The Highway to Hell and Back

[Veroe]

((Closed for Myself and Obuzeti))​

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IC: Mara Soirressei

Mara strode into the biker bar, Ace of Spades, sitting just off the offramp to the highway to hell. It was a little dive just off the famed Route 66 as it ran through Arizona. Licking her lips she searched the collected patrons inside. Disregarding the ones that were too fat, too high, or too drunk. Those were already eliminated, even before she began to look with her third eye, the secret eye, the eye of a Succubus that has seen centuries of humanity. She'd seen their strengths and triumphs, and their flaws and defeats. Through it she saw everything she'd want to know about her prey tonight.

It was slim pickings being a weeknight. Only a few were sinful enough to enjoy right away. She was looking for fast food tonight.-the equivalent of a simple happy meal. She really didn't have the time or the energy to invest her time properly seducing and corrupting an innocent soul.

Feeling frustrated Mara ordered a bottle of beer at the bar. Maybe she should call tonight off, go home, get some sleep. She might even get up early tomorrow and get some real work done on her painting. It would be shame though. Her master didn't let her have much in the way of free time these days. There were always more would be allies to reward with a night under her wickedly tender ministrations, or to punish with her not-so-tender but still wicked ministrations. There were always new recruits for her to seduce, new enemies to assassinate. From the shadows her master turned the wheels of the world's powers that be using her as the grease.

She enjoyed it of course, she was a succubus from Hell originally, but....a girl needed her freedom, and she hated him for enslaving her to his slightest whims. Yet what else could she do but obey the man that literally held her soul in his hands.

She had to obey him. Creatures such as her didn't have tales of rising to the top to comfort them when the boot was on their necks. No, she lived on the bottom-the very bottom. It was her world, full of her kind of people. She could grovel in the muck and shit with the best-or rather the worst-of them. She could obey and worse even convince herself it was what she wanted. As if she had any choice in it at all.

But not tonight. She was given a rare night where she could do what she wanted for once. And what she wanted most was to drown her woes in large quantities of liquor. Find an appropriate piece of meat to fuck to death, and feast on their soul in the morning.

But alas there were no appropriately big and naughty dicks to lure here to their last and greatest night of their short and ordinary lives tonight. She'd have to cast her hook in the water elsewhere.

Without bothering to pay for her the now empty bottle of beer she got up and walked out the bar for her bike when someone reached out to grab her arm. "Hey you gotta pay for that."

"Get your fucking hands off me, mother fucker," She roared balling her free hand into a fist and throwing a punch for the asshole's face. It made a satisfying sound as it connected. The man landed swearing viciously at her on the floor. Another began to rise from his seat nearby-whether to help him or just to get out of the way-she didn't care. She picked up his pitcher of beer and smashed it over his head. Kneeing another in the crotch-it was a tiny and useless thing to her anyway.

A barroom brawl wasn't her preferred method of exorcising her frustrations. She much preferred a nicely bruising round of hard rough and tumble fucking, but tonight she'd take whatever sort of violence she could get.

Just then two strong arms wrapped around her pinning her arms to the side and pulling her against a hard-muscled body, but that wasn't the thing that caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her tight denim covered ass pressed against his crotch, and she knew dick-sizes by feel and whoever had her from behind was hung like a minotaur.

Fighting shivers of desire for the howitzer her asscheeks were copping a feel of Mara wiggled managing to get a good look at her captor over her shoulder. A good look with her succubus' eyes.

Fuck her shitty luck tonight!!!

Being a monster, such as a succubus, one learned to stay out of the way of knights in shining armor, and here one had her in his arms.

 

[Obuzeti]

The arm wrapped around Mara is olive and limber, and pulls her back against a form taller than she is by a head, judging by how a chin settles atop hers. A husky, masculine voice murmurs near her ear, "It is too nice a night to ruin with a night in jail, yes? Take a breath, paxivalin."

He slides by, and there is a glimpse of a dusky-skinned man with dark hair and eyes, mischievous and lidded before he is gone to help the three men she'd crumpled in seconds, with long fingers trailing along her ribs as he grants her a by-blow of a wink. The one she'd kneed is completely out of commission, on the ground trying his best not to cry; it'd been a solid hit. One with a freshly blooming black eye, his blood still up, comes right past the other and takes a swing at this newcomer, who slides under it with a dancer's grace and right up to the other man's face.

But there is no return swing. Instead, he swings around the man like a dance partner, clipping the back of his ankle with a heel, and dumps him right back in his seat with a whuff of expelled air from the impact. Then a full mug of pale ale is shoved into his hands, and the angry fighter is forced to abort his attempt to rise in order to prevent from spilling it all over himself. "My apologies," Mr. White Knight says, with a full bow - sidestepping the attempt at a kick that comes his way anyways. "Continue drinking, sir. I'll have her to rights."

With his face already pounded and a fresh beer in his hands, already sitting down and mildly winded, the heavyset older man's neck flushes, but he turns back to his beer nonetheless.

Dark Eyes turns to the last man, down on the ground with shards of glass in his hair and littered about his form. He's bleeding, but head wounds are always profuse. Those eyes flick about, narrow: he smiles.

"First aid kit is behind the bar, yes? Get some bandages, tend to your friend. That much blood doesn't look good," he says consolingly, patting the man who's curled over his crotch on the ground. "It hurts, but you will be fine. I promise. I'll go call the authorities."

Dark Eyes comes up to a stand, takes hold of Mara's elbow authoritatively, and steps outside. "Come along!" he says, rather self-importantly, "No more damage here, let's step outside!"

His eyes flicker over to her, and he smiles, something between playfulness and a plead. In contrast to his words, his grip is soft, simply cradling her elbow as he steps towards the door of the bar.

The rest of him is easier to see now; a graceful body broadened by physical labor, tanned and olive skin in a buttoned shirt and jeans that were definitely a little too tight, with a little slice of that caramel skin on display between the three opened buttons. Far from the usual crowd of an Arizonan bar, and there's a foreign tang to his words, a harshness on consonants that sounds European, somehow, Germanic. His fingers on her elbow are callused and broad, and he moves with a slick confidence that would probably set these Midwestern folks on edge if he let any of them pay attention to it.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

Just then two strong arms wrapped around her pinning her arms to the side and pulling her against a hard-muscled body, but that wasn't the thing that caused her breath to catch in her throat. Her tight denim covered ass pressed against his crotch, and she knew dick-sizes by feel and whoever had her from behind was hung like a minotaur.

Fighting shivers of desire for the howitzer her asscheeks were copping a feel of Mara wiggled managing to get a good look at her captor over her shoulder. A good look with her succubus' eyes.

Fuck her shitty luck tonight!!!

Being a monster, such as a succubus, one learned to stay out of the way of knights in shining armor, and here one had her in his arms.

Mr. Lancelot was tall, easily able to rest his chin on the top of her head. She struggled to be free of him, but he held her in his strong arms inescapably. "Let go of me, cocksucker!"

His head had lowered so he could speak into her ear. "It is too nice a night to ruin with a night in jail, yes?"

Her spend a night in jail? That was an interesting thought. As interesting as throwing a hungry tigress in a cell filled with lambs. Dinner time. Of course her stay in jail would be over within the hour. Her master would never allow his slave to be confined by anyone-that was not him.

His voice had a low soothing rumble, and Mara could feel some of the frustration she was venting evaporating under its influence. It should have fueled her fire rather than quench it. Her anger was one of the few things she could honestly say was something she owned.

"Take a breath, paxivalin." He finished pushing to the side as he promptly and efficiently dealt with the three men she had assaulted. She watched her Mr. Lancelot with a wide eyed stare as he set about setting right to all the chaos she had made in this piece of shit bar.

With a huff, "Fuck this," rising to storm out of the bar.

Someone took hold of her elbow.

"Don't fucking touch me," She rounded snarling ready to give hell to anyone who dared to-

-It was her Mr. Lancelot.

"Come along!" he says, rather self-importantly, "No more damage here, let's step outside!"

"Why be such a killjoy," She smirked allowing him to lead her out of the bar. Fine. If fucking Mr. goody goody Lancelot wanted to drag her outside she would let him. She wanted to leave this shithole bar anyway.

Once they were through the door Mara smiled to him jerking her arm out of his grasp. She strutted over to her beloved Harley Davidson giving Mr. Lancelot a good view of how well the tight jeans she wore showcased her ass in motion. The bike was one of the few possessions that was hers and not given to her by her master. She had earned every dollar she had used to buy it on her own. This motorcycle was hers in a way that meant so much to her.

She lifted her helmet in her arms before turning to look over to Mr. Lancelot. "That how you spend a weeknight...spoiling a girl's good time?" She pulled the helmet on her head and straddled her bike. "Swooping in like a superhero sticking that big dick in your pants into other people's business?"

 

[Obuzeti]

The man hums deep in his throat, eyes falling to watch the rolling flex of her walk; they're not quite painted on, but every time her hips sway the curve of her ass comes out. It's deliberate and predatory, and puts a smile on his face because that's a challenge he'd like to rise to the occasion of. He saunters closer and carefully does not touch the bike. "No," he says, low and satisfied. "I do not spoil."

He cocks a hip and plants a fist on it, leaning back, looking down at this minx astride her Harley. The angle draws back the hem of his shirt, leaving a stripe of olive skin visible just above his jeans; flat, with the hint of sharp hipbones that peek out the side. "You didn't want them. I expedited the process."

The flat delivery is undercut by the crinkling of his eyes, and the sardonic curve of his mouth. He doesn't speak loud; a conversational undertone, rolled r's that grumble up like subterranean trains from his throat, and no stutters or wasted words. He waits before he speaks, pausing a second longer than someone else would wait to leap into the conversation, then delivers smoothly, unhurried. It's confidence.

The man lets his eyes flick down Mara's body, taking in the firm curve of her breasts under her shirt and the way she straddles that bike comfortably, and then offers a one-shouldered shrug and that silverfish smile, there and gone again. "You'd have won. But, as I said: jail is a shitty prize. I have a better offer."

He doesn't explain, and the sleepy lidding of his eyes doesn't need one. Nor does he touch her, for all the innuendo: she just finished laying out three men in about as many seconds. For all that she's talking about his cock, she might well reach up and try to pull it off if he says the wrong thing.

But he doesn't think he is, looking at that devil-may-care smirk on her face, and how she had ground back against him in that split second of holding her back, ass firm against his shaft.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

She lifted her helmet in her arms before turning to look over to Mr. Lancelot. "That how you spend a weeknight...spoiling a girl's good time?" She pulled the helmet on her head and straddled her bike. "Swooping in like a superhero sticking that big dick in your pants into other people's business?"

He leaned back hand on a cocked hip as deep and sultry eyes roamed over her as she leaned forward giving him a good look at her ass. She in turn looked him over, eyes alighting on the show of skin as his shirt parted with a catch of breath. Damnation, this one was her brand of temptation...but alas...there was just too little time to properly seduce him.

"No, I do not spoil." He said in a sexy low rumble, "You didn't want them. I expedited the process."

"My, aren't you the astute one," She purred with a mischievous air, "Still a woman my size versus a bar room full of drunk men that easily outweigh me. Were you trying to rescue me or them?"

"You'd have won," He answered with a shrug and an all too tempting a smile, "But, as I said: jail is a shitty prize. I have a better offer."

An eyebrow arched and she waited for him to elaborate. In turn he just stood there waiting like a fisherman with a hook in the water waiting for her to bite.

A slow wicked little smile began to lift the corner of her luscious lips. She pulled her helmet onto her head and kicked the Harley's engine to life. "I assume you came here on a bike or in a car..."

She looked up at him with all the promises that could be conveyed in a eye to eye look between a man and a woman that was fully eagerly willing to rock his world tonight. "...I'll make you a deal, my brave and sexy knight in shining armor. You catch me...and I'll take you up on your offer."

With that she roared out of the bar's parking lot and back onto the highway. Soon she was rocketing down the road well past any posted speed limit. The wicked smile now fully grown on her face.

Who had who on the hook now?

 

[Obuzeti]

He cocks an eyebrow and smiles as the woman peels off with a roar of her engine. Words are done with. She wants to ride - she wants to challenge. It's all in the crookedness of her smile and the vicious pop of her hips, leaning forward far enough that he could see the smooth skin of her back over the fall of her hair, just over the lip of her jeans.

Danior can respect that.

He's got his own blood up. A woman like that, ready to fight off an entire bar? Race, blood pumping, as fast as the engine can go? Makes him wonder what she'd feel like, hips pumping on top of him, or pinned underneath his weight for however long he can manage it; she has the taste of a wildcat. A few scratches, preferably on his back, are fine.

He strides, barely managing not to run, over to his own motorcycle, his one great indulgence: a Motto Gatti El Dorado, a highway rider and state crosser. Big and mean, bags and racks removed for a lethal, black-and-chrome ride that goes for hours at a time. A Harley is a beast, but can't ride triple digits for long; he'll catch up unless she pulls off to some dinky house-on-a-highway in the next three minutes.

Danior kind of doubts that, though. If she doesn't want to be caught, she at least wants the fight.

He dons his helmet; guns the engine, tongue running over his lips. Time to ride.

~*~

He follows the highway straight out, and this late the highway's empty - the closest speed trap is in the other direction, and he took the flat-open road in the hopes that Miss Spitfire is in the mood to play. It takes a bit - she really did open up on the throttle, no fucks given at all - but his motorcycle rides easier at the high speeds, and he pulls behind her.

At these speeds the wind howls, and the helmets can't come off. There's no words that can be heard, let alone said. So instead he guns the motor, revving it to the full 4200 RPM for a moment, drowning out even the high torque of the Harley for a moment. He's still got pedal to let out, and a bigger gas tank - he's ready to follow as long as she's leading.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

She looked up at him with all the promises that could be conveyed in a eye to eye look between a man and a woman that was fully eagerly willing to rock his world tonight. "...I'll make you a deal, my brave and sexy knight in shining armor. You catch me...and I'll take you up on your offer."

With that she roared out of the bar's parking lot and back onto the highway. Soon she was rocketing down the road well past any posted speed limit. The wicked smile now fully grown on her face.

Who had who on the hook now?

The interstate a few miles to the east made this stretch of the highway rarely used this late in the night. Consequently there was little traffic to hinder their chase, and Mara let the Harley go as fast it could cackling like a banshee as her would be knight in shining armor caught up to her. The only problem was she was running low on gas by now. At this rate she'd be walking her motorcycle home in the morning.

So, watching him in her rearview mirror she began to let off the gas, but if that led her pursuer to think he'd won their race she quickly disabused of that assumption. She pulled her bike directly ahead of his and keeping him behind her. Mara did not let him overtake her even slightly.

Over her shoulder she gave him a smug wolfish grin. "You want my ass tonight, Mr. Lancelot, you'll have to get past it."

 

[Obuzeti]

Behind her, almost deaf under the roaring of the wind as it screams past at over a hundred miles per hour, Danior squints through the dark visor of his helmet as the other bike sways over in front of him to block any overtake. The El Dorado isn't an off-road bike, so he'd prefer not to swerve onto the shoulder if he can help it, especially not at these speeds. She's brake checking him, and Danior will be damned if he lets that fly.

The night's dark, with the road only illuminated with faint moonlight and the blazing streak of their headlights - the highway too open and empty for lights now, just a long, dark stretch into the horizon. With a flex of his hands, even that last cuts off, and his motorcycle turns into a dim roar in the darkness, almost invisible. He doesn't care how good this woman's vision is, after ruining her night vision staring into her own headlights for so long she won't be able to see a damn thing behind her now.

That said, running dark is definitely its own risk, and he has to navigate almost exclusively using the reflective strips down the center divider. Danior drifts to the right and gives it a little gas, just enough to ride up on her side without immediately making contact. If she swerves, he's still got time to react before they wreck each other.

His heart's pounding, no lie. Both from the promise at the end of this, and the thrill of riding black, the only things he can see the little wide dots of the road and the long burn of the woman's headlights stretched ahead of them both. Behind that, she's just a lithe shape in the shadows.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

Over her shoulder she gave him a smug wolfish grin. "You want my ass tonight, Mr. Lancelot, you'll have to get past it."

She smiled looking ahead as the highway wound on ahead of them. She'd need to stop some time soon if she'd have enough in the tank left in the morning to head home, but she wasn't going to give up yet-not to him-not yet-not until her hero earned it.

The light behind her suddenly vanished. A glance at her rearview mirror showed the headlight of her pursuer's bike had vanished. She looked over her shoulder blinking her third eye, her eyes of a succubus, allowing her to see exactly what he was doing and where he was.

She turned back with an amused smile on her face. Going dark was a gutsy move. For that courage she allowed her knight and shining armor to come up alongside her. When he did they were neck and neck she edged her bike so they were side by side, dangerously close to eachother. There was now about a scant foot or so of distance between their bikes

It was as risky a maneuver. If either one of them weren't careful they could wipe out both bikes and they'd wind up roadkill. Mara reached behind her to the back pocket of the jeans that were molded over the contours of her ass. She pulled out something from them and then reached over carefully leaning, stretching over between their bikes to put what had been in her backpocket into his.

"You're going to need all of these tonight." She told him patting the new bulge in his pocket and lingering to cop a feel of the firm buttock underneath before returning upright to her bike.

If he bothered to look he'd find she had given him a strip of extra-large condoms.

She couldn't get pregnant-not unless she wanted to bear a demonspawn and her master had expressly forbade it-and the notion of her contracting a sexually transmitted disease was absolutely ludicrous. It was true that she could feed better from sexual intercourse when she received a man's semen, but she could do so as well whether he came inside or if his ejaculate made contact on her body or not. As long as the metaphysical connection of the act was between her and her prey she was nourished by it. So in that way the condoms hardly mattered. There was also the fact that she had found in this modern day and age having them made her prey more at ease. So she always kept some on her just for that.

Mara widened the distance between them to a point that was safer and waited to see what Mr. Lancelot would do next.

 

[Obuzeti]

She reaches over the space between their bikes and slides something into his back pocket, racing down the highway at illegal speeds, and it's at this moment that Danior realizes that this chick is legitimately crazy. It makes his blood boil, and as she gropes his ass, and says something almost lost to the howling wind, he decides he's definitely still going for it.

"When I catch up I'm going to bend you over that bike and fuck your brains out," he says, conversational, as she's leaned over the gap between them. His own hand crosses the distance, but rather than sneak a feel, his fingers latch onto the snap of her jeans and undo them before she pulls away and ahead, putting as much onto the gas as she can.

He wonders if they'll still be undone the next time he catches up. Then he checks his back pocket and realizes she gave him a packet of condoms.

Danior hammers the throttle and opens it up, pulling ahead of the woman just on raw engine power, then shoots her a glance over his shoulder instead of in the mirror. She's just a dark figure in the shadows of the evening, features covered by the dark glass of her helmet. There's a speed trap coming up that he knows of, and if she challenges, the local cops will be after them both - but cruisers can't keep up with the top speeds of these bikes. If running dark excites her, he'd bet money outrunning the cops would have her pants off. He raises a hand and pats his helmet in the universal biker sign for cops ahead, and then guns it even harder, flooring the pedal as much as he can.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

"You're going to need all of these tonight." She told him patting the new bulge in his pocket and lingering to cop a feel of the firm buttock underneath before returning upright to her bike.

If he bothered to look he'd find she had given him a strip of extra-large condoms.

Mara widened the distance between them to a point that was safer and waited to see what Mr. Lancelot would do next.

"When I catch up I'm going to bend you over that bike and fuck your brains out," Her supernatural hearing had caught his words over the howl of the wind as they bulleted down the open highway side by side. Then he had reached over as she had sampled an handful of his buttock and used a deft touch to unsnap her jeans.

In response she had smirked at him. It seemed her knight in shining armor was not such a boy scout after all. Tonight might become more fun for her than she had first thought looking at him. Maybe even a Succubus should learn not judge the quality of a fuck at first glance.

Now he had pulled ahead as both of them drove down the highway at ludicrous speed headlights off. She didn't bother to reseal the fly of her pants. Hell, if all things went well tonight she wouldn't be wearing them for much longer anyway.

She had far better night vision than he did and she saw that they were soon to reach a small town with a sudden drop in the speed limit and bored cops eager to catch a girl trying to have some fun on a weeknight. Also they were definitely reaching the point where she needed to conclude their ride so she'd have enough gas to get home in the morning.

In the distance she could see a police car hiding in wait to ambush unwary speeders.

Before they reached it she spotted a rock formation on one side of the road a ways. That would shield their activities and give them some measure of privacy.

Plus the moon was full resting just above the peak of the rocks. The stars were out sparkling over the desert landscape and she felt a stir of artistic inspiration at the tableau. She'd have to remember to ask her Mr. Lancelot's name so the landscape she'd paint would have a title. They'd fuck out here underneath stars and she'd bury his body in the morning before heading back to her master's house. The painting she'd work tirelessly on to recreate this night would be his only memorial.

She was getting soft. She actually felt sad about that.

She pulled over letting him rocket on down the road in ignorance. she wondered when he'd realized she had abandoned him. From the saddlebags of her Harley she pulled a blanket, canteen, and lantern. Then she headed toward the rocks shedding her jacket, then her t-shirt, followed by her bra, then her boots and levi's, and lastly the pair of panties making a trail of bread crumbs that would lead him from the motorcycle she'd left at the side of the road to her here.

Now with the only clothing on her was the tattoos and piercings marking her body she climbed to the top of the rocks and laid the blanket over it. She laid down on the blanket facing up at the moon knee raised and arms crossed under her head. She placed the lantern above turning it on to serve as a beacon for him from the road.

Mara waited for him to come and make good on the spirit of his words before with a cocky smirk on her face. Oh yes, he'd come and they would fuck and she would feast well tonight.

 

[Obuzeti]

Because he had his own lights off, it was easy to notice when the spitfire pulled off the highway - everything went dark immediately, and for a heartstopping moment, he almost ran off the road over the next curve. He pulled a tight turn instead and managed to catch a glimpse of her headlights as she pulled off the main road, heading for a rock outcrop off to the side.

Well, alright then.

It takes him a minute to wheel around and cut back towards the offcut she'd taken, and then he ditches his bike besides hers. He can see the jacket and t-shirt she'd been wearing lying on the dirt, and further up a bra draped over a rock. Danior's eyebrows raise in spite of himself, and he kicks the brake down and then hops up to pace after that trail. It could hardly be more tantalizing. He drops his shirt on the bra to hold that in place, but otherwise remains dressed - she might like unwrapping him, and in any case he's definitely walking into something balls-out crazy. Good to keep the ability to book it.

Then he spots her, on top of the rocks, naked in the moonlight. All thought of caution flies out of his head at that dusky skin, and he swallows involuntarily. In the light of the lantern she's just warm curves in dim light, and he has his boots off almost before his mind catches up with what his hands are doing. The pants almost come off at the same speed, but his hands catch and crinkle something in his back pocket as he starts to unfasten, and his brain engages enough to tell him that the condoms will probably be useful very shortly.

He climbs up beside her in easy silence, and drops to one knee beside her reclining form, head tilted as he holds her devilish gaze. "Hell of a picture," he says, soft and throaty. Danior's voice is husky with arousal. "Done running?"

The gypsy's hand skims along the taut curve of her hip, up the defined arc of her side, a light caress he's almost unconscious of. The impossibility of not touching her looms before him. His throat is dry.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

Mara waited for him to come and make good on the spirit of his words before with a cocky smirk on her face. Oh yes, he'd come and they would fuck and she would feast well tonight.

It only took him a moment to realize she was no longer on his tail and turn around for her. She smiled looking up at the face of the moon as he came up to the rock. She was still looking up at the moon when he climbed up onto the rocks. As he came over she did not react to his presence. Mara just lay there allowing him to soak her in her body in all its supernatural glory.

Little changed from her true form. Instead of furry cloven feet hers were human complete with toes that were currently feeling cold the in night's air of the desert. Her bat-like wings were represented via tattoo stretching down her back from the shoulder blades down to her buttocks. Also her heart-pointed tail was a tattoo curling out the beginning of the crease of her asscheeks and up across the small of her back and down around the swell of the left buttock like what modern women called tramp stamps. On the side of the left hip was a tattoo of a woman licking her fingers as she lay back atop of a mountain to ruined empty naked bodies down to her knee. On the other hip were skulls manifesting from smoke reaching up her side to curl under the swell of her right breast. In the valley between her breasts was a five pointed star but fixed upside down so it pointed down over her flat stomach to her shaved mound of venus where the words 'omni spe deditionis huc intransti' (from latin 'abandon hope all who enter here') arced around the opening of her pussy like the fabled gates of hell in Dante's Inferno. On either arm were tatoos of men and women locked in every carnal sin imaginable as the fires of hell swirled over them consuming them utterly. Her nipples, belly button, and clitoris were all pierced with gold rings.

"Hell of a picture," His voice sounded low, throaty, needful for the buffet his eyes were tasting already.

Mara's eyes turned from the moon to look at him as he lowered to one knee.

"Done running?" He asked fingers touching, caressing the curl of smoke and skulls along her side and ribcage. It was a light tentative touch.

"I am now more interested in seeing whether you are true to your word or not," She replied reaching up and feeling the bare skin of his broad chest, "Earlier you said something about bending me over my bike and fucking my brains out. Was that all talk or are you capable of fulfilling that promise, I wonder?"

"Before we begin you should know I am unlike any woman you have ever been with before," She continued, "I am not a delicate little princess. I went into that bar for one thing and I demand you give it to me. I want everything you have. Hold nothing back for propriety's sake. Use my body for your every desire."

Her hand had migrated lower down his body to the tent being pitched in her knight in shining armor's pants. "I believe you are overdressed. Remove your pants or lose them."

 

[Obuzeti]

Ink sprawls across her body in winding patterns, around her back and side, between her breasts, around the soft lips of her sex, all down her arms like black rain washing over her skin. Gold rings glitter across that dusky skin - real gold, not the fake shit, he can already tell. A sudden, ominous feeling fills him. Whoever this girl is, she believes; she doesn't play at being crazy. This is the genuine far-left field. Her eyes are sex and death, and there's no mercy in the wicked crook of her mouth. This is a man-eater. He can't look away.

Danior doesn't want to. This is just like Russian Roulette; maybe a bullet, maybe sweet relief. You don't know. He chooses to pull the trigger.

His hands come to the snap of his jeans and unfasten it, then shuck it and his underwear in one move. His cock bobs loose, thick and stout, and he falls to his knees again and leans in to slide a hand up the woman's neck - and then fist in her hair, gripping tight. "I can do that," he murmurs, and beneath the rolling sex in his voice, there is the tremble of anger. "If you can take it."

He pulls her head up enough to lay a hard kiss on her lips; bites her bottom one hard enough to redden it. The fist in her hair keeps her head pulled back and her back arched, so that when Danior's other hand slithers down her body, over the gold rings in her navel and on her clit, her body is open to him. It cups her mound then slides down a smooth thigh to push it aside, as he comes to a kneel between them.

Danior's body is all smooth, workman's muscle, not rippled but firm, without the water weight starved from his body like a gym rat. It proves that his olive skin is natural rather than tan, too, because it continues underneath the shirt and jeans throughout his body; a faint, dark trail of hair runs from his own navel down to his shaven cock. There's no tattoo or ink anywhere, the Rom's mandate of bodily purity strong even at a distance, but a long scar runs down the left side of his chest, over a taut pectoral and down across his ribcage, all in silver. His breath is fresh, free of alcohol, and his lips chapped from the dry air.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

Her hand had migrated lower down his body to the tent being pitched in her knight in shining armor's pants. "I believe you are overdressed. Remove your pants or lose them."

Mara smiles pleased in how swiftly he reacts to that. There was very little in the way of reluctance or timidity to the choice to remove his last barrier between them. Rising to his feet he shucked his pants off and stood before in all his mortal glory.

Mara's smile broadened looking over her prey. He was tall, lean, not muscular in the vain body building but powerful nonetheless. Her knight in shining had broad shoulders all the easier for to scratch as she erupted around him, and his hips. A woman could tell a lot about a man's hips. They were the engine for the activity that mattered the most to her now-well to be honest fucking was the activity that mattered most to her pretty much all the time-but nonetheless she found his body adequate-more than adequate-he was positively delicious to her tonight, like fresh baked cookies straight from the oven-delicious.

Her knight in shining armor returned to kneel beside her. They locked eyes, and Mara was pleased that he seemed to not be wavering in his resolve. So many men in this modern day and age were too used to wilting swooning girls that liked the flirting but when it came down to it were too inexperienced and timid to really allow them to fuck like they always dreamed of doing. At least he was rising to the occasion with her.

She gave him credit for that allowing him to maintain the initiative-at least for now anyway.

He leans down over her and raises his hand to the side of her neck and then to clench her hair into a tight and painful fistful. The turn of his wrist caused her to arch her back offering full breasts up for him. She gasped at the dominant rough treatment but was immediately followed by a little aroused giggle smiling up at him lustily.

"I can do that," he murmurs, and beneath the rolling sex in his voice, there is the tremble of anger. "If you can take it."

She sneered at that. 'Poor child, you have no idea with whom you're talking to.'

"I can take anything you've got to give me." She replied cockily to him, "The question is do you have what it takes to make me eat those words?"

His fistful of her hair at the back of her head forces her head up as his lowered to besiege her lips with his in a heated forceful kiss. She gasped out again as she felt his teeth capture her bottom lip with a short painful bite and tug before snapping free back to her.

Her hand had sought his cock like a homing pigeon. It was large. She could barely wrap her fingers around it and if she knew her cock sizes it was at the very least eight or nine inches long. It would fill her completely and more. She would stretch around it to the point of tearing. At the same time such a large cock would press all the right buttons, reach all the right places inside her. She could imagine how it would be. He would use it like a battering ram slamming against the doors of her fortress causing her to cry out in pleasurable pain with every thrust.

Mara could hardly wait for it.


Her hand was now stroking his length in a corkscrewing motion.

His free hand lowered tracing fingers teasingly down over her breasts, the gold ring piercing her nipple, down over the naval ring, downward, down, down it smooths over her shaved mound causing her to groan in need pressing into the warmth of his touch, but instead it moved on over her inner thigh applying pressure getting her to widen the spread of her legs giving enough room for him to take his place between them.

Herr legs circled around his hips. Her feet locked over his ass as she pulled him in closer. Her back arched lifting her ass into the air so the lips of her sex and that giant cock were mere inches from getting to know one another more intimately.

She giggled again licking her lips. 'Finally. I'm going to enjoy every second of this.'

 

[Obuzeti]

Danior laughs, low and hoarse, as his head dips to run his tongue along this dangerous lady's clavicle, then down over the curve of her lush breast to lap at her dark nipple. His lips close around it, teeth grazing, and then his head comes back with the piercing in his teeth, pulling lightly as she strokes his cock with soft hands. But she's drawing him in, and he surrenders his golden prize to push the head of his shaft against her cleft. The warm moisture that teases the tip of his cock tells him all he needs to know.

The talking's done. She didn't bring him here for words.

Danior follows the insistent pull of her ankles, seated on his flexing glutes, and slides himself deep into her pussy; her folds part around him, and keep parting as she takes his full length in one velvet glide that takes his breath. He's met all of one other woman that could take him to the base, and she proved too prissy to get wild like this damsel under him, glimmering with piercings and girded with tattoos. His hips press in between her thighs and keep her spread wide. Against her his body is steel in silk, no give in the gut or the chest as he presses her down upon the blanket, and down into her as deep as his fat shaft can go.

It's been too long since he had a good fuck. The woman's skin is warm and as bronzed as his own, blending seamlessly in the flickering light of the lantern. Danior's hair falls like a black waterfall around their faces, unbound and curly. His eyes are just dark glimmers.

He hums - his hips flex - and he draws back out halfway, then slams back home in a slapping pump that smacks against her hips - and repeats it again, setting her firm breasts to a bounce as they jiggle with the recoil of their bodies colliding, seven inches of cock sliding in and out of her body. "Like that?" he says, low and wicked, and settles into a rolling grind as he awaits an answer, stirring that thick shaft within her grasping pussy. Each rotation brushes his pelvis against the gold piercing of her clit, releasing faint jingles.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

She giggled again licking her lips. 'Finally. I'm going to enjoy every second of this.'

His head lowered trailing his tongue from Mara's shoulder down up over the slope of her breast to close lips around her right nipple. She purred as she felt the graze of his teeth as they teased the erect bud that turned to a gasp as his teeth bit down on the ring through the nipple and pulled it stretching the breast sending beautifully painful fissures of pain shooting throughout her body and pooling in the dampening womanhood. Then he let it go causing the breast to snap back causing another aroused little giggle.

Her hand had not stopped stroking his length as he positioned himself between her spread legs. Taking her guidance from the pressure of her feet on his buttocks he inched closer placing the head of his spear against her wet and waiting pussy lips, but waited.

She bit her lip as he knelt over keeping her on the edge of fulfillment. She was impressed. She wouldn't have guessed he owned such a sadistic streak.

And then he drove his hips forward and the air drove out of her lungs. He was so huge! There was pain ofcourse, delicious and illuminating, pain, from the single forceful plunge all the way within her. Making her sheathe suddenly stretch to accept his ramrod. He was seated all the way to the balls within her at long last.

She inhales deep smiling up at him blissfully. Finally, she was fulfilled.

Mara heard him humming as he leaned over her and flexed his hips pulling out leaving an empty needy space begging to be refilled within her again. His face was inches from hers. His hair was long enough that it made a curtain around them from the world around them. She looked into his eyes and grunted out loud in his face when drove his battering ram of a cock back home within her welcoming pussy so hard it shook her. And then again and again and again.

"Like that," Came his deep rumbling voice.

He starts a grinding, rolling, pace, that swivels his angle of penetration and stimulates her pierced clitoris with every thrust and pulling out of her clutching, weeping sex.

She makes that aroused chuckle again to him between tit-shaking thrusts, "It's a good start."

She raised her hands dug her nails into his back raking them down leaving thin red lines down to his rapidly flexing hips and pelvis. "Faster..." She panted to him between thrusts within her, "...more...harder...punish it..." She continued, "...split me wide open...make me pay...make me pay!"

 

[Obuzeti]

If she's not a masochist, then at the very least she's dipping into it; Danior's never fucked a girl who is so insistent on being hurt. It sets off more warning bells that clatter dimly in the back of his mind, but with his cock buried in her greedy snatch, it's hard to listen.

Instead, his hands come down and clamp over the globes of her ass, fondling them then spreading them wide as his hips settle against hers. With that steady grip, he sets to fucking her at a steady pace, each slap of skin announcing long, fat inches of cock slamming home and filling her up, even as her nails claw down his back just short of drawing blood. With her legs wrapped around him, urging him on, Danior gives her everything, balls-deep.

Her panting requests, though, bother him. He leans down and closes his mouth on her lower lip, interrupting her as he sucks for just a moment. Then he slips back up to softly kiss her, eyes open and intent on her own as her breasts crush against his chest. "You don't have to ask," he says, husky and with the echo of a laugh.

She's so tight around him, wet and grasping. The next time he slides full-length in, Danior's mouth glides from hers, and he nuzzles under her chin and tastes her pulse in her neck, hot and pumping. He suckles over it as her heartbeat spikes.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

She raised her hands dug her nails into his back raking them down leaving thin red lines down to his rapidly flexing hips and pelvis. "Faster..." She panted to him between thrusts within her, "...more...harder...punish it..." She continued, "...split me wide open...make me pay...make me pay!"

He reached down with those big hands cupping and lifting her ass up for a deeper angle for penetration with every thrust inside her. Spreading them apart so he could push his big dick even further within her. Each push into her came with a loud clapping sound. He was going for broke here, driving into her like a madman. It was so good, just what she wanted.

But then he bent down and planted his lips on hers as he kept at a steady driving pace. The kiss was not demanding, or dominating, or violent. It seemed to her to be the exact opposite. Worse he then shifted to suckling the side of her neck. She couldn't put her finger on exactly why but it started to feel different now.

It was becoming something she did not want. It was time to take over the steering of this ship here.

So she reached up and grabbed a fist full of his hair and pulled his head up and kept pulling as she rolled them over so he was on his back and she was on top of him. One hand in his hair the other raking nails down his broad strong chest as she lifted up until only his tip was still inside her and piledriving her wet and tight pussy back down his length all the way to the balls again and again, fast and furious.

"Yes..." She panted out between clenched teeth, "...This is what I wanted...This is who I am...This is what I deserve..."

 

[Obuzeti]

She flips them over and takes the lead, her hips driving down on him just as hard as he'd been doing. The dark globes of her asscheeks press hard against his thighs on each drop, and his hands magnetize to them, held there and drawing her down on each thrust. He's harder than he can ever remember in his life, and the faint sparks of pain from his flat, firm chest and from her fingers knotted in his hair only spice it.

What she's saying, though, doesn't match up. She's not talking to him, but through him; projecting someone else onto him. Danior doesn't know who, but she doesn't want his face there, or maybe any face. He's just a means to an end. The thought pisses him off, and he's always been contrary by nature.

So he reaches up and knocks aside the arm that's digging furrows into his chest, and pulls this crazy woman down until they're chest to chest, their hips rocking hypnotically below as he reaches up and tucks back the wild sweep of her hair from her face. It's all strong features, firm cheekbones and defined eyebrows, hard lines across and in her eyes.

"Dragă," he says, exasperated and sincere. There's chilly beads of sweat on his brow from their frantic fucking. He takes a moment to swipe one away, spreading its moisture upon his forehead. "You'll enjoy yourself more if you just relax."

She's fucking him - taking him to the hilt on every stroke - but her eyes stare past his head and her touch digs, hateful, into his skin. For all the liquid sex in her skin and her walk, he's never fucked a woman so completely disconnected from him, and he's not about to start now. He's not a dildo.

Danior draws her hand up and kisses her fingertips, gives her the barest wry twist of a smile, then turns it and presses his lips to the vein in her wrist, treating her pounding pulse to the soft massage of a kiss.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

"Yes..." She panted out between clenched teeth, "...This is what I wanted...This is who I am...This is what I deserve..."

Cock, beautiful, strong, huge, cock. Mara gloried, reveled, in the forceful fucking she receiving from the mortal beneath her. Her eyes drifted shut as she was punished by the ramrod she was piledriving her pussy onto.

Then suddenly her knight in shining armor reached up and dragged her down on top of him. he pulled her free from her face. Her eyes shot open looking into his.

"Dragă," he says, exasperated and sincere. There's chilly beads of sweat on his brow from their frantic fucking. He takes a moment to swipe one away, spreading its moisture upon his forehead. "You'll enjoy yourself more if you just relax."

She blinked at that. She had no idea what 'Draga' meant, but she got the gist of it. She repeated his last word, "Relax?"

Then he drove into her once again and it seemed more powerful while looking into his eyes...too powerful. She couldn't start seeing this man as anything more than a human sex toy for her to get off on, or a walking talking happy meal. It would make what she would do to him difficult for her.

She was a Succubus. He was a mortal. She was a predator and he was her prey. That didn't mean she wouldn't shed tears for him as she buried his body in the morning.

When she first was summoned she wouldn't have cared in the slightest. She'd been among these pathetic mortals for years since then. She'd gotten too soft since then.

"No," She whispered turning her eyes away from his. She pulled her hands free and struggled to rise and resume fucking him as nothing more than her living breathing dildo.

 

[Obuzeti]

Danior blows out a breath and actually rolls his eyes. He's still hard, but he's losing interest in just the raw sex. She's off - she's hurt - and he's too invested to back off now, like he would have if he had known all this back at the start in the bar. She takes herself too seriously. This whole situation, in fact. She's too into it, and her brain too far out. For all that her body flexes atop his, taut thighs and muscle and the warm grip of her pussy, there's still a woman in there, and she's bleeding.

He lifts his hips and comes up to a seat, folding his legs Indian style underneath the both of them, underneath the firm cheeks of her ass. The position drives the breath out of him momentarily - he's buried completely inside her at this point, hip to hip - but Danior refocuses and instead reaches up to push the hair back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ears.

For all the red-hot build of tension, sitting together like this, lit by only the moon and the lantern, there's a startling intimacy. They have to look at each other, now. For all the aggressiveness of her tattoos, and her vicious sexuality, she won't look him in the eye.

So instead Danior leans forward and loops his arms over this lithe woman's shoulders, drawing her into a loose embrace. His cheek brushes along hers, and he speaks past her, quiet. "The fucking's fun. I get that. It's got nothing to do with who you are, though. I don't know a damn thing about that - can't lie - but if you're here to put a burden down, then don't hate yourself just for wanting a half hour you don't have to think about nothing. Alright?"

Danior turns his head just enough to press his lips against the lady's cheekbone, soft and affectionate, even as his hips stir and rock against hers, their frantic pace reduced to a slow undulation. He's so deep in her that there really isn't room to thrust, anyways, what with his ass against the ground.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

"No," She whispered turning her eyes away from his. She pulled her hands free and struggled to rise and resume fucking him as nothing more than her living breathing dildo.

She was doing well. The world around them, the fuckmeat beneath her, her master, even herself began to fall away from her awareness. All there was for her was this one pure, simple, primal act-Fucking. Her pussy slamming down around his cock. In this there was no more room for the sins she had committed in the past either by her own volition or the express orders of her master, neither could she be concerned with what she would have to do in the distant realm of tomorrow. Fucking was her means of escape. The only taste of freedom Mara would ever know.

Suddenly her fucktoy hefted himself up into a sitting position.

"No," She growled in frustration hands on his shoulders trying to push him back down. This was too intimate....too personal…too not what she needed.

The position did have the benefit of seating him so so deep within her that even the limited motion it afforded rocked her world. His arms wind around her in a lover-like embrace.

"No," she repeated pushing at him again.

His head nuzzles the side of hers and he hears his rumbling voice whisper into her ear, "The fucking's fun. I get that. It's got nothing to do with who you are, though."

Unbidden tears began to form in her eyes. "No," She pleaded softly shutting her eyes, "I don't care. You don't know me. You can't. You wouldn't believe it even if you did know. You can't see me. All I am is a warm place to shove your dick into tonight...don't ask for more."

Then he cut through her like fangs through the jugular, straight to the beating heart of her. "I don't know a damn thing about that - can't lie - but if you're here to put a burden down, then don't hate yourself just for wanting a half hour you don't have to think about nothing. Alright?"

How could he see through her so easily after only just meeting her?

Those traitorous tears were rolling down her cheeks now and Mara buried her face into the crook of his neck so he wouldn't see them-so she could go on denying their existence forever and ever.

"You're wrong," She lied to his words, "I don't hate myself...I have done nothing wrong...unlike you people I am always true to myself."

His kiss to her cheek was unwelcome but she didn't turn it away. In fact when it was over she found herself wishing he would do it again.

"No," She repeated breathlessly into his neck with each rocking motion of her hips, "You're wrong. You're wrong about me."

Herr hands had ceased pushing at him. Now they held him close to her as rather than the world-shattering earthquake of a climax she'd been reaching for before those small undulations of their hips brought them closer and closer to a much quieter orgasm-an acceptance rather than an upheaval.

 

[Obuzeti]

He feels the dampness against his cheek before he really recognizes it - thinks it sweat, for a moment, before the second cold drop hits his skin and he realizes that she's crying, face turned down and into his chest so Danior can't see. His head turns and his lips press against this woman's eyelids, softly kissing away the wet trails on her face. It's sex but also something that makes his chest crumple inwards as the fervent slut breaks back down into injured woman.

Someone has made her hate herself, if she's so willing to lean into the fantasy.

"'You people' is one of those phrases that always comes with a story and a half attached," Danior sighs, but it comes off fond with how he nuzzles into her hair, nose brushing through the strands. There's no real scent of chemical shampoo, but something more earthy and spicy beneath her skin. It makes him want to lick and suck his way down to the core and see what he finds. The mystery taunts him, even more than the sweat-slick curves that pillow against his chest and thighs as they undulate together.

His mouth slides down the slope of her nose, lips pressing against the tip, before he kisses. His mouth plucks and flutters, lips rubbing against her own like a butterfly's wings, trying to draw her out from the internal collapse she's fighting. There's something caving in her chest, confidence crumbling. This is pain she's ducked from and it's carving its way out now, and it wrenches his heart to watch.

"I don't know you," Danior admits, as his hands slide over the smooth velvet of her back - one to cup her hip and pull her against him, and the other up to the nape of her neck, thumb warm against her collarbone. "But if being true to who you are hurts you this much, maybe you should think about becoming something else."

It's hard to think of what to say, because whatever she's struggling with, whoever she is, it's all blank to him. Danior knows nothing, and all he can give is genuine sympathy and hope. If that's enough to reduce this woman to tears, then someone has been very cruel for a very long time to her.

Absently, even as he rocks to her rhythm, cock still embraced in her silky grip, he sets her forehead against hers, lets her feel with her skin and body the soft smile that crosses his lips. Speaking body to body, the oldest language. "I'm sorry," he says, deep and honest. "For whatever's happened to you. I'm sorry that it hurt you."

He wonders if anyone's ever said that to her.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Mara Soirressei

"No," She repeated breathlessly into his neck with each rocking motion of her hips, "You're wrong. You're wrong about me."

Herr hands had ceased pushing at him. Now they held him close to her as rather than the world-shattering earthquake of a climax she'd been reaching for before those small undulations of their hips brought them closer and closer to a much quieter orgasm-an acceptance rather than an upheaval.

"'You people' is one of those phrases that always comes with a story and a half attached," He said softly lifting her face up. So he could tenderly kiss her tears away.

It was too much to bear. Mara was not accustomed to this. She was a succubus, a creature of lust and perversion...she did not deserve to be cherished so. She felt hollowed out...nothing but wet clay to be molded and shaped in this stranger's hands...she couldn't abide it. She should push him away, reestablish their roles before things got too much more out of her control...

…So why did she allow him to kiss her lips? Why did she kiss him back? Why did some traitorous sliver of her wanted this moment of absolute abandonment of who and what she was to never end?

Why?

"Who are you," She asked him in a whisper, "How do you know me?"

"I don't know you," The man said hands moving to pull her in closer to him, "But if being true to who you are hurts you this much, maybe you should think about becoming something else."

"Something else," She repeated. It had an odd appeal to her. If she could become someone else, for just a moment, she could be free again...no her master would never allow her to taste that sweet forbidden fruit. She was his thrall, his servant, his slave. He had her soul as his property...there was no point in playing pretend just because she found reality unpalatable. That was what pathetic humans did. "No, I am what I am."

Then he said cradling her in his embrace, "I'm sorry. For whatever's happened to you. I'm sorry that it hurt you."

Sorry? He was sorry for her? In the millennia she'd existed no human has ever expressed sympathy for her. After her creator had cast her out of heaven with lucifer for the crime agreeing with him she'd given up on seeking sympathy from others. She'd hunted and hurt so many humans in her time. Now here was one saying he sympathized with her. Sorry?

She shook her head. "You know nothing about me. I don't deserve your pity,"