by Jane Kindred
Vasily unbuckled and unbuttoned with sharp, angry jerks as though trying to free the angry cock behind them. Belphagor hadn’t told him to take off his boots, so Vasily worked the jeans over them. They’d been over this before, and it was lucky for Vasily he’d worn the boot cut this evening—or rather, this morning—as he loathed being forced to stumble about with his feet tangled in jeans almost as much as Belphagor loved making him do it. Unabashedly sporting his furious hard-on in front of him, he presented himself to Belphagor, and after a defiant pause, stretched himself over his lap. His muscles were hard with resistance, which was going to make these first strokes hurt. Blood pulsed in Belphagor’s cock.
He spread one palm over the broad shoulders to hold Vasily down and gave the gorgeous ass two firm, red-hot smacks for a red-hot demon. His hand, calloused as it was, burned with the fire of the blows. They had to smart. Vasily didn’t make a sound. “Tell me what you did tonight.”
A hot, angry breath lifted Vasily’s chest. “Khai was there. Silk tied us head to cock and made us suck and swallow each other as many times as we could.”
Belphagor rewarded him with another succession of smarting blows. The ample firespirit cock rubbed over his thighs, dripping pre-come. He scraped his nails across the blushing domes of Vasily’s ass. “I imagine you won, hands down. So to speak. Did you like tasting Khai’s pretty cock?” Vasily hesitated just a moment too long, and Belphagor smacked him hard.
“Yes!” he groaned, and then corrected himself before he got another. “Da, ser!” He got another anyway. The groan that followed had a touch of arousal to it.
“What else did you do?” Belphagor punctuated this with a deep thudding blow that made his palm vibrate.
Vasily’s warm breath caressed Belphagor’s leg as the demon exhaled through his teeth. “Fucked Khai’s ass while I sucked Silk’s cock,” he breathed, “and then Silk…”
Belphagor gave him a light slap. “Silk what?” He followed it with a sharper, stinging blow, then crossed his hand to the other side to give it equal attention, punctuating the rest of Vasily’s clipped phrases with alternating, rapid strokes of increasing speed and force.
“He fucked Khai’s mouth—and after he came, he—he had me…” There was definitely something in this narrative Vasily was reluctant to articulate.
Belphagor stopped holding back, and Vasily jerked in his lap under the blows as if trying to get away. The succulent flesh radiated heat far beyond the ordinary warmth of a firespirit, and Vasily’s tight whimpering breaths said he was reaching his limit. “He had you what, boy?” Belphagor growled as the slaps rang out.
“He put his tongue in my ass!” The words burst out of him, and Vasily twisted under the blur of Belphagor’s hand so that Belphagor had to let go of his shoulders and yank his queue forward to keep him still so he could finish.
He pushed Vasily just a bit further than he knew he could take, wanting the tears. Both their cocks were like granite. Vasily’s breath was coming in tight gasps, and Belphagor thought the firespirit might come in his lap just from being spanked.
As Vasily moaned insensibly, Belphagor turned the younger demon’s head to the side and put his mouth to his ear, not missing a stroke. “Something you want to say, boy?” There they were: the tears, flowing at last, dark streaks of paint running down over the flushed cheeks.
“Pozhaluista.” The plea was so plaintive it barely sounded like his fiery demon. It was about time. His hand was actually starting to hurt.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” Vasily gasped. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Belphagor had thought he’d driven him to use the safe word.
He pushed Vasily back onto his knees and stood, swiping the vial of oil from the vanity as he shoved Vasily forward once more over the chair and lubed himself up so fast he dropped the bottle and spilled most of it on the floor.
Belphagor wrapped his fist in the tangled locks. “Beg me again.”
“Yebi menya, pozhaluista.”
Without any attempt to be gentle or ease him open, Belphagor thrust into him with insistence and buried himself to the hilt, his slightly numb state from the alcohol now a zinging thrill through his body. Vasily groaned and swayed, trying to hold himself up on his arms in the awkward vee over the hard surface of the chair. Both of them were grunting like dogs as Belphagor pounded his hips against the fiery surface of Vasily’s tenderized ass, and Vasily began to gasp out a sort of mantra between guttural sounds: “Yebi menya. Yebi menya. Yebi menya!”
Belphagor yanked him back by the hair to meet his thrusts while Vasily kept chanting. “Boy,” gasped Belphagor, “if I fuck you any harder, I’ll be on the other side of you.” He let out a roar as he shot inside him before he’d even made Vasily come, jerking the queue of locks in four sharp motions with accompanying growls as his cock pulsed and emptied.
Gathering Vasily in his arms, he tumbled backward onto the floor, still inside him, and hooked his arms beneath Vasily’s knees. “Come for me,” he ordered, burying his face in the warm neck as he sucked the sharp decoration in the skin—skin that belonged to him. Moaning loudly, Vasily wasted no time, jerking himself off and bathing his abs in slick heat as he tilted his head back and rested on Belphagor’s shoulder.
“Spasibo, ser,” he breathed with eminent satisfaction as Belphagor released his legs.
“Bozhe moi,” murmured Belphagor, trying to catch his breath. “I think I may have fucked myself senseless.”
“Or maybe you’re just still drunk.” Vasily’s warm growl was teasing instead of angry.
“Of course I am,” Belphagor agreed. “But I’m also absolutely fucked mad. You make me lose my mind, you absurdly beautiful boy.” He kissed Vasily and rolled them both onto their sides to extricate himself and stand, pulling Vasily up with him. “Come to bed.”
They both stumbled into it, Vasily on top of him for a moment. Vasily pushed his weight back onto his knees and leaned over him, stroking his warm hands over Belphagor’s chest and down to his thighs. “I love your skin,” he said. “I love your ink.” The sentiment struck Belphagor hard. It was something he’d never expected anyone to love. He clutched Vasily against him, wrestling with emotions that went back so far he could barely recall why they were attached to the images on his flesh.
“So what was that about Silk tonguing your ass?” he managed when he’d gotten himself together enough to sound normal.
Vasily squirmed slightly against him. “It’s what Silk wanted.”
“But you didn’t?”
The broad firespirit shoulders gave a light shrug against him. “I’d never done it before.”
“By Heaven, I’ve been remiss.” Belphagor laughed, but it was clear Vasily was still bothered. “If you didn’t want to, you should have told him. That’s what your word is for.”
“I didn’t know I didn’t want to until he was doing it, and it…made me come, so…” Vasily shrugged again, sliding over onto his side and snuggling up against him.
“So what was it you didn’t like?”
Vasily sighed, the warm breath a soft breeze against Belphagor’s neck. “It felt like I was humiliating him.”
“But he enjoyed it.”
“I can’t explain. It’s like…when he’s dominating me, sometimes he sort of…switches…without telling me. It makes me feel like I’m violating him or something.”
Belphagor nodded, running his fingers absently over Vasily’s arm. “I think I know what you mean. I think Silk’s had a hard time of it, Vasya. Things may have happened to him we don’t know about—and aren’t meant to know about. Just try to be careful with him.” He let his fingers drift down over the heat still radiating off Vasily’s ass. “Haven’t spanked you like that in a while. You’ve been such a good boy.”
He felt the intake of breath as Vasily waited for him to say the word—the word he so wanted to say, but was perversely beginning to enjoy denying them both. He was far more of a masochist than Vasily understood.
Perhaps everyone was a complicated mix of both masochist and sadist.
“I’ll have to remember to broaden your education sometime soon. I can’t believe I’ve never had your tongue in my ass.”
Sedmaya
The trip to the Duchy of Iriy would take the better part of a week, and Phaleg had commissioned a private coach in which he’d travel with them to make the introductions to Grand Duke Lebes as the principality’s representative. After his return, there would be no opportunity to learn what their spies had managed to gather until the grand duke and his family came to Elysium to welcome the supernal family home for the season from the Summer Palace a month hence. Phaleg could only hope those who wished to supplant Helison with Lebes wouldn’t choose to make their move before then.
While the boys were downstairs admiring the fancy coach, Silk pulled Phaleg into the bedroom. “It’s a shame you’ll be away for such a stretch. I didn’t realize you’d be going with.”
“Just to deliver them. I’ll be turning straight around and coming back on my own.”
“But that’s still, what, a week?”
“A week and a half, most likely.”
Silk made a tsking sound. “And I was so looking forward to having a go at you as soon as possible.”
Phaleg stiffened, adjusting his coat. “Having a go.”
“Yes, my dirty angelwhore. A go.”
And just like that, Phaleg was under his spell, transformed from an angelic officer taking umbrage at an offense to a helpless slave trembling with need and desire.
Silk smiled and brushed aside a stray curl on Phaleg’s forehead with one of his smooth fingers. “You look a little flushed, Major. Maybe you’re dehydrated. I have something you can suck on to get a little fluid into you.” Silk’s other hand was at his slacks, unfastening them.
Phaleg hesitated only a moment before dropping to his knees. He was like a starved man, falling on the stiff demon cock and gobbling it in. Silk leaned back against the closed door, and Phaleg surrendered himself to Silk’s direction, his head loose in Silk’s hands as the demon slicked Phaleg’s mouth up and down his length in a steady rhythm.
“Keep quiet,” Silk ordered when Phaleg began to vocalize with pleasure against him. “I’ve promised Anzhela you’ll never make a peep while I’m violating you.” It was all Phaleg could do not to let out a loud moan as Silk pushed him down deep. “We’ll have to get creative about how to mute the sound of the various implements I intend to use on you. And in you. Perhaps we ought to think more in terms of ropes and knots than striking implements. Pull things tight.” Silk bobbed against his lips while Phaleg struggled to stay silent. “See how much I can hurt you without hitting you at all.”
An involuntary groan escaped him, and Silk pulled him off. “If you’re going to make noise, I may as well just work myself.” He wrapped his fist around his spit-slick cock and began to make good on the threat, and Phaleg bit his lip to keep in the moan of desperation. “What’s the matter, angelwhore? You want this?”
Phaleg nodded, squirming. Silk teased the tip between his lips and pulled it away again several times in succession until Phaleg was shocked to feel tears of frustration on his cheeks.
Silk rubbed his cock against the tears. “What’s the matter, sweet angelwhore?” His voice had lost the tone of wry amusement it usually had as he cupped Phaleg’s chin. “Do you want me so badly?”
“Yes, please,” Phaleg breathed. “Please use me.” He’d lost all dignity, ready to beg, to be beaten, to grovel like a dog. He was ashamed of himself and yet the shame aroused him beyond reason. “Use me,” he begged again.
Silk stepped up to him and took his face in his hands. “You’re very pretty, angelwhore,” he said softly. “Open.” Phaleg obeyed, grateful. “Eyes on me,” said Silk. Phaleg looked up into the soft gray of Silk’s gaze as Silk sank into his throat. Belphagor had taught him how to relax his throat muscles and keep his gag reflex at bay. Silk nodded approval as he began to fuck him. “I like the way you want me,” he said, getting into a rhythm. “The way you enjoy how I use you rather than enduring it. And I love the way your delicate angelic cheeks flame red as a firespirit’s with shame at how much you enjoy it. Are you shameful, pretty angelwhore?”
Phaleg nodded, his eyes smarting as he struggled to keep his throat relaxed.
“Are you a dirty, pathetic angelwhore, good for nothing but the sexual amusement of a demon pander?”
Phaleg nodded again, staring up at him, his face hot at the demeaning words and his cock harder than a crystal facet. He wished Silk would throw him over the end of the bed like Belphagor might have and fuck him without mercy. Silk didn’t have the wiry strength of the older demon, and he wasn’t one to do things roughly. Every action was smooth and sensual, yet commanding. But Phaleg yearned to be thoroughly taken, to know Silk wanted him as much he wanted Silk.
The demon stilled his motion suddenly, his body tensing, and Phaleg waited for the hot spurt in the back of his throat, panting around the cock in anticipation, but Silk pulled out unexpectedly, gripped Phaleg’s curls at the hairline, and shot against the crisp emerald green collar of Phaleg’s jacket on a long groan of delight.
Phaleg stared, horrified, at the stain on his collar.
“Tell everyone it’s icing from a pastry you stuffed into your mouth too greedily,” said Silk with his characteristic smirk. “But you can’t leave this room with that granite pole in your pants. Take it out and take care of it.”
Still mortified by the stain, and disappointed that Silk didn’t want to help him with his own erection, Phaleg unlaced and released himself.
“Eyes on me,” Silk snapped. “Get to it. We don’t have all day.”
Phaleg looked up at him as he began to jerk himself with swift efficiency. If this was just going to be humiliation, he would get it done quickly so he could take his leave. Silk was confusing him again. He wanted more of the demon, and that frightened him. He was an angel. He couldn’t be with a demon. He’d only agreed to be a demon’s toy.
Silk watched him passionlessly, arms folded, as if he were impatiently counting time in his head. Phaleg closed his eyes for a moment to try to replace the disappointing scene with an internal play in which Silk was making him come for a room full of strangers, and the fantasy worked, but just as he neared orgasm, Silk’s hand struck his cheek and his eyes flew open in surprise.
“I told you, eyes on me.”
“I’m sorry—”
“You’re sorry. Dirty angelwhore pervert. Get up off your knees and finish yourself.”
Phaleg stumbled to his feet, his face now flushed with shame that had no component of arousal. Why had he trusted Silk again? What the hell was he doing here debasing himself—making a fool of himself?
“Kneel on the bed, facing me.” Silk shoved him back toward it.
The rough push reminded Phaleg of the fantasy he ached for, and when he positioned himself on the mattress balanced wide on his knees, the soft kid leather of his pants tight beneath his exposed balls, the thought of that secret desire and his hard strokes brought him once more to the brink. He gritted his teeth together to stay silent, and as he began to come, Silk unexpectedly dropped to his knees before the bed and took it all in his mouth. Phaleg groaned with relief, his cock quivering at the touch of Silk’s tongue. But before he could relax, Silk rose and grabbed the sides of his head and kissed him with the spunk still in his mouth, giving it back to him, and then pushed Phaleg onto his back with his legs hanging over the end of the bed.
Silk had never gotten this close to him before. It had always been about the demon enjoying the view of Phaleg’s torment and obedience from a superior position. The dark-haired demon held him down with his lithe body and kissed him, the taste of Phaleg’s semen shared on their tongues. Silk had never really kissed him before either. Not like this. Phaleg forgot himself and slipped his arms around Silk’s slender waist, savoring the feel of him.
“Dirty angelwhore,” Silk murmured, and it d
idn’t sound like debasement. It sounded like a term of endearment. “When you return to Elysium, I want you to come straight here. I want to have you all night.”
Phaleg shivered. “All night?”
“If you think you can handle it.” Silk rolled over onto his side, propping his head on his hand, with his customary smirk. “We’ll need to establish that word. Did you have one with Belphagor?”
Phaleg nodded. “Pozhaluista. It means ‘please’ in—”
“I know what it means. I don’t think that will work for us. I like it too much when you say please, and if I heard it in the peasant tongue it might incite me to do more of what I was doing rather than stop. Let’s make it…‘Arkhangel’sk’. The name of the other master you serve.”
Phaleg pushed down a very different surge of shame as Silk kissed his throat. Silk had no inkling how Phaleg was serving his master even now.
While Phaleg put the “Iriy Contingent” of the game into play to determine to what extent Grand Duke Lebes might be involved in the conspiracy against his own brother, Belphagor needed to foment rebellion among the Fallen. The problem was, he had a reputation for not giving a damn about celestial politics or the grand ideas behind the movement for demon rights. He’d seen enough bullshit in the world of Man over nearly a century, seen enough rulers and governments come and go that he knew very little changed when a regime did—other than the peasant class getting shafted no matter who was in control.
In order for his continued interest in liberation to be believable outside of his drunken enthusiasm, there had to be something in it for him. Inventing a rumor that Principality Helison had threatened to shut down the houses of ill repute and the dens of iniquity—the tongue-in-cheek term the Fallen used for the gaming houses—worked like a charm. It was, in fact, what Phaleg suspected Lebes might do, so it was a shame he had to pin it on Helison.
The idea that his part in this scheme would be to make the reigning principality less trusting of demons bothered him after having personally met the angel. Like his doppelganger, Russia’s Tsar Nicholas, whom Belphagor had also had occasion to meet through a bit of trickery and luck many years ago, Helison seemed a kindly, well-meaning sort. His failing, as Nicholas’s had been, was in his naivety and idealism. So perhaps the disillusionment inherent in this plan would do the principality some good. Or perhaps it would quash the best instincts of a decent angel forever.