Infidelity

"What on earth are you wearing? This metal wiry thing over your breasts?"

I took this opportunity to regain my equilibrium, and pushed my shirt back down again. I stood up, and walked away towards the table where I kept a pitcher of water, deliberately turning my back on her.

"It's called a bra, and you are not to do that to me again." I said. The laws of the summoning were potent, far more so than maybe the protection symbols. God knew they were older. And the ritual itself would not have worked had my will been weaker than hers; ergo, I must have some form of power over her. I was kind of banking- or at least hoping- that it would be that she had to do as she was told.

She looked at me, her expression hardening, but shrugged.

"Given that I can't 'do that again', as you ordered,- Really!- how on earth do you get out of that thing? And why wear it in the first place? As some means to keep your breasts from potential lovers? A trial to see if someone is worthy to see your breasts- if they can take it off without help, they get you?" She looked a bit irked, even a little pissed off.

"Where do you get off, asking questions like that?"

"I'm sorry, Master- sorry, what's the etiquette here? Are you Master or Mistress?" I looked at her helplessly for a second.

"Remember, never been summoned by a woman." She looked at me, hands on her hips. I couldn't help but smile; she was so serious.

"Why do you really need to know that? It doesn't really matter; I could just tell you my name; humans lost the knack of discovering true names centuries ago."

She stared at me, her eyes hard. "It Is necessary, because if you are going to play the Master role, you have to do the official thing. Like the ritual itself, the master/slave laws --the laws of the summon- indicate that I have to be subservient to a Master, but seeing as you're a woman, I need some form of title to attach."

She sounded a bit hurt now, and she walked back over to the pentagram, sitting on the chair I'd provided. I looked at her for a bit.

What the hell?

I honestly thought she was offended by my action. I mean, I summoned her because I wanted to learn from her. The fact that she was interesting and gorgeous was a bonus, but I had no desire to lose my soul to her.

I am not very good with people. I'm sure you've noticed; if you haven't, you could probably glean it from my attitude. I don't like them, mostly, so they don't tend to like me back. As a consequence of this, I was at a complete loss as to what I should do here.

I settled for at least establishing what was going on.

"Are you upset with me? Deli-"

"DON'T use that name on me! I give that to people I happen like, not to my masters! I thought you were different. Like my old friends."

Again, dumbfounded. Stumped. I sighed.

"Look, whatever you want me to call you, do you want to explain what the HELL you are talking about? I didn't mean to offend you before, but come on! You're a demon. You prey on humans. I'm a human."

She turned around to me. Oh-oh. I'd done it now. Her hair had practically gone up a shade or two, and her eyes, while not glowing like a Rage demon, certainly glittered. I didn't take a step backwards, and just looked at her.

She toned her feelings down a bit, but I could see she was still angry.

"I told you I was sent to Egypt. I had never known humans; not really. Most of my experiences with them had come from their association with my jurisdiction. Sinners, adulterers. Then I met a group of mages who were sun worshippers. One of them was a man who had immense knowledge of magic; enough to make me at least partially able to ignore my summons.

"He knew me. He called me Jez. He loved me as a man loves a woman, and as his wife never did. But when I met her I was surprised. She might not love him, but she- and he- shared an appreciation for each other like that I had never seen.

"He was my friend, my lover. I showed him things about the fabric of nature, of life. He showed me feeling, emotions, laughter. He distained the word Master for me, even though he had claimed me for his own slave by breaking the summoning chains between me and my former Master."

"But my master sent other demons after me. I fought them; I am high enough along the chain that his pathetic creatures were not enough. But I had to protect him, my lover.

"So I brought Antony together with Cleopatra, knowing that Caesar had eyes for her. I used what my lover showed me to bring them down. I used my lover's lessons in love for the greatest of wrongs."

Her eyes were no longer hard, or even soft. They were great wells of pain, creating trails of red down her face.

"But, when the war came, I tried to find him. I looked everywhere. I used even my magic, innate, to find my master. But the chains which he had let lapse were too weak; there was nothing left of him or his wife by the time I found their bodies, on a cart to a mass grave. A casualty of war."

She stopped staring into space, and looked at me.

"I hate it. My name is not Delilah, or Jezebel, or Eve. My name is Infidelity, and it is my curse to break lovers apart from within. I use the very best of them to break them. It doesn't matter if I intend to or not; my every action leads to that result. Abbadon, the demon of destruction, applauded my work that day. He said," she stopped, her voice breaking, "He said that I should be proud, and he didn't know why I cried. They were only humans to him."

"And now I have you; a human. A woman who is gorgeous, who is the yin to my yang. When you summoned me, you didn't insist on a name for yourself, so I wondered about you. But now you tell me that because I am a demon, you cannot trust me, or like me? You sound like Abaddon. Then, do you think that I am merely here to be exploited, to be used then discarded? I am a thinking, living thing. How DARE you talk to me like that, as though I'm your slave?"

She broke down, sobbing, her hands quickly becoming stained red with her tears.

I was still immensely nonplussed, but I walked over to her, and got on my knees in front of her. I wrapped my arms around her, and received a little token resistance before she let me.

I flinched a little bit away from the smell of blood, but I ignored it. I suppose I was guilty of a bit of a double standard, but being called a hypocrite is hardly a pleasant experience. She sobbed a bit into my shoulder, and I let her cry. I wasn't going to open my mouth for fear of finding yet another method of putting my foot in it, but I couldn't help but think; hang on, what if this is all an act? That was a wonderful, clichéd story, and the whole friendly, nice --human- thing as only a front, so that she could get a foothold on this world?

She looked up at me, smiling a little bit. "There goes my reputation, you know. I'm meant to be one of the scariest demons in the Lust denominie, and you've gone and ruined that by making me cry." She laughed, a feeble little thing. I couldn't help it; act or no act, she was utterly adorable. I raised my hand, and placed it under her chin. I placed my lips on hers, and kissed her softly, lingeringly. At first, she seemed a bit surprised, but then she began to respond.

It is at this point here that I should tell you, I don't really remember the next few seconds or minutes. It was like an orgasm, the entire time we kissed. You know how you can remember how sex feels, but not truly remember? That is what I remember from the next however long it lasted.

I can remember her lips tasted of copper, but instead of that throwing me off like it did last time I pressed harder into her, forcing my tongue deep into her mouth; past her half open lips. I'd forgotten about the knives she used for teeth, but I was beyond caring, and she began to kiss me back.

It was like someone turned on a light. I arched my back; I think I might have let out an "Oh" sound into her mouth, but she returned my ferocity with her own. I might have kissed her hard because I felt guilty, but she had so much more than I did. And she wanted this more.

I don't know at what point I truly began to believe her. It wasn't here, and it wasn't until later that I realised. But maybe this was the beginning, this acknowledgement of her femininity, as opposed to her sexuality, and of my own.

When we broke apart, she was lying on top of me, toying at the neckline of my tee shirt. My hands were on her perfect hips, toying at the flesh of her thighs. I was astonished to find out that all of my clothing was still on, but I didn't care. I could see her face, all framed in flowing copper, and I could see her eyes.

If she were a cat, she'd be purring.

I ran my hands through her hair, and looked into her eyes.

"Sorry," I said, before muttering the dismissal.

That was the first night I can remember the dreams. I, as a whole, tended to forget my dreams when I woke up, so it was odd to have the incredibly lucid dreams like this now. But I supposed it was due to my lifestyle, and the fact that I was not getting any.

I was floating of a dark room, just above a swirling fan. It was stifling in here, the air heavy, moist. I wasn't breathing, but I could hear someone panting.

I looked through the dim light, down at the couple on the bed. Looking at them, I instinctively knew that her name was Audrey, and her firstborn son's name was Liam. Her husband was Drew, and he was a bad actor in one of the soaps that flowed around America, their fans ever loyal. But the man inside of her, thrusting, was Jared, a real estate agent. His wife was dying, in a hospital bed. He hadn't wanted to cheat, but he had not slept with anyone for two years. He met her at an Irish pub, when she was out with some girls. They went home before she did, and before she left Audrey noticed him at the bar, drinking slowly but determinately.

I saw the night play out as though it was my life. I watched as she called a cab, and he helped her in- or was it the other way around, as they were both tipsy. He broke down, his head in his hands; she wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her out of desperation; she was shocked but felt so alive. So special.

I felt his utter, utter guilt, his desperation, his lust. I felt her desire, her sense of adventure. She asked the taxi to take them to the nearest motel.

He held her wrist as they entered the room, and the second the door closed after them he swung her around, pushing her back against the door. His mouth hungrily sought hers, and he pulsed with need. She gasped as she felt his cock through his pants, her legs instinctively parting. She bit him through his shirt; he growled.

He reached down, to the hem of her dress, and lifted it up, seeking her legs. She felt his hands on the bare flesh of her thighs, and moaned, her hands going to his head. He had it shaved, not bald, so she felt the stubble on his scalp against her palms; so unlike the gorgeous, manicured hair of her husband.

He hadn't meant to taste her, but now he was down there he could smell her desire. He didn't normally do this- his wife (he shuddered, thinking of her) didn't like it- but he kissed her thighs softly, his mouth gentle on her body.

She knew it the second he reached her panties. She wanted it badly now; it was no longer a matter of if, but when. She longed to feel his tongue against her slit, to taste the dampness between her legs, to give her some relief. She fantasised about it; him coming up, kissing her, tasting like her. Thrusting in.

He was all instinct now, his mind switched off. Lust drove him, guilt sitting to one side, shunted off to live with other unwanted things. He penetrated her with his tongue, passing her outer lips, holding them open with his fingers. Her nails dug into his head as he worked, paying attention to where she seemed to want it most. I felt her surge, and was glad I was sitting inside his head.

She wilted, falling onto his shoulder, as he rose. He caught her well in time, but did not try to reset her position. He held her leg just below the knee, and kept it braced against his shoulder. She winced, but didn't stop him, as he continued to push upwards.

He reached his full height, and she panted as he thrust into her, no concern for her in his mind. Her hands, twin in their effort, grasped at his behind, forcing him to greater efforts. His hands were placed for ease of access, and he wilfully thrust away into her, deeper than he had ever been into a woman in his life.

She loved it. Where I had always hated the intrusion, felt uncomfortable around penises, she revelled. Her mind was a sink of lust, completely unaware of her voice, screaming out "OH GOD, FUCK ME FUCK MEFUCKMEFUCKME...!!"

She erupted around him, as she felt the leather buckle of his belt slam hard into her clit. His grip on her tightened in proportion to how she did, and he thrust even harder, faster, into her. Her body tried to restrict him, but he forced her open, and she didn't come down from her peak.

He felt his own peak approaching, and felt a brief moment of lucidity. Just as he was about to explode, he pulled out and pushed her down, to the ground. She looked up at him, questioningly, before placing her hands in his cock, jacking him. She cupped her other hand over the head, and she felt his erection swell as he burst hard.

A male orgasm is like nothing I've ever experienced. Where women can go for longer, and finish more than once, men can only really come once in a session- some cannot even do that if my experience is anything to go by. It was as though every orgasm he'd denied to himself was speeding towards him, flooding his system with burning pleasure. The silent death, the Japanese call it. It wasn't so silent for him.

I would like to feed the cliché of this by saying he shot buckets of seed, but he was about normal, if not a little bit more. He fell onto the ground, next to her, and they sank into a wonderful silence, her head on his shoulder, her hands- still covered in seed- in his lap.

I saw the whole night, as they swept across the room, using each other's bodies over and over. I felt them come, all at once. I floated backwards, drawn away. It was as though I was connected to a ball of twine, and it was being pulled by someone on the other end.

I was so high. I floated over most of North America, and watched. I could see other threads, other floaters. But I could still feel Audrey and Jared, could still see their minds.

I could see it now; the threads of their fates, twirling together to weave a blanket of sin.

I heard her voice, and I tasted blood.