Demon Lust

by Raisa Greywood

  Precum dribbled into her mouth and down her throat, easing her breathing. She inhaled the first comfortable breath she’d taken in hours. Though she wanted to reply, he gave her no chance to speak as he fed her. Too soon, or maybe not soon enough, he pulled away without finishing. He’d given her only enough to keep her for a few minutes when a full dose might last for several hours.

  She coughed to clear her throat, and said, “I want to go home. You chain me and treat me like a fucking pet. I’m not a queen or a goddess. I’m just a human who misses her home.”

  Letting out a soft sigh, he settled to the mass of bubbles beside her. “All right, Lucy. I will let you go home, but you must do one thing for me.”

  Lucy could hardly believe her ears. Was he truly offering to free her? For the whole time she’d been down here, he’d kept her chained, by the limits of oxygen and a physical fetter. And by fear. Why would he change his mind now? “What’s the catch?” she asked.

  “No catch, but I want something from you before you leave me.” His lips pulled back into a smile. “I want one night with my queen. One night, during which you will accept me as your lord and king.”

  She bit her lip, taking small sips of air through her nose. “If I do this, you will let me go?”

  Smiling gently, he stroked her hair away from her forehead. “I will take you to the surface myself. I’m sure you’ll find your way home soon enough.”

  Lucy fully expected him to fuck her immediately, but he didn’t. True to type, he confused her, muddling her thoughts and emotions as he turned her to her stomach and massaged her shoulders. Joral’s hands slid across her skin as if he’d oiled them. He kneaded the tension from her muscles, working down her arms, then her back, and finally her legs.

  By the time he got to her feet, pressing his thumbs into the arches to loosen the stiffened tendons, she was a mass of jelly, boneless and limp to his ministrations. Despite the lack of air, her shallow breaths slowed, easing the tightness in her chest as she relaxed. In the world above, back when she’d just been Lucy Cartwright, part time surf instructor, blogger, and product tester, she’d often paid for massages. None compared to what Joral did with his hands.

  Instead of forcing his cock into her mouth, he used a finger to paint her lips with precum every few minutes, allowing her to breathe comfortably as long as she remained still for his touch. Lucy was so comfortable, she almost wanted to doze. It would have been so easy to drift away and forget who had brought her to such a state of physical bliss.

  He turned her over and repeated the process on her front. His teasing touches stimulated dormant nerve endings, the sudden shock of pleasure making her want to pull away and hide. But she couldn’t. She had to keep to their bargain. The scant chance that he wasn’t lying about letting her go was worth it, and she would give him no excuse to renege.

  And that infernal tongue! Jesus, if he was on the surface, his tongue would be declared a lethal weapon. He tickled her with it, stroking down from her navel to her clit.

  What’s wrong with a kiss, boy? Hmm? Why not start her off with a nice kiss? You don’t have to go leaping straight for the clitoris like a…

  Okay, John Cleese would probably not appreciate her humor. Brain starved for air, she hummed.

  What did you bring me, dear friends, to keep me from the gallows pole?

  Joral brought her a little of everything, and still the pole loomed.

  Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

  Despite her laughter, his tongue penetrated her, the long, muscular organ seeking out tender spots in her channel and finding them. She knew he cared nothing for the madness overtaking her, product of the months-long absence of air.

  She laughed again and sank her hands into his hair. “Take me, big daddy,” she croaked. When he rose above her, between splayed thighs, she turned her face away from his kiss. There were limits to her madness.

  His thick cock penetrated her without warning and he slung her thighs over his arms as he fucked her. Lifting her hips, he changed his angle of penetration. She cried out when he caught the rough flesh of her g-spot with the head of his cock.

  Lucy closed her eyes against his intent stare. She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want him to see her. Definitely didn’t want him to see how much she liked what he was doing with his cock.

  He snaked a hand behind her head, gripping her hair as he lowered his mouth to hers. He teased, enticing as he licked her lower lip to draw out her pleasure. He didn’t force her, but asked, pleading, fucking begged for access to her mouth. And she gave it, accepting his kiss. And the demons running through her head demanded something else. Demanded control.

  We all have a dark side, to say the least. And dealing in death is the nature of the beast.

  Enervated from the infusion of fluid from his cock, she rolled him to his back and straddled his hips, taking his hard dick inside her. Balancing herself with her hands on his scaled chest, she threw her head back and gave in to his desires. His desires; she refused to admit to her own, but she fucked him all the same. He urged her on with gentle touches, his hands stroking her hips as she rode him.

  “There’s my beautiful queen. You look like Boudicca.”

  “Fuck you, asshole. If I was Boudicca, I’d have slit your fucking throat in your sleep.”

  Joral laughed and cupped her cheek, his hand too gentle on her face. She didn’t want his touch, but allowed it as part of their bargain. He was nothing more than a live sex doll. And she was the same to him. Rocking her hips, she fucked him, desperate to find completion whether he did or not. She shifted, rubbing her clit against his pubic bone as he thrust inside her.

  He snaked a hand between their laboring bodies and thumbed her clit, his fingers searching through her wetness to manipulate that bundle of nerves. “Come for me, Lucy. Bathe my cock with your sweet come and let me give you pleasure.”

  Squeezing clawed fingers together, he pinched her, sending a shockwave of sensation through her body. Almost against her will, she came, screeching as she clenched down on his cock.

  Her belly spasmed, hard and hurting from her orgasm as he rolled her over and pulled her to her knees before him, exposing her ass. Pressing down on her shoulders, he said, “It’s my turn, my queen.”

  Chapter 6

  He stroked her back and flanks gently as he eased himself between her thighs. Leaning down over her, he braced his hands on either side of her head and kissed the back of her neck as he slowly pushed his cock inside her.

  This slow, languorous fuck confused her more than anything. After what she saw in his throne room, she expected violence. Even though it had been terrible to watch, his casual cruelty hadn’t really surprised her, but this… He was tender with her and she had no idea what to think.

  Maybe most surprising of all was the fact that she could breathe. Really breathe. As in, inhale to fully inflate her lungs without being afraid to let it out. After months with insufficient air, the sensation of sweet oxygen filling her lungs and infusing starved cells was indescribably good.

  After all this time, he’d never once fucked her. Was this the reason? Did his semen, or whatever compound was in it, react differently when administered through sex? She spared a brief moment to worry about birth control and prayed her shot was still effective. Maybe their species weren’t genetically compatible. Either way, it was too late to worry about it now.

  Reaching down, he stroked her clit, his fingers easing her to the pinnacle of another orgasm as he fucked her. His harsh breaths were loud in her ears, and he groaned when she squeezed her pussy around his cock.

  “You feel so wonderful around me, my beautiful queen,” he whispered. His fingers stayed busy on her clit, squeezing and rolling the engorged nub until she cried out and spasmed around him.

  Her orgasm sparked his, and with a shout, he erupted inside her. His cock twitched and softened as it slid from her body, and strangely, she felt the remnants of his come drip down her thigh. Even though she breathed
easily now, she had the atavistic urge to catch it with her fingertips and swallow it.

  Collapsing to the bed of bubbles, he pulled her into his arms. For once, he didn’t wrap her leash around his fist. Instead, he held her, cradling her in his arms as he drifted to sleep with a small smile on his face. And surprisingly, Lucy didn’t mind. She could breathe.

  The next morning, he didn’t make her kneel between his knees, nor did he feed her from his hands. Instead he allowed her to sit on the bench and eat from a plate. Looking down at her food, she realized she’d miss the little garlic mushroom things, but definitely not enough to stay.

  After breakfast he handed her a t-shirt and a pair of nylon drawstring shorts, allowing her to dress in normal clothes for the first time in months. The garments felt weird after so long in that floaty dress. The wet fabric chafed, irritating her sensitive folds, but she ignored the discomfort. She’d be in her own clothes soon enough, though she wondered where they’d come from. Lucy shivered, hoping they hadn’t belonged to one of the poor women she’d be leaving down here.

  She considered asking Joral to free them, yet she knew he wouldn’t. And she couldn’t tell a soul about this experience. They’d lock her up in a mental ward for sure. It would be hard enough proving her identity after such a long absence as it was.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yes, please.”

  Nodding, he took her hand and led her through the tunnel. With an arm tightly wrapped around her waist, he propelled them to the surface. Their speed made her worry about getting the bends, but to her surprise, she felt no discomfort from their rapid ascent. A few feet from the surface, she wriggled free of his hold and rose from the water with a hoarse shout of joy.

  Grinning like an idiot, she spun, recognizing the familiar landscape of her beach. His beach, she corrected. Her car was still parked in the tiny lot, probably with a ticket on it, but she couldn’t see one. And she honestly didn’t care. She could fucking breathe. She almost had to remind herself to slow down before she hyperventilated.

  The only difference she saw were the numerous shark warning signs, which explained the absence of the dawn patrol surfers.

  “Does this please you,” he asked. Scales glinting in the morning sunlight, he smiled at her, his eyes crinkling with humor. Why was he happy she was leaving him? It didn’t make any sense after all he’d done to keep her.

  Turning to face him, she nodded. “Yes. Thank you for letting me go.” She swam backward, still facing him, until her feet touched ground. “I’m…” She started to say that she was sorry, but it would have been a lie. “I was about to wish you luck in your search for another queen, but I pray you never find one.”

  Though he didn’t move to follow as she walked backward, she heard him say, “I won’t.” His soft laughter chased her as she ran toward home. She swore she’d never visit this, or any other beach ever again. From now on, the largest body of water she’d tolerate would be a bottle. And it would have tequila in it.

  The first few weeks were strange. Someone had told her coworkers and colleagues that she’d taken an emergency leave of absence to attend to family matters and had arranged for someone to water her plants. Her rent was paid, as were all her other bills. It had to have been Joral, and the knowledge that he knew where she was terrified her. It was now obvious that he’d planned to take her. But why hadn’t he just canceled her lease and sold her car?

  Nothing made sense, and she was too afraid to stay. Three weeks after her return, she loaded up a rental van with all her worldly possessions, sold her car, and moved to Kansas to take a job with a small dot com. Cornfields for thousands of square miles, and no open water. She rented a small cottage in a cute little artist’s community in Wichita and settled in. It was perfect, especially since her house had a shower stall only – there was no bathtub, and no chance that her head would ever go underwater.

  Perfect, except for the nightmares that woke her screaming and drenched in sweat every night. She considered getting therapy for PTSD, but what would she tell the therapist? Hey, yeah. I was held captive by a sadistic fucker of a merman for months, Can you help me out with the nightmares?

  Instead of doing something so monumentally stupid, she went online and joined anonymous support groups, and only shared her symptoms – not the cause. Surprisingly, the groups helped, as did the knowledge that she was as far from a beach as it was possible to get. Even if Joral could find her, he probably wouldn’t leave the water to come get her.

  At least she hoped. The only thing the therapy didn’t address was her lingering survivor’s guilt over leaving the other women behind. It still stung, even though she knew there was no way she could help them.

  Chapter 7

  Wichita made Lucy happy. The people were cheerful and kind, and she liked the vibrancy of the small college city. She had friends, a cool job, and a decent social life, though she hadn’t made any effort toward dating. She was still a little too fragile for that, even though the nightmares were less frequent now.

  Lucy was sleeping better, which was great. What wasn’t so great was the lingering cough and sore throat. She must have picked up a virus somewhere, though no one she knew was sick. Worse was the sudden and inexplicable desire to visit the pool at the university gym complex. Even if she had the nerve to do something so risky, she’d gotten rid of every single bathing suit she owned before leaving California. Every scrap of scuba equipment, her extra short board, the spare wetsuit, right down to the collection of waterproof sunscreen ended up in the dumpster or given away. Besides, if she was sick, she had no business swimming.

  She had to laugh at her phobia, though. She didn’t see Joral braving the crowds of college students to dip his toes in chlorinated pool water. Just in case she was wrong, she ignored the urge to buy a bathing suit.

  When she woke up wheezing and unable to catch her breath, she took a grim trip to the urgent care, sure she just needed a course of antibiotics to set her straight. The docs took one look at her blue lips and slapped an oxygen mask on her before rushing her to the hospital. Terrified, she laid in the triage room, sucking oxygen like water as nurses took blood samples and vital signs.

  An older nurse with a kind face and a brisk manner tapped the back of her hand to set an IV. Her head cocked to one side, and she said, “That’s a neat tattoo on your shoulder, Ms. Cartwright. It looks like fish scales.”

  Lucy didn’t even feel the needle as it slipped into her vein. Horror filled her and she turned her arm to see. Pearly scales, tinged green, spread in a patch over the meat of her bicep. Lifting up the hem of the hospital gown, she saw more scales decorating her ribs.

  She didn’t have enough air to scream.

  Two days later, the hospital released her. They had no answer for her inexplicable disorder, but she did. Oh, she knew exactly what it was. Carrying the bag holding an oxygen canister, she let the nurse wheel her to her car. When the chair stopped, a familiar figure appeared from behind her vehicle.

  Dressed in jeans, boots, and a blue button-down, Joral held out a hand to the nurse. “Thank you for taking such good care of my wife while I was away. I’d never have left her if I’d realized how sick she was.”

  After a few more pleasantries that Lucy didn’t hear, they got her settled in the car. She wanted to run, but didn’t have the air for it. When Joral got in the driver’s seat, she said, “You let me go. You said—”

  “I said I’d let you go home. You’ve now realized that your home, and my son’s home is with me, isn’t that right, Lucy?”

  She shook her head, numb as the familiar creeping sensation of hypoxia encompassed her limbs. The cannula in her nose delivered its measured puffs of odorless gas that didn’t ease the tightness in her chest. How was Joral breathing so easily? Why didn’t he suffer from being out of the sea?

  His eyes glittered, not with spite, but with satisfied, acquisitive greed. “You will be a wonderful mother to my son, of course, now that you’ve learned you
r true place is by my side as my queen.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I’ll just give you the baby if that’s what you want!” Tears streamed from her eyes as she held out a beseeching hand.

  “He’s already mine, as are you.” Reaching over, he patted her hand. “Now, don’t fret, love. Everything will be perfect, and you’ll get just the home you wanted.

  Nestled on a private beach, the house he’d bought was beautiful, and everything he’d said it would be. The Mediterranean styled beach house was snug and painfully dry, along with being immaculately decorated and stocked with food she used to love. It had everything: hamburgers, summer vegetables, salads, fresh bread, and a full bar she wasn’t allowed to touch.

  The bedrooms were equally impressive, with billowing linen and sumptuous bathrooms containing tiled shower stalls. There were no bathtubs anywhere. She collapsed on the bed and laid down, too weak to explore beyond what Joral showed her.

  “Shall we go for a swim, love?”

  Easing in a shallow breath, she shook her head. “No.”

  He clucked his tongue and picked her up, then carried her from the house to the water’s edge. When he set her on her feet, he said, “Go and swim, my queen. The ocean misses you.”

  When she shook her head again, he simply picked her up once more and took her into the water. Without a word, he ducked, taking them both beneath the waves.

  And to her amazement, she could breathe! She swam for a long time, going out so far that she could no longer see the house or Joral. Though she hated the water, it was now her lifeblood, and she knew he’d been right. This was her home. She’d never be free again.

  Two giant sharks rose up from the water, their mouths open as they bumped her. She wasn’t afraid this time. Actually, she hoped one of them would finish the job and let her be free of Joral. She even tried sticking her head in one’s mouth, but it refused the freely offered meal. Though she tried to evade them, they herded her back to the beach. She sat in the shallows, unwilling to get out.