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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 02 Apr 2010 15:12:24 -0500
From: Angelique Rich <angelique.rich@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Demon Lust 08 - Loss of a friend
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Date: Sat, 03 Apr 2010 03:10:03 -0400
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Demion didn't like it. Rain splashed in cold drops on him, soaking his
coat until every fibre of his clothes was drenched with unpleasant
cold water and the chill started to pierce into his flesh. Now and
then, a big drop felt from the branches of the tree he was standing
under and splashed on his head or shoulders, adding to the wetness on
his skin. He remained motionless in the darkness, year long training
enabled him to blank out the cold and wetness as he waited in the
night. And also he seemed not to feel the rain soaking his clothes, he
was very well aware of the water running down his back, gathering
under the belt of his pants and then flow down the legs to fill his
shoes with cold water. 

No, he didn't like these aspects of his job. He never had, and he
never would. 

When he had been a kid, he had different dreams about his future. Like
the other boys, he dreamed about being a pilot or or big adventurer,
discovering uncharted lands and filling the mysterious white blotches
on the maps of a barely known continent. He used to spend hours laying
on his bed, imagining the wonders he would find, dreaming of monsters
and adventures so lifelike in his mind, it felt as if he could touch
them. 

The priests at St. Patrick Orphanage had a very persuasive way to
convince him that fantasies about fairy tale creatures had no place in
their world, a way shaded with canes and hours in dark cells until the
tales of nymphs and dragons were replaced by tales of saints and
angels eventually. The priest, although they were harsh teachers,
filled the role of a demanding father and the the faith he was taught,
gave him the warm embrace and comfort other children found in the hug
of their mother.

After spending almost all of his life in the catholic orphanage, it
was a quite natural choice for him to go to the seminary of St. Mary's
College in Oscott and become a priest himself. Remembering the days in
the seminary made his thoughts drift back to that fateful night just
after his ordination to the priesthood, that changed his life
forever...

The young priest laid on his bed in the dark room. Although it was 2
AM, sleep did not find him, the events of the day were just too fresh
and intense to sleep. In his mind, he was still kneeling in front of
the altar in the cathedral, listening to the choir who's young,
angelic voices filled the majestic building. He watched the bishop
from the corner of his eyes, knowing that, as soon as the chant would
end, the majestic man would approach him and would speak the blessing
that would complete his destiny.

He stared in the darkness and still dared not to believe that he, an
orphan of unknown origin had been able to achieve what he did. He
slowly exhaled as he thought again of the blessing the bishop spoke,
holding his hand on his head, words that turned a student  to a
priest. A holy man he thought, and the thought alone sent shivers down
his spine and filled his heart with gratefulness, that god allowed
such a wonderful thing to happen. Demion felt the urge to thank god on
his knees and got up. Unable to find sleep, he could as well thank god
with prayers in the seminary's chapel.

He crossed the court and looked up at the full moon. It was a clear,
almost warm night and the garden in the center of the court laid
tranquil in front of him, bathed in the pale light of the moon. He
smiled, feeling a hint of regret that he would soon have to leave the
place he spent, what he thought then, the most intense and interesting
time of his life. But the thought of venturing out into the unknown
world also promised to be a big adventure. He approached the small
chapel at the opposite side of the court and reached out to open the
door as an unknown sensation made him stop. The thin hairs on the back
of his neck seemed to rise and he suddenly felt the sense of a
threatening danger as his hand touched the door handle. He looked
around and then shook his head, wondering why he suddenly felt like
that. And although he decided that his tired mind played tricks, his
hand touched the door handle lightly and cautiously, as if he would
fear the metal could burn.

The door opened slowly and he peeked into the darkness, entering the
chapel slowly through the side entrance. He reached out for the light
switch, when a faint groan, followed by a silent chuckle made him stop
again. The sounds seemed to come from the chapel's sanctuary that was
just behind the small room he was now standing it. He reached again
for the switch, when the next groan made him freeze again. It sounded
as if somebody would be in pain, but again the groaning sound was
followed by an amused chuckle and whisper that made Demion wonder what
was going on in the darkness of the chapel. 
He decided not to turn on the lights and moved carefully and silently
through the small room towards the small door on its other side and,
carefully and slowly, eased it open.

A beam of moonlight shone through a window into the sanctuary,
illuminating the room in a ghostly, blueish white light. The room,
laying in darkness, looked alien to him in this atmosphere, and he was
barely able to recognize the room's features he was so familiar with.
It was a small room, scarcely decorated. The painting at the back of
the sanctuary, showing Maria Magdalena holding her crucified son in
her arms, was barely visible in the duskiness. To the left of the
altar was the big wooden crucifix. Looking at it always sent a shiver
down Demion's spine, as the almost life-sized figure, wrists and
ankles cruelly fixed with long, thick nails to the wooden cross,
always seemed to follow the chapel's visitors with suffering,
accusatory eyes. And now, in the darkness of the room, the figure
dominating the small sanctuary seemed even more ominous to him.

His searching gaze felt on the altar and he froze. He expected to see
the stone altar, covered with the pallium and flanked by the silver
crucifix and the massive, three armed wooden priket. But there were no
crucifix or priket on the altar. Instead of the sacred tools he
expected to see, he saw an unrecognizable form move and squirm on the
altar. He gasped and stared in shock, unable to comprehend what was
happening. The sounds seemed to come from the rhythmically moving
shadow. An arm moved out of the shadow, pale and wrinkled in the
moonlight, trying to grasp something to hold on, accompanied by
another suffering helpless groan.

Demion's eyes had adapted to the darkness now and he realized he was
watching two bodies that seemed to be entangled in some sort of
wrestling fight. The moon had moved while he stared motionless and
confused at the scene for a few minutes and he discovered that the
flailing arm belonged to an almost naked man who was on his back. His
face looked strangely familiar to him. For a moment he thought it
belonged to Steven Friar, a brother who received ordination today as
well. But this could not be, as this man seemed to be middle aged,
probably even having passed his fiftieth birthday. 

His head shook helplessly, showing an expression Demion had never seen
on any face in his life. It looked as it he would be in severe pain,
even agony, while experiencing pleasures beyond belief at the same
time. The pail arm jerked again, its hand this time falling on a
slender arm. The man's hips were franticly pumping, and for a moment
Demion thought he was about to catch a lewd couple, who was to fulfill
a blasphemous sexual act on the holy altar. Disbelieving, he watched
the form of a full female hip that straddled the pumping loins of the
man, hips that were picking up speed, the man's groans increased in
urgency and he heard a lustful female hiss merge with the odd sounds. 

Realizing the man was about to complete the unholy act and determined
to prevent this blasphemy, Demion was about to charge into the
sanctuary, when something totally unexpected made him stop stark and
stiff.  

The woman, straddling the man's hips had straightened her back,
obviously feeling orgasmic lust as well and her scream of lust and
triumph filled the chapel. And to the young priests horror, he watched
unfold a pair of huge, leathery wings on her back, wings that seemed
to span from one side of the sanctuary to the other. They looked like
the wings of a gigantic bat, bony, long fingers spreading the leather,
as the demon pushed down on the man's hard cock that was obviously
being pushed deeply into its womb. Again she screamed triumphantly,
her scream joining the agonizing groan of the man who's hips were
pushed up in a desperate attempt to force the cum spewing cock as
deeply into her sex as he possibly could. 

The man's groan turned into a helpless sob, causing Demion to stare at
his face. The man looked at him, his eyes filled with tears of sorrow
as his body seemed to move against his will, finalizing the age old
mating ritual. And as he came, the man aged in front of Deminon's
eyes. Wrinkles carved their way into his skin, hair, once full and
dark, grayed in an instant, splotches of age appeared on cheeks, that
had been youthful just hours ago,  and Demion realized that the demon
was draining the man's life with every drop of cum that was being
pumped into its body. A thin hand, that had tried to push the demon
away moments ago, loosed its strength and slid slowly down the dark
skinned arm.

"Help me...." 

It was more a faint, helpless whisper than a scream, framed by
toothless lips, but it was enough to rip Demion from his horrified
rigor as his eyes met the old men's. His strong, muscular hands
grabbed a massive candle holder that was almost as big as a man,
lifting it over his head as if it would weight nothing, as he charged
into the sanctuary.

"Vade reto Satan!" he screamed, banging the 40 pound wooden pricket on
the demon's head, slamming it off the victim's body and into the
painting behind the altar, where it slumped to the ground. His weapon
broke into three pieces on the impact and he rushed to the altar,
letting it fall carelessly on the ground. He stared down at the old
man on the altar, torn between the impulse to beat the man up, who
dared to commit such an lewd act in his holy, beloved chapel, and the
urge to help the man, who obviously felt into the trap of an unholy
demon. 

"Demion, " the old man whispered, barely audible, "forgive me..." He
coughed how only old people who run out of breath cough . "I failed,
Demion..."

"Steve?!" Demion stared into the still slightly familiar face. "Steven
Friar?!" He gasped in shock as he realized he was looking into his
friends face, a friend, who just had turned 24 year old a month ago
and now looked, as if he had lived through a century and some more.

Tears filled the old man's eyes. "I failed Demion." His trembling
voice indicated the pure remorse he was feeling. "I failed on the day
of my ordination to priesthood. I always feared that celibacy would be
my biggest weakness, but I thought my faith would help me. Demion, she
knew it -" More coughs interrupted him, shaking his weak body. Demion
touched him, trying to ease the pain, his friend seemed to suffer, and
comfort him.

"Shhhh.... don't talk, you're weak. Just lay still, I'll get help!"

The old man grabbed his arm with surprising strength. "No, listen!"
his friend urgent tone stopped him. "You need to know!" "Know? All I
know is you need help my friend!" Demion looked at his friend, torn
between his wish to run and get help and the intensity in his friends
weak voice. 

"She knew it, Demion. I could not sleep and came here to pray. She was
in the court Demion, looking every bit like the woman in my suppressed
dreams! I don't know how I could fail so miserably, but - " He coughed
again and Damion noticed the red of blood on his lips. "She was an
angel Demion... I thought I touched an angel, she looked so pure and
innocent, and, when she kissed me it felt like heaven, and when I
entered her..." For a moment, that expression of lust Demion had seen
earlier on his face scampered over his face. A series of loud,
wheezing coughs wiped it from his face. 

"She took my soul Demion... the moment I came in her, she showed her
true form! I tried to stop it Damien, god, did I try! But I had lost
control over my body. Time after time I came, pumping my seed in her
womb, aging with every climax she wrenched from my body, telling me
how my fallen soul would rot -" His eyes open wide, his thin bony
fingers dug into Demion's arm.

"I'm a priest now Steve! You repent what you've done, don't you, don't
you! I can give you absolution, your soul is not lost!" Demion,
realizing his friend was about to die, desperately screamed at him.
But Steve was no longer looking at him, his eyes were staring at
something behind him, his toothless mouth opening in futile attempt to
warn him. 

"Oh no, you won't." The voice was soft, almost charming, but the
hand's grasp, that made him fly through the sanctuary and crash into
the wall, wasn't. The impact forced his breath from his lungs and the
few seconds, he was fighting for breath, were enough for his attacker
to be over him and pin him to the ground. 

"So you want to save my prey from his fate he brought upon himself
with the feverish fire between his legs?" The voice was calm, the
question underlined by a gloating chuckle. "Do you really think your
will and faith will be stronger than his was?" The haze in front of
his eyes slowly vanished and the first thing he saw was a shapely
female leg, covered in in a dark, almost blueish black skin. Its foot
was firmly planted on his chest, pinning him  down on the cold hard
floor of the chapel. He reached for the foot, trying to push it off
him, and froze, when his hands touched the cold hard form of a hoof.
He gasped in shock, when he realized the woman's shin tapered into a
leg like the hind leg of a deer. 

His eyes followed the leg, up the round, full thigh until it joined
its sibling. His eyes opened as he stared at the still moist lips of a
female sex, a look that made his own stir and swell. 
"So you are as he was, holy man..." the demon chuckled, sensing his
reaction. "You are all the same, swearing an oath of celibacy and all
it needs to make you break it, is to show you the promise of a soft
cunt. Look at it! Look at it and admit your flesh is yearning for it!"

She moved down on him and the view of her sex was replaced with a view
of her full, swaying breasts, breasts that looked so soft and
promising, his hand reached up before he could stop them. He moaned,
as he felt the soft hot flesh, and she smiled, a warm, sensual smile
as she moved so her hard nipples pressed in his palm, a feeling that
made his cock fill with blood and grow as hard as he had felt never
before. 

Her hands gripped his cloths and ripped them from his trembling body
until he was laying naked on the stone floor. She moved up his body
like a snake, her breasts sliding over his hard cock, trapping it
between their bodies, a sensation that made him groan helplessly.

"Oh you want me Demion... you realize the promise of the flesh will be
so much more rewarding than a duty in his name, don't you?You will
feel pleasures as you have never felt..." She kissed his chest and he
watched in awe how her forked tongue flicked over his nipple "You
vowed your oath today..." He groaned as he felt her warm, moist sex
kiss his cock. "And already you break it!" He groaned desperately,
trying to regain control as he felt the warm embrace slide down his
cock. "Before the night ends, you will vow another oath, an oath you
will not break. And you will serve in eternity, just as you swore
earlier today!" And although he shook his head in desperation, he
could not keep his hip from thrusting up, ramming his cock with all
his might into her sinful flesh as she forced her body down on him. 

The demon moaned, a sound that made his blood boil in lustful fever.
"Yes... yes, resist me" He groaned helplessly, trying to control his
body, trying to stop his hips from moving against his will. "Ohh
you're like your friend.. he resisted... he resisted so deliciously
long, praying, screaming for his god who didn't listen until he
finally grabbed my hips and -" she moaned the words in his ear "fucked
me!"

He squirmed under her, but her spell seemed to paralyze all of his
body except his hips and he felt how the burning need to mate with her
teared at his faith, the fire burning higher and hotter, no matter how
hard he tried to resist. Turning his head, his gaze felt on the altar.
The hand of his friend opened and through the moans and seducing
whispers of the demon he heard the sigh as life left his friend. It
was this sight, that broke the spell just long enough to have him move
his hand, feeling desperately for a weapon to fight the demon. His
hand felt on the silver crucifix fallen from the altar, and with a
desperate scream he forced his arm up and pressed the silver cross
against the demons face. 

The scream that followed his assault made the windows of the chapel
shatter to pieces. He watched in disgust how the demons skin seemed to
melt and smoke as if he were pressing red glowing steel against it. He
pushed her away and stumbled back on his feet, watching her crouch,
ready to attack him. Her hands transformed into claws and sharp teeth
grew from her mouth that molded into a snout, He almost vomited when
he watched the beautiful female body transform into the shape of a
demon, breasts, once ripe and soft, swelling, the nipples growing lips
with sharp teeth snarling at him, the beautiful dark blueish skin
turning into an ashen greenish grey. He stumbled back and his hand
dived into the bowl with holy water at the side of the sanctuary.

The leather wings opened, lifting her into the air as she stared down
at him. She hissed at the man who's left arm aimed the cursed cross at
her, while his other hand was in the bowl with holy water. The
prospect of having it splashed at her made her shiver and she hissed
in fear and hate, her forked tongue darting back and forth. 

"We'll meet again priest!" Poison dripped from her fangs, smoldering
the stone where it landed. "I'll tear the soul from your fucking and
it will burn in hell! No matter how much you pray, you'll pay for
scaring Lillith, first succubus of Satan, do you hear! You'll be
mine!!!" she screamed and disappeared, leaving behind smoke and the
stench of sulfur.

Demion, coming back from his memories, shivered and realized the night
was coming to an end. "25 years" he mumbled."25 years since this
cursed night..." He remembered Stevens body on the altar, his broken
body looking like a dry mummy, and the thought that he, although he
broke the demon's spell with the last breath of his life lost his soul
to the devil, made him sigh deeply. His body was buried somewhere in
the woods, and, although Demion desperately begged the bishop to bury
him in sacred ground, he refused, insisting that he would not allow
sacred ground to be befouled by somebody committing such a blasphemous
act as to mate with a demon on the holy altar of the Lord.

He sighed again, watching dawn rise. On the very next day, the bishop
had sent him to Rome and in the 25 years since this event, Demion
often wished the monsters and fairy tale beasts of his childhood
dreams would be real, instead of- 

The vibrations of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He flipped
it open and answered the call. 

"Demion Blackburn?" the unknown voice asked. 

"Yes"

"Pater Gregorius here. We need to talk."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As always, feel free to tell me if you liked it. 
If you didn't please tell me as well :)

And - if the story gave you an erotic tickle - thank you :)

Those who liked it can find my other stories here:
http://cynfulangel.blogspot.com/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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