeded his monthly quota with ease, now he was in danger of failing to meet his targets. He couldn’t leave and go topside, though. What if Taharial arrived and he wasn’t here?

  Taking the feather with him, he wandered to his bookshelves, selected a text, and retreated to his chair. Taharial was certain to stop by again soon. Once he’d seen him, he would spend a day above and catch up with his work.

  Less than an hour later, his patience was rewarded.

  Asmodeus glanced up when h
e heard the approaching footfall. That familiar tread, first assured then hesitant, brought a gleeful smile to his lips. But he schooled his features into an expression of nonchalance before the faint knock sounded.

  “Come.” He allowed himself a moment to appreciate his imperious tone; then he refocused his attention on the leather-bound volume in his hands.

  Taharial slipped into the room, accompanied by a blast of Hell-Fire heat from outside. Asmodeus could feel the weight of his gaze, but he chose to let him stew for a moment. He’d discovered a little heightened tension at the start of their interview never failed to add to the enjoyment later on.

  “Asmodeus.”

  Asmodeus kept his back turned, although the sound of his name, spoken in that small, beseeching voice, gave him goosebumps. “Here again so soon, Taharial? What would your dear brothers say?” He tutted and twisted in his seat.

  Taharial looked delectable as he stared at the floor and wrung his hands. The sight of him with shoulders, head, and wings all drooped was one with which Asmodeus was by now well acquainted, yet it ignited a fire within him every time.

  “Please, Asmodeus.” Taharial looked up and met his eyes. “I-I need it.”

  Asmodeus slipped the feather into the book to mark his place. Then he set the volume aside, stretched his legs, and rose. He accentuated each movement, making a show of it. He used his perfect physique to best advantage in his work. Why should he not do the same when it came to his personal pleasures?

  He prowled toward Taharial and stood before him. The rustle of feathers when Taharial shivered sent his blood pulsing south. “Undress me.”

  Taharial hastened to obey, and Asmodeus remained statue-still as Taharial worked at the buttons and zippers. Not until he was naked did Asmodeus act. He shot out a hand and sank his fingers into Taharial’s curls, forcing him to his knees. No further instruction was needed. Taharial knew what was expected of him, and he took Asmodeus’ cock into his mouth with a contented groan. He set to work sucking, licking, and stroking, and for the time being, Asmodeus allowed him to control the pace.