by J. M. Keep
He wrapped his arm around her and rubbed his hand along her spine.
It was more than a reward. It was the reward. She kissed him more hungrily, her passion overflowing. Her wet muscle teased along his stubble, feeling the gritty hairs brush against her tongue. The sensation was so unique, the taste so delightful, that she purred lovingly as her hand began to work his belt free.
“Keep me here for you? Just you?” she whispered into his ear.
He breathing grew heavier as she tugged his belt free and opened his pants, revealing his throbbing shaft, so big and ready for her. He wanted her with a curiously deep passion she didn’t fully grasp, but the rules prepared her for it nonetheless.
The other two men had been so eager, the alpha so satisfyingly forceful. But Rick, her Master, he yearned to possess her. To keep her all to himself.
“I’ll protect you from the rest of the world,” he murmured into her ear in response, squeezing his arm about her, his hand upon her breast, letting the flesh bulge between his fingers. “We’ll be happy together. We’ll find a way, Andrea.”
“I believe you,” she purred as she forced herself off his leg. He was soaked where she’d writhed for so long, and the scent of cum and feminine juices filling the air. She licked her lips, hungry for him, as she pushed down her panties and stepped out of them. All she wore now was her jewelry and heels as she moved back to straddle his hips.
“Just lay back,” she urged him.
He did just that, slipping back onto the bed, that thick dick of his bobbing and jerking with excitement as he watched her with wide eyes, his attention rapt. She was thankful he was not a fussy master in that regard, for the little trickle of semen from the other two men still dripped out of her puffy, well-fucked folds, and she enjoyed it. The rules told her some men did not care to have their pleasure objects stinking of other men’s fluids.
“I dreamed of this for so long,” he said in an achingly, love-filled voice, stroking his hand along the curve of her breast, sliding the other around her hip as he stared.
It was strange, the affection he seemed to feel. Similar to how those other women seemed so odd and artificial, it was almost as if he were something genuine surrounded by imposters. The idea made her smile. That he was similar to her in some secret, special way, delighted her, and she leaned over him. Her breasts hung from her ribs tantalizingly as she positioned herself over his cock.
Slowly, she used her skills to unlock her new master’s passions. He leaned up, put his mouth to her teat and kissed it, then licked it, suckled it. He hungered for that heavy, dangling mammary, suckling upon it with a rising desire, matching the incessant throb of his rigid cock.
His shirt fell open entirely beneath her, the fullness of his gorgeous body now on display. He was not as muscular as the alpha before, but he was still nice. Refined and toned, a little softer around the edges, and it was more pleasant, in a way, for her to slide her fingers over him.
She didn’t want to hurry things. He didn’t seem to want to rush, either, and there was nothing wrong with that, so she leaned into his ravenous mouth, urging him to taste her, even though it made her pussy clench with need. How lusty he was! He’d fought so hard to hide it from her, but now it was exposed, and she moaned loudly.
“Harder,” she gasped, lowering her upper body towards him.
He obliged, those lovely silvery eyes of his shut tight as he suckled harder, pulling upon that stiffened teat with a powerful suction. She had to coax him into it, but now she felt that sweet point where pleasure and pain mixed arrive, her heavy tit at the mercy of his hunger as she loomed over him.
At last, he shed his shirt entirely and brought his other hand back to her free, dangling breast, squeezing it tightly and eliciting a moan before sliding his hand down to her hip. It was there she felt the instincts of her new master show again—he gave her a gentle push as his loins swelled and ached, reaching out to touch her slick, cum-stained slit.
It was her turn to oblige him, her soaking pussy kissing his cock before she thrust herself down, making him tug her breast painfully in the process.
It was ecstasy, and she cried out for him. “Master!” Her voice was so high, so filled with pleasure as her cunt gripped him tight, making up for an evening of fucking with her powerful muscles.
He groaned lewdly… deeply. His hands dug into her flesh tightly as his mouth hummed pleasantly around her teat as he suckled. That thick dick of his swelled so eagerly inside of her, she felt he might burst at any moment from his excitement.
Her new master wasn’t quite as big as the alpha who first claimed her – and so deliciously, at that – but he was hefty and long. Beautifully shaped, she thought as he filled her seed-drenched quim.
At last, his lips broke from her breast, and he let out an unrestrained moan.
“Andrea,” he cried. “You feel so good.”
It didn’t seem to fit with her other, more familiar names. The words said with such malicious praise, such lustful joy.
He was being genuine again. Her pussy squeezed him in... reward? Thanks? Or, perhaps just acknowledgement of his efforts. She sat upright.
Her dark eyes met his as she took in a deep breath and smiled. She held him there for just a moment before she lifted up along his cock, then slammed back down again, her tits jiggling with the motion.
“You’re gorgeous,” she said.
His mouth hung open, those lovely male lips of his parted as he stared up at her, watching the glorious show of her heavy tits rising in a bounce, then falling down to slap against her chest with each new pump of his dick in a beautiful, yet painful, display of her new prowess and skill.
Her master tried to reach up and grab her breasts, but those heavy mounds beat away his hands with their heft as they dropped down, and he grabbed for them again. She could feel him squeeze them, steady them in a way that lessened the pain of their weight being slung around by her motions.
“I wanted you as you were, but I still want you now, Andrea,” he groaned, a light sheen of perspiration building on them both as they rutted.
The warm fluids of her cunt and the other men’s cum slid down around his shaft and coated his balls.
Her moans grew, and she let her head drop back, her long ponytail teasing his legs and knees with its strands, before she rose up once more. Her leg muscles were taut, and burned from exertion, but she wouldn’t stop. Not when he was finally relaxing around her… finally enjoying his present.
“I want you, too,” she purred back, pausing for a second before moaning his name.
He seemed to prefer that other name for her. Perhaps this name was what he wanted to hear.
As soon as his name rolled off her tongue, she felt his strong hands grip her tighter, sinking into her fleshy hip and breast. That thick shaft of his jumped inside her as he gasped.
“Yes,” he managed.
She could feel him, close now to finding his release.
“Oh yes Andrea,” he called out, perched on that precarious edge.
She was so proud of herself for being able to read him so well, and the second time, she didn’t simply moan his name – she shouted it, letting the sound of his name rolling off her tongue reverberate around him, her cunny squeezing him tight. Her muscles ached, her clit throbbed with need, but she didn’t pause. Not with him so close.
And it was all rewarded.
For the third time since she awoke but a few hours before, she brought a man to pleasure inside of her. Felt the third dick of that evening spasm and dump its seed into her fertile, eager cunny.
He bucked into her, and she knew, as she watched him flinch and twitch, that the intensity of his release was unmatched. She hadn’t just pleasured him, she’d achieved some new benchmark. The contorted, almost pained look of satisfaction on his face as he shot his load into her, was worth remembering.
There was only the one opportunity to savour it as he slowly descended from that high, then rested beneath her and tried to catch his breath. Yet, it was i
ngrained in her memory, and she knew it would comfort her through any dark or trying time she faced.
She didn’t move away from him. Instead she lay against him, resting her body on his flesh as they shared that mutual, blissful afterglow.
His arms wrapped around her as she felt his seed dribble its way out of her and down onto his body, mingling with the other men’s of the night. Such a satisfying feeling. A reminder of her triumphs.
“I knew you were in there, Andrea,” he said, rubbing her smooth back with both hands. “I knew there was hope.”
They lay pleasantly cozied together atop his bed.
Masters could say such strange, baffling things, she reflected. But she was figuring this one out. It’d just take time.
~~
A Note from J.M. Keep
**J.M. Keep’s naughtiest work is hidden from the public. Click their author page to make sure you are seeing the full selection of dirty stories!**
J.M. Keep writes the sexiest, darkest smut. With a lust for fantasy and sci-fi erotica, they’re passionate about their reluctant women and their devious demon’s too large to fit into a mortal body. From slutty elves and heathens of desire, to controlling and dominant beasts, J.M. Keep has you covered.
Owners of Darknest Fantasy Erotica, J.M. Keep has been writing smut as a pair for over 10 years.
18+. Content warnings and word counts are available on the second page of all books.
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A HEAVEN OF HELL
By A. Vivian Vane
The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
~~
Pyriah stood above the Lethen Plain with her wings wrapped around her naked body. The air was hot (it was always hot in Hell), but Pyriah could still feel a deep, gnawing chill in her bones. She had been too long in the underworld, where flame gave heat but no warmth, and too long apart from the golden light of Heaven.
"Captain!" a voice called from behind her, much too loud for safety in a forward scouting position like theirs. "Captain, come quick!"
Pyriah winced and turned, readying a rebuke for her favorite lieutenant. The voice, musical even by angelic standards, could only be Slephia, and the girl was clearly in one of her flighty moods. A good soldier most of the time, she was young for the Heavenly Host, and tended to forget herself in moments of excitement.
The hellspawn encampment on the plain below them was well out of earshot, but that was no excuse for carelessness; patrols could happen by any time. Seasoned though they were, Pyriah's small company would have little choice but to beat a humiliating retreat if they were discovered by a serious force like the one down by the oddly-smoking river that Pyriah had been spying on.
"Slephia," Pyriah began, but then she broke off, staring in disbelief as the young angel half-scrambled and half-flew toward Pyriah's lookout point. Her flapping wings stirred up little dustclouds as they beat the air above the dry slope. Even Slephia knew better than that! Pyriah slid hurriedly down from her perch, sticking an arm out to intercept the other angel before she – and her dustclouds – neared the ridgetop.
"Whoa there, soldier!" Pyriah snapped. "What's got into you?"
She frowned at Slephia. The younger angel was wide-eyed and panting, her nakedness gleaming in the ruddy hell-light that filtered down from the sunless sky above. Taut, beautiful muscles, sculpted by the hand of God himself, trembled with excitement and exertion as she gripped her commander's wrist one-handed. In the other, she held a long, black whip, coiled into a loop about the size of her head. It gleamed with an oiled wickedness, stank of brimstone, and was most assuredly not an angelic weapon. Pyriah's frown deepened.
"Slephia," she growled as the younger woman panted for breath, "what is going on here?"
The angel's eyes were wide with astonishment as she stared up at Pyriah and thrust the whip into her hands. "Captain," Slephia gasped in her beautiful, breathless soprano, "you won't believe it. We caught a Fallen!"
~~
Grim-faced Lailah (Fifth of her Name) was waiting for them by the forward scout's tent. She stiffened to attention as Pyriah approached. Tall and slender, with jet black hair that fell nearly to her ankles and the barest swelling of breasts on her naked chest, Lailah made a striking contrast even with Pyriah's blonde athleticism, and she might as well have been a different species from the short, curvaceous, redheaded Slephia. For all that, the three of them were close friends and closer allies, with centuries of experience against the hellspawn between them. An outsider might have read Lailah's face as impassive; Pyriah could tell it was tense and even a little fearful.
"Report, lieutenant," Pyriah ordered, keeping her voice calm with a conscious effort.
Lailah's eyes flicked down to the whip in Pyriah's hands and back up to the captain's face. She glanced aside at Slephia, who nodded eagerly. The little angel was practically bouncing in place. Fallen or no, Pyriah would knock her to the ground if she started flapping her wings again...
"It's true, captain," Lailah said. Her voice was a dusky alto that almost never rose beyond a quiet murmur, but even those dulcet tones trembled with excitement. "One of the Fallen landed practically in our laps. He's out cold and bound tight, but alive in there." She jerked her head at the tent. "Must've fallen all the way from an assault on the Shining City. He came burning out of the sky like a comet and slammed into the dirt not a hundred yards from the scout camp. Should have made a crater and a dustplume you could see for miles, speed he was moving, but once the burning feathers settled the ground was barely even scratched." She snorted and shook her head. "Divine intervention, if you ask me, and wasted on the likes of him."
Pyriah fought to control the excitement welling up inside her. Skirmishing with hellspawn was a thankless, endless task: vital but grinding. To come face to face with the real enemy – the rebel angels that had turned against Heaven – was rare, dangerous, and a chance for glory if they could be destroyed or turned back to the path of the righteous. There was more glory in the latter than the former, of course...but if a rebel would not relent, better for his Name to be reborn in Heaven than to let it continue in Hell. Pyriah had seen an angel destroyed once before, and had come away deeply disquieted from it. She devoutly hoped this one could be saved.
"If he fell from Heaven," she said, "then the Lord must have meant for him to land by us. Clearly, sisters, this is a gift – and a test." She licked her lips; looked at the whip in her hands. It was a wicked-looking tool, but hardly a weapon to assault the fortress of Heaven with. What could the rebel angel have been thinking? She would find out soon enough, she supposed.
"Guard the tent," Pyriah said softly. "Front and back." She looked up and saw disappointment in her lieutenants' eyes. They were angels, incapable of envy, and she knew Slephia and Lailah loved her just as fiercely and perfectly as she loved them, but the Fallen aroused strong emotions in all of them. Her lieutenants would have had to be purer than pure not to feel a tiny bit of resentment at being excluded. "I'll call you in once I've decided what we're going to do with him," she told them, relenting a little. "But we don't know how dangerous this creature is. Until we're certain we have him under control, we expose ourselves to him one at a time. The risks are too great to do otherwise. If the worst happens, I may need the two of you to rescue me from in there."
Reluctantly, the other two angels nodded. Pyriah squeezed each one on the shoulder, just above her wings. "Bless you, sisters," she murmured. "Wish me luck."
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Pyriah stepped into the tent.
~~
The scouts' tent was a simple enough spac
e, designed to house either Pyriah or one of the other angels in their short periods of rest: four canvas walls, a peaked roof held up by two poles and a crossbeam, and a cot and small traveling chest shoved off to one side. A brazier of coals, banked low, cast a ruddy light over the interior. (It wouldn't have been Pyriah's first choice, but coals were in plentiful supply in Hell. You couldn't argue with the convenience.)
A naked man knelt in the center of the tent with his head bowed, hiding his face from her first glance. Wings swept upward from his shoulders, nearly brushing the canvas roof. Iron manacles held his wrists together, and they had been tied with stout rope to a stake driven into the ground. Pyriah nodded her approval of the improvised restraints. It was nothing an angel, Fallen or otherwise, couldn't escape from quickly enough, but it would do for a stunned captive under watchful eyes.
Pyriah circled her prize slowly, studying his still form. Her skin prickled with fear and excitement. There was no doubt in her mind that they had captured a true Fallen. The touch of the divine was as obvious in his form as it was in hers. His skin was smooth and unblemished; his muscles perfectly defined. Curly black hair clung close to his scalp and fell just far enough over his eyes to give him a slightly roguish look. Pyriah smiled possessively. It was impossible not to admire the man's beauty – and he was all hers. The tent made for a very close space indeed for two; the air was already thick and stuffy from the warmth of their bodies.
Reaching out, Pyriah brushed a hand across the fallen angel's wings. They arched upward from his back like hers, but the feathers were mottled black and gray where hers were pristine white. Pyriah's touch was rewarded with a shudder, and she smiled in satisfaction. She'd known the moment she saw him kneeling that her captive was awake, though what state his mind was in remained to be seen.
"Got your feathers scorched by a Fall, did you?" she asked, keeping her voice light. It felt strangely taboo to touch feathers that bore those sooty marks, and she pulled her hand back before it could tremble hard enough for her captive to notice.
The Fallen stirred. Slowly, with a deliberate air, he raised his chin. Pyriah circled around in front of him again and gazed down with genuine curiosity at her captive.