Aw, demon. (Closed for Apollo Wilde and TirithIre)

For the most part, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of “good” attached with being an anthropologist. Sure, she didn’t live too high on the hog, but what good were material things when there was such richness in the world around her? And sure, she was in massive amounts of debt; that’s just the way education and the world worked. But she’d gone to exotic locales, been accepted into tribes (and bore a few marks of acceptance), had stood up for those that were written off as “primitive.” Ridiculous. She also had some of the best stories - so what if people’s eyes glazed over or they switched the subject to what was on TV last night? (Oh, TV; she hardly knew ye. The last one she owned had to be pawned to make the rent) She was rich in “life experience!”

Or something like that.

So, here she was, on a Friday night (like she’d had any other plans), lowering herself into the catacombs of a dilapidated church. The church had long been shut down; condemned by the city as nothing more than an eye sore. The plan was that the city would tear down the church, cement fill any gaps under it, and bam, brand new high rise or stores or whatever. She’d tuned them out after “demolish” - filled with righteous academic rage, she’d risen from her seat and argued the merits of the church. It was a historical land mark, she’d said. One of the few reminders of the city’s past and a deep connection between old world and new. It should be preserved and cherished - renovated into a museum! That would bring money to the town, wouldn’t....it...? She’d trailed off then, nearly wilting under the baleful stares of her other committee members.

But this was her duty - she was the representative for the museum curators for the town and, on a good day, for the small town over. It was one of the only jobs that she could find that A. Paid her somewhat of a living wage and B. located her in an affordable town. So she’d packed up and moved from the big city to the smaller town of Walker - not quite small enough to be in the middle of nowhere, not quite big enough to warrant its own page in a travel guide. It was a place that most would advertise as “up and coming!” Old town charm backed comfortably against the hustle and bustle of a new city. Neighborhoods where kids walked to school and it wasn’t uncommon to leave your front door unlocked. The museum where she worked was one that she’d describe as “quaint” without a hint of irony. Every day, she tasked herself with writing convincing letters on how she needed more funding to acquire this or research that - and all, completely legitimate. Universally loved (and somewhat adored by undergrads and work-studies) by her staff, she’d taken to Walker and it’s history. After all, any anthropologist/historian knew that the true history required long hours and getting your hands dirty. And since she moved, that was the bulk of what she did - not that she hated it, mind you, but a date every once in a while, hell, even a quick grope in the backseat of a car would have been nice.

It didn’t take too many museum and town parties to realize that while she was well-liked, being dateable was out of the question. She was too worldly, too foreign, too much like an older brother to be seen in “that way.” Which, as she had studied her heels for the umpteenth time after another friendly rejection, was nice in its own way but still stung.

“Preserving Penelope is at it again,” sighed Mallory, a prim and proper woman who was as neatly pressed and coiffed as if she’d walked out of a catalogue. It also went without saying that she was Penelope’s arch rival on the town’s committee. Mallory was a proponent of change, of bringing high end businesses and she sang the song of gentrification loud and long.

Penelope could feel the hot rush of blood come to her cheeks, dance around the tips of her ears, but she stood firm. Just one week, she argued. Give her one week with the church and she could find something of immense historical value. “There’s a real story behind this town,” she’d said, taking a breath to get into her “The Hidden Religious Story of Walker” spiel. She’d recited it many times - and each time, it grew richer as she uncovered more information. Walker, though it seemed a sleepy little place, had potentially one of the most interesting religious backgrounds she’d ever uncovered. Though still in America and somewhat plagued by racial and religious discrimination, the very church that she was trying to save was, historically, somewhat of a point zero - it had accepted all practices as early as the 1700s, and had encouraged dialogue between all faiths. It was a church where slave, native, and white could intermix without fear of reprisal. That was incredible!

Problem was - her evidence was flimsy. It was a guess at best; a feeling at worse. But it was an educated guess, and that alone meant something. If she could just find the evidence to support what she was saying, it’d blow the whole lid off of race relations in early America. That in and out of itself was worth a few grants. Maybe. And as she’d rattled off her reasons for why it was a good idea, she was cut off in mid sentence. The financial board of the committee needed to meet in private. They’d get back to her, they said. “Go have a cookie, some juice,” said old man Book, his bolo tie glittering with gold and turquoise under the civic center lights. “We’ll come get you when we’ve reached our decision.”

Well, that was just fine. And so she helped herself to a handful (because fuck them and their dismissive attitudes and also free food) of cookies and was nibbling thoughtfully on a peanut butter cookie before her fellow curator, John Perkins, tapped her on the shoulder and led her outside. There was a handful of silence between them, broken by the occasional sounds of him searching for his cigarettes, and then his lighter. She worked her way through the peanut butter cookie, then started on a chocolate chip.

He took one long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke away from her.

“Nelly, it ain’t gonna work. Too much money in keeping history black or white,” he said. “They’re not going to give you the week. Mallory’s got too much clout and too many investors on her side for them to even consider anything else. Ya gotta understand,” he turned to face her, disappointment etched in the fine lines around his face, “there’s no money in the past. No one cares, except for us.” Defeat hung heavy in his voice.

Finishing off the chocolate chip cookie, she licked a few traces of chocolate from her fingers, and tucked the rest of the cookies away in her shoulder bag. “Well, then, that just means I’m going to have to work fast.”

And that’s what brought her to the bowels of the dilapidated church that very same Friday night. After the meeting was over, she’d hopped on her bike and pedaled as fast as her heels would allow her to. Screeching to a halt in front of the new chain link fence surrounding the property (and doing her best to ignore the cheery “COMING SOON:” sign that depicted a neat and clean shopping center or high rise or whatever, it always pissed her off so much that she never looked at it more than a few seconds), she paused for a brief moment. Huh. They’d chained and locked the gate now. Leaning her bike against the fence, she took a step back to look at it. No barbed wire at the top, so they weren’t THAT serious about keeping people out. Well. Kicking off her shoes next to her bike, she took a few more steps back, before taking a running start and launching herself at the fence. Landing halfway from the top, she quickly scrambled up and over, lamenting the fact that she wore a very rigid pencil skirt that didn’t allow her to get her legs quite as wide as she would have liked. Hitching a little on her way down, she landed lightly before letting out a groan. No wonder she’d hitched on the way down; there was a long gash in the back of her skirt. Twisting this way and that, she did her best to access the damage.

“Aw, skirt.”

Well.

So much for that.

Tip-toeing through high grass and around broken glass, she made her way up the crumbling sidewalk and into the church itself. Shuffling her shoulder bag higher up her body, she got to work. Nearly three hours later, and she was near the verge of tears. So far, she hadn’t uncovered a single bit of evidence to support her cause - she was even having a hard time accurately pinpointing how old the church was. From all outward appearances, it was a lot younger than she had originally accessed. But....she ran her hand over a dusty pew. It didn’t make sense. Could all of those documents have been forgeries? If so, someone put a lot of time and effort into it....Climbing behind the ruins of the pulpit, the floor gave way so suddenly under her that she didn’t even have time to squeal. Tumbling ass over shoulders, she skidded down what felt like a sharp slope until finally sliding to a stop. Stunned, she lay there for long moments, blinking dust and debris from her eyes. Her stockings were now definitely torn, her skirt one last gash of fabric around her waist, and she had nearly lost a sleeve. Under the torn fabric, her sienna skin blossomed with long scarlet scratches. Reaching up, she gingerly felt around her left eye. She’d smacked into something on the way down, and her eye was throbbing. Hissing, she quickly snatched her hand away. That was probably going to be one hell of a black eye in the next few days.

“Aww, church,” she said, to no one in particular. Not like it mattered. Her voice had an odd resonance to it; she had to be somewhere like a cave. “Oooh, ‘like a cave’, very intelligent, Nelly. Genius. That’s why they pay you the big bucks.” Grumbling, she got to her feet, dusted her rear. And looked up. She could barely make out the dull yellow of street lights through the floor....huh. The floor. She didn’t FALL through; she’d triggered something to let her down here. The hole above her was far too neatly cut to imply she’d just staggered onto some weak wood.

As she stepped forward, her foot hit something firm. “Ow! Gawd!” Firm....yet familiar. And in the same spot that she always stubbed when she was walking around her apartment barefoot....! Reaching into her shoulder bag, she fished out her ever present flashlight. Her left hand going idly back to her eye, she grinned, a little bemused. “Probably what smacked me on the way down. So this is my fault,” and somehow, saying it out loud, she felt...better. Not like she was set up to fail. “This is incredible....” she mused, as she turned on the flashlight. A long arc of light cut through the dusty air, settled at her feet, and at just what she suspected. Books were strewn about the floor, as if someone had torn through the bookshelves, tossing them carelessly and left them where they fell. As she shone the light around, where she was became much more apparent - she was in a library. A massive library. Not uncommon below churches, true....She knelt to pick up the book she’d stubbed her toe on. It cracked open with a whisper of dust, exposing moldering paper and feather light handwriting. Moving her flashlight to her mouth, she held it between her teeth as she thumbed through the book. The language was English, but the style was old - older than she had originally expected from looking at the interior of the church. Had to be at least....god, mid-1620s? She couldn’t make heads or tails of the subject matter, though....at least, not standing up.

Two hours later, she had made herself somewhat of a nest in all of the books - going through each one and carefully cataloguing them by suspected age. All of the books she’d encountered were in English - and largely read as instructional books. How to milk cows. How to run the village. And so on. Her initial enthusiasm had waned - it seemed that her theory was incorrect. But this was helpful! Not the most exciting material in the world, but helpful.

Sighing, she picked up one last book. Her eyes felt like they were full of sand and burned from lack of sleep. Her left one was beginning to fight all of her efforts to keep it open, and based on how the shadows had changed outside, daylight was close. 5 hours spent exploring a moldy old church on a Friday night. No wonder she didn’t have any luck with men. Opening it, she began to thumb through it before freezing. This book was old. Older than anything else she’d encountered so far. And in Latin. That was....promising. Sitting up, she began to pour over the words. “Ohmygosh...this is a grimoire!” Her voice was unnaturally loud in the gloom, and with a bit of sheepishness, she lowered it. “Spells, potions, summoning....” She grinned, looking over the summoning spell.

“ ‘Heart’s Desire,’” she read aloud. “Aw, book. You’re playing with my emotions,” she demurred, running her fingers over the page. “Maybe it’s the lack of sleep talking, honey, or I’m just that desperate to continue the research I found down here, but casting you sure doesn’t seem like a bad idea.” Looking over the spell, she shaped the words with her mouth soundlessly, stumbling over a pronunciation, then correcting herself. Kneeling on the floor, she drew the required circle, following the diagram in the book. Standing up and dusting off her knees, she picked up the book, held it aloft.

“Here goes nothing.....God, if Perkins saw me doing this, I would never live it down....”

The St. Andrew's Church had been built atop the most ancient of ley lines in the world. No one of the modern age knew what a ley line was of course. They lived in the age of science... of understanding nothing and knowing that everything had to be explained by the 'smartest' of man. Physics, power... it was all in the eye of the beholder truly... and it was a farce.

A very well contrived and created farce... but one none the less. There had, and always would be stories. Stories came in the form of tales... she had heard many tales of spirits and guides, of the evils and good of the lands... the world was a ripe and ancient place... and there was no true respect given to the realms of the supernatural. Sometimes... things were beyond comprehension. Sometimes... the sound in the night wasn't just the tree branch scratching over the window pane.

The church had been built... and burned down... and re-built again in the eighteenth century, which was the reason her initial investigation had revealed nothing. The information in the church wasn't old... it was interesting... but there was no record of the re-building... it simply was. She did not realize what was happening within the town... she knew that there were those whom wanted to take the church and build something new... but there were more ancient forces as well.

The sixth seat of the sixth pulpit held the trigger for the underground area... she didn't even realize it until she was already through... the floor of course gave way... the books beneath the catacombs were still useful... and were information from well before. They were aged... but they held no real 'power'... the hours that she had spent were of course until that point seeming to be for a loss. After all none of the books would actually prove that this church warranted being saved.

Then... came the grimoire. It was much older... by a good two hundred years... the Latin was ancient... the pages seemed so brittle... and yet held their form so well... the ancient covering was made of some type of flesh... and the title was accurate.

The initial pages were recipes... recipes for potions... potions to heal, potions to increase abilities... it would of course seem far fetched to the mind of the modern... but then the summoning page came to her view. " Heart's Desire." It read... the page showed in the upper left the image of a being... it was a silhouette, so it was of course difficult to make out exactly what it was... but it was humanoid. In the center was the outline of the circle... and even as she explored she could see that upon the ground nearby, there were creases in the form of that circle. It wasn't difficult to replicate it, as there was a shelf which held the white chalk, it sufficing to create the circle.

Even as she picked herself back up the book was heavy... a good twenty pounds and worth incredibly much more than anything she had found. As she pondered over the intelligence of her next actions She decided to continue with her actions.

" Vos obsecro, unum antiquum. Prodiit mihi quod volo. Tibi innocens immolatus vocat. Imple cor meum ... quod volo inanis. "

Her words rang across the room... as she spoke the first portion, the center lines of the circle began to glow... as she completed the second portion, the inner lines began to glow... and when she completed the spell... the entire circle glowed a bright brilliant blue... fire and plumes of smoke seemed to rise from the circle as the scent of sulfur seemed to be hanging within the air.

For a moment it would seem like nothing further would happen... but the circle began to spin... slowly at first... as though a connection was being 'dialed', and all she could do at first was stand... and watch. The circle began to spin faster and faster though until finally it suddenly lifted from the ground. As it did she could see a dark barrier being created... the circle lifted eight feel into the air... before it paused. The circle had created a door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azazel had been 'locked' within the realms of the nether for millennium upon millennium now. Time within the nether was much different than it was within the mortal realms. The ancient evils of the world were there, chained and controlled in a way that would bring no harm to the humans... the ancient battle of good versus evil for all time did continue... though out of the sight, beyond the minds of the humans. There were times though... times when a human would be silly enough to summon a demon. Sometimes, they did summon them correctly... with the the circle, and the barter being done correctly. For most demons... within that case they did acquiesce to their demands, after all it then created the legends and fables of those things that went 'bump' in the night.

Yet most of the time, the summons weren't done correctly... and that lead to a demons 'play time'. For when not controlled, it was all about the type of demon that was summoned. If it was a demon of pain and battle, there was a blood bath... if it was a demon of trickery... usually a case of madness for the human whom failed... and in Azazel's case... when he was summoned and not fully controlled... the demon of lust usually claimed a pet, and kept them for all eternity. It wasn't often that he was summoned these days though. Most just wanted to leave the old powers alone... knowing better... but every few thousand years, usually one human was 'silly' enough to unlock his 'cage' and let him out to play.

It had been a long time indeed, since Azazel had tasted the sense of freedom. Even as he remained within the nether, he felt the callings of different portals. Most, were too far away to even consider 'going to', while others were almost within reach, yet not truly; it was almost a cruel torture... being so close, and yet so far. Each demon was chained until a portal appeared near them... and the dispondant Azazel had begun to think that no portal would come near him again. It seemed those whom summoned demons these days wanted the demons of war. It made him wonder if they had taken themselves to war. The last time Azazel had been summoned he had been in the time of Merlin... when the mage had wanted someone for a princess. That had been a long time ago now... and so when the portal appeared almost blazingly beside him... he groaned in annoyance over the light.

When the realization finally hit him though he jerked upright, pulling on the chains before they snapped, releasing him, he flying right through that portal and into the circle that the human woman had summoned him with. The portal flickered, the circle seeming to fluctuate under the power of itself... and yet after a moment it waned. The six and a half foot tall demon wasn't the largest... he was not as strong as his brothers of war... he did not have the crazed looks of his sisters of trickery... but he had a lithe look to him... a dark presence as his eyes flickered a golden hue... before they settled upon her. Stretching a bit... his black feathered wings folded against his back as he had curved horns which reached backwards over his head and curved easily there.

" Whom summons me?" He purred... his voice was liquid lust... merely being in the presence of an incubus could drive a female to a heat like state of pleasure... and one could only imagine what he could do if he actually touched her. Yet for now he looked bemusedly to her.. she seemed to have not expected him to actually appear... but here he was... demon... incubus released. He could help her... he could fulfill her hearts desire... Azazel could fulfill many desires that she probably had. He had to admit though... she looked a bit banged up right then... but he didn't judge. She had freed him... so he would see what the human wanted of him. Besides... it had been SO long since he had been 'let out'... he was curious how the world had changed!

Azazel.​

Okay, so this looks bad.

Looks...way bad. Beyond belief. And she knew she probably should have stopped the minute her voice went all “echo-y.” Even with the acoustics under the church, that wasn’t anywhere close to normal. Not by a long shot. But as soon as she started, she realized that she couldn’t stop. Something else was moving her to speak, to finish casting the spell. It shot through her body; grasped her heart, and lent more power to her voice than she ever thought that she could have. And in the midst of the blinding light, her eyes stayed open, alight with a strength that came only from the arcane.


Oh lord.

Aw, book.

Massively sexy demon man. Demon? Well, he couldn’t be an angel. Not with that voice that dripped sex. No way. And Penelope stood tall, closing the book and held it neatly under her left arm. And she thought about her advanced degrees, the lectures she’d given, the acclaim she’d received, and that one time when she was in the Amazon and had to eat some sort of giant lizard. And she licked her lips and cleared her throat and prepared herself to give a rousing speech on the impossibleness that had just happened in front of her.

“Uh.” She took a staggered step back, nearly slipping on one of the neat piles of books. As daylight began to break through the top of the hole, she glanced up. Early Saturday morning. Luckily enough for her, she didn’t work on the weekends. Well, at least not in the sense that she was going to get paid. Weekends were always awesome for uninterrupted research. More troubling - he wasn’t going away. And something was happening. Not a bad something - no, it was....wow. She unconsciously rubbed her thighs together. Man. Did someone turn up the heat or what? The air had gone from stale, moldy, to heady with the rich scent of seduction, of exotic ancient perfumes and her mouth was dry.

“Uh....” She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, rubbed it. “Huh. Aw, book,” she sighed, and shuffled it. “So....” And this was fighting against every single natural instinct in her body - a third of them telling her to stay there, the other to run screaming, and last third telling her to get rid of the rest of her clothes and jump on this man who just flat out asked her what she desired and my god, it had been too long since anyone had even hinted that at her.

“So....I bet I just read that spell without even thinking about what I was saying, so I have no idea who you are or what you want or....” and she stopped again, her words dying in her mouth. “Ar.....Are you even real? Wh....What are you?”

Oh it was 'bad'... bad for all the little schoolgirls whom thought that religion was nothing but a stuffy amount of preaching. As soon as her voice began the spell... her body was bound to the spell. Well that wasn't quite accurate... it wasn't bound to the spell... it was bound more to the grimoire's power. Such a power was truly frightening in the fact that it could move her words.

Even as she came to look upon the demon though... indeed her sense of deduction was astounding... she was certainly a credit to her degree as well as her sex of people. His dark hair mixed perfectly with his perfect skin... the dark demonic marks were stunning... and only enhanced his beauty. Usually the word beauty was reserved for a being of the female gender... but if one was to give Azazel a description... it would be beautiful.

He looked around even as she noticed the sunlight... and even as she began to speak, his attention returned to her. In the instant he had looked away the sensations that had floated through her had waned ever so slightly... and even as she shuffled the grimoire, he nodded to her explanation. " Merlin." He purred... his singular word seeming to explain it all. " That is his grimoire." he mused, and even as she stopped again... he noticed the flushed look to her flesh... even as he licked his lips he stepped towards her.

" I am quite real... the summoning was real, the power is real." He punctuated each word, and each word seemed to hum through her... sending coursing desire into her lovely body. " Aren't those clothes hot? and this is certainly not the place for such a conversation... Come here." He purred, and even as she would be doubting him her body would move on it's own accord.

As she reached him though he reached out and touched her, before they dissapeared. This was not the first time Azazel had been on this plane of existence... and even as he teleported them they appeared far... far away within the halls of a maintained castle chamber... the candles lighting from his presence... but he regarded her.

" I am Azazel... and you... are my mistress." He purred as he looked to her... his earlier suggestion to remove her clothing still hanging in the air... but being so close to him... well the sensations that she had been feeling only amplified. He seemed to focus though for a moment and his form slightly shifted... the black wings vanished... the markings dissapeared... along with the horns... before her stood a handsome male whom wore nothing but a black pair of pants which seemed to threaten to pool around his ankles at any moment.

With her being so close though... he was rather hungry after not being able to feed off a females pleasure for millennial upon end... so he waited to see if she would willingly remove her clothing, or if she would make it a game of not wanting it while wanting it. He could smell her desire... it wasn't hard with how near to the sex demon she was.

“Merlin? You’ve got-“ before she could finish, they were magically (magically? Oh lord.) transported to the castle. “To…be…kidding….” She trailed off, her dark eyes widening, struggling to take in the new world that she found herself in. In the corner of her mind, she kicked herself for not being able to instantly place the time period of the castle by now. So caught up in being spirited away, she virtually ignored his sultry entreaty a s she let her hand slip from his. Looking around, she took a few tentative steps forward, as if she was afraid that the floor would suddenly collapse under her. Finding the floor to be firm, she gave a tiny start as the candles burst into flame around her.


“Okay…So, either this is the most lucid dream I’ve ever had, something was in those cookies, or when I fell I actually hit my head very hard and I’m dying. What did you say your name was again? Seriously. Once I get your name, I can figure out what god you serve and hope that he or she or it is reasonable enough to listen to my pleadings about being returned back to the land of the living. There was so much more I needed to do…! Well, I mean, sort of. I don’t think anyone would legitimately miss me, and it might be fun to be all spirit-like and sit in on my own funeral, but I mean, I also need to know what kind of afterlife I’m looking at here. I didn’t think I did anything that bad. Well, I guess it depends on what deity you serve. Oh, I’m totally not a virgin, just so you know. But you probably already knew. What is this, gothic?” and she gestured to the rest of the castle.


“Okay, wait…did you ask me if I was too hot and to take off my clothes? Or did I mishear that? What?” Incredulity showed in her face – in her own little quirk, the tip of her nose wrinkled. “You’re going to have to do some explaining.” When she finally paused long enough to take in air through her barrage of questions…huh. She was…actually warm. Though the décor in the castle suggested that she might be freezing, or at least chilly from all of the bizarre that had just happened to her, she felt almost as if she was lounging on a beach. Well, that, and the unmistakable flare of desire between her legs. The quieter she was, the stronger it grew. So strong it was nearly tangible; felt like hands on her thighs, gently poking at the crotch of her panties. Her face flushed, she licked her lips, idly. Suddenly, her throat was very, very dry.


Those eyes. They were molten gold, cunning, calculating, cold. Full of intent…intent to do what he wanted with her, regardless of what she said. To be looked at with such eyes, to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was wanted….honestly wanted….Her breath left her in soft gasps over her parted lips, and nervously, she ran a hand through her tousled dreadlocks, not caring that her hand was covered in dust and weeping cuts. “I….”

Azazel looked to her as she seemed to be caught within the realms of her own mind. Considering what he had just 'done' though it wasn't all that surprising really. Her dis-belief in what was before her was rather interesting, though Azazel had felt how the shift in the world was there. This was a very much different world than the one within which he had roamed last he had been released. As she released his hand he did not hold claim to it, and instead as she gave a tiny start with the lighting of the candles, her words amused him.

Even as she was rambling and trying her very best to make sense of what was going on he chuckled. " You aren't dead." He informed her as he moved through the room. The architecture of the castle spoke of being from the tenth century, and clearly was of a Roman design. She was the anthropologist after all, but Azazel paid no heed really to her queries. " I would be a fool to simply give you my name. After all it is clear that when a mistress knows one's name, they gain power over their demon." He remarked.

Even as she showed incredulity in her face Azazel but smiled as she said that he had a lot of explaining to do. He waited patiently for her to quiet down though. After all it would be a few moments before the effects of the incubus would affect her, and even as she seemed to lose the nerve that was in her voice, Azazel had moved over to the window, looking out he was shocked at what he saw. Off in the distance was a small town which had not been there before. The grounds of his home were un-kept, and even as he seemed to take all this information in, she had certainly seemed to 'grasp' better the sensations that he caused within her.

As her breath left her in soft gasps, he followed the rise and fall of her chest. " Information is not free. If you wish to know more, I will trade." He remarked as he seemed to consider. " One piece of clothing, for one question." He purred, his voice silken and divine, reaching into her senses, stroking her mind as though a welcome lover. He DID want her, but he was feeling slightly playful. Besides, giving up some information wasn't going to doom him to forever be stuck with her.

As she had summoned him she DID have some control over him. Yet she was clearly not aware of this, and Azazel certainly was NOT about to tell her that. Instead he simply considered his options as he moved to the large bed. The black silken sheets were maintained. If nothing else, the servant whom had maintained his room had kept up with the task, though it was a good twenty generations, the servants bloodline was tied to Azazel. He moved though and sat, lounging back onto his arms as he regarded her.

Her admission that she wasn't a virgin only made him all the more interested in her. He rather disliked virgins. They cried far too much for his liking, and while his gaze made it very clear that she WAS going to end up on that bed with him, he seemed rather fixated on seeing the body that she kept hidden beneath her clothes. " So, what shall it be? A question, for a piece of clothing. Also, shoes come in a pair, along with jewelry." he remarked, knowing the 'game' quite well.

She looked down at her ripped and battered clothing and took stock:

1. One ripped long sleeve blouse, currently missing a sleeve,

2. One pencil skirt, with nasty tear in back that exposed her panties,

3. Strings of nylon around her legs that used to be panty hose,

4. No shoes,

5. No jewelry,

6. One very unflattering granny bra,

7. One pair of semi-flattering panties

Ticking off what she had on in her head, she nodded slightly as she went through each item. By the way he was lounging on the bed with those, “I am going to make you scream so loud God will hear it” eyes and those loose pants, his game was obviously to get her in bed. Obviously. And no, she hadn’t missed the “demon” quip. Putting two and two together, she sighed. An incubus. Great. How the hell was an incubus going to erase her student loan debt?

But.

Whatever he was doing to her – and she could pick up on the unnatural rush of desire-, she couldn’t complain about it. It was making her hot – she could feel the desire just pouring off of him and she wanted to drown in the ocean he was providing. The ocean of his dick. Dick ocean. She giggled a little, sighing, “Ah, dick ocean.”

Okay. Back on target. “Okay, so you know this isn’t fair, right? And that’s not a question; it’s a statement,” she added. With the way things went, she maybe had the chance for three questions before she was down to her undies and she was pretty sure that once that happened, the time for questions would have been long past and she’d have other things to occupy her mind.

Might as well enjoy it. If he was an incubus, that meant that he was guaranteed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, to be the best fucking lay of her life. Now, would that be worth her immortal soul or whatever would be…worth finding out. Without further preamble, she clambered ungracefully onto the bed, still favoring the nasty knock on the head she’d gotten.

Flopping down next to him, she ran her hands over the sheets. “Okay, so these are fantastic sheets. Seriously.” Was it the pheromones or magic or whatever he was loading the air with that allowed her to suspend her disbelief, or just her giving in to what her body was screaming at her that she needed? Well, she’d always had a sense of adventure.

“So, we’re going to end up fucking like mad, I’m sure,” she said with an air of matter of fact playfulness, “But I’d like to know at what expense. What is the price that I pay for having you in my service – and as your mistress, I say that you are forbidden to lie to me, or this contract is dissolved. Get me?”

There was a calm subtly to him that seemed to be within everything he did. It spoke of eons upon eons of knowledge... power and confidence. At no time had Azazel been a 'lowly' being. Even before the fall, Azazel had been a shepherd. It was when God had demanded that the angels bow down to humans that Lucifer, Azazel and many others had cried out in protest. Beyond that, his spirit, and soul had been twisted by anger, betrayal and hate. Yet his very being had remained as it had been. While others had turned to misery and pain, Azazel had remained his core... a shepherd.

As she seemed to curse the fact that she had summoned an incubus Azazel seemed to appraise her. He was curious if he should tell her that he could 'read' her surface thoughts or not... and instead decided against it. It was more fun to toy with her, to let her wonder what he did and did not know, as opposed to simply letting it out of the 'bag' so to speak. As she seemed to come to the acceptance stage of realization, Azazel but nodded to her as she mentioned the sheets.

" Only the finest of silken sheets." He explained, though as she was closer, his effect upon her magnified, coupling with her own natural desire, Azazel looked to her curiously as she asked that. " Oh we're going to fuck like mad, afterwards I will fuck you and you will come until you cannot cum any longer." He mused calmly, though even as she forbode him from lying to her, he chuckled dryly, though his eyes took on a sharp edge.

" I will not lie to you mistress." His voice for that moment had taken on a dis-embodied tone, and even as he seemed to regain himself, he seemed shocked over the experience, but he shrugged. " You will lose nothing, nothing but time." He purred as he looked to her. That WAS the truth of the matter. " The price of my summoning is that your time will be consumed by your pleasures." He responded though he regarded her carefully.

" You hold the power in the arrangement mistress, and while I may not be able to simply get rid of your student loans, I CAN arrange for different situations with different people, seduce them, and cause them to grant certain favors to you." He mused, though he added. " You wish to save the church where you summoned me correct? I could seduce your opponent, and using some demon magic, along with physical pleasure will change their minds." He remarked, though he considered her.

" Come now, certainly you aren't going to give in an allow me to enjoy your delightful body? Even with the bra not being enticing, I can see that you ache for more than simply sitting beside an incubus and seething in your own arousal." He purred tauntingly, though he turned towards her and letting out a breath the air thickened around her, seeming to caress over her face and neck in all her sensitively erotic spots, meanwhile Azazel waited patiently. He knew it was only a matter of time before she 'gave in'.

When she did, the games could truly begin!

Well, at least he had a sense of style. The idea of a hellspawn with a beer belly and a stained, hole-filled tank top flitted across her mind and she snickered. Realistically, there were much worse ways to go about it. As he spoke, she unbuttoned the tattered remains of her one-sleeved blouse. As arousal coursed through her, she was struck by the idea of perhaps letting it slide from her shoulders, sultry like. It was pretty obvious that he knew the effect he was having on her – and it’d been so long for her that any idea of acting shy or bashful had really gone out the window the minute he settled on the bed. They were both consenting adults (adult-ish, close enough?), so what difference did it make? And it wasn’t like he’d really be able to slut shame her or anything afterwards (unless she asked) since she was apparently his mistress.

But, in her attempt to shrug one shoulder out, she effectively got herself tangled in it (how, God only knows) and after a few muffled, “Wait, I got it….give me a minute….Aw, shirt….” she worked herself free, her hair mussed all the more for her efforts and the shirt thrown (with a little added force) to the floor. So, sitting in front of him, unflattering grandma bra and all, she twisted a bit to put her body better on display.

Ah. That (or rather, “those”) would probably be the reason for the grandma bra. Her breasts were her secret weapon – firm, full, and sat gravity defyingly high on her chest. Hey, there was no rule that said that academics couldn’t be attractive (daresay, sexy) – after all. She just dressed….terribly. Her figure was slimmer than her clothes would let on, and her arms were deceptively muscled under the fabric. “So, if I understand you correctly, you cannot lie to me, and that the carnal carnival I’m about to throw myself into won’t cost me my soul.” She leaned over; lightly raked her short nails down his sculpted chest. “So here’s my next question: what is the extent of my power over you?”

Brazenly now, she moved closer, pillowing her chest against his arm, her dark eyes locked with his. Her left hand, shifting down his chest, rested openly on his crotch. Gently, almost as if he’d imagined it, she ran her hand along the length of his phallus, hoping to coax it into awakening. No point in fighting it now. Not that she didn’t have more questions – those would come later.

Oh young demons wouldn't have style... but Azazel had been around for a very long time if his sense of composure within the face of being summoned by someone whom didn't have an idea what they were doing could. Most would have already been dead for their insolence, but it had been a long time since he had actually done that.

As she was considering her own thoughts though Azazel had reached over and running his hand over her thigh, he smirked as she got up, seeming to have come to a decision. Even as he watched though, he chuckled as the dark flesh of the human came into view. As she did though he could see the reasoning behind the 'grandma style bra', though he beckoned her to remove it as well before she would approach him.

As she asked that though he smirked. " No, I take energy. if I were to take you on a sex ride for a week I would effectively drain you of enough energy to kill you." He replied matter of factly, though even as he said that as she moved to him and pillowed her chest against his.. and even as she straddled his thighs and tried to coax him to awaken he smirked ever so slightly. " Luckily for you I have learned many years ago that random female deaths lead to my own banishment much more quickly, and I would like to enjoy this freedom for now." He purred.

Even as she rested her hand onto his crotch he allowed himself to harden, and beneath the black silken pants she could feel the length. Nine inches of demonic cock... she had yet to 'free it', and thus had yet to see it in all it's glory. Yet he looked to her. His form could change to any male being... there were many fantasies that she could explore with Azazel.

Since she seemed to have 'given in' though he didn't answer her question about how much control she had. Instead he flipped them over, sending her rolling onto the bed as he climbed over her. His eyes swirled darkly even as his close proximity set her pheromones off on an all time high, and even as he did he looked to her.

" Besides, you don't want all the answers." He purred as he leaned down and sucked onto her nipple, pulling on it before he released it. " Do you?" He was already going to enjoy her... she knew that... but she was at least going to enjoy it and be masterfully fucked... of that there was no doubt!