"No Mercy"

Part the Third

In which life is lived on the edge of Heaven and Hell.

Ronan tried to keep his mind a complete blank on the way back to her room. To do otherwise would allow self-doubt to creep in. Might break the spell and wake him from the dream. Better to focus on being calm, preparing for the impending storm of all-consuming lust to come. His stomach fluttered as if in a free-fall. He allowed her to lead him by the hand, silently, her devoted slave. Her room was dark, lit only by the warm glow of dozens of white candles she had arranged about he room. DeMoania had replaced the hotel-standard industrial bed sheets with those of satin, and draped black lace curtains about the bed, suspended from the ceiling. The bed was covered not with rose petals, but with entire long-stem blood-red roses, complete with their vicious dagger thorns. Ronan realised DeMoania had anticipated his acceptance of her desire by several hours. She had prepared a veritable Altar of Lust, on which to worship each other.

She led Ronan to the sofa, which she had covered in a red velvet slip-cover. Decadence in spite of the vanilla hotel room, at any cost! The coffee table was covered with more candles, surrounding a silver tray containing a large bottle of genuine imported Absinthe, two glasses, an Absinthe spoon, carafe of ice water, and pyramid of sugar cubes. She indicated for Ronan to sit, then crossed to the nightstand by the bed. From amid a huge pile of sex toys and BDSM gear, she retrieved a stick lighter in the shape of a shotgun. She lit several more candles on the hotel's dresser, and placed them in a circle around the bed, then returned to the dresser to sync up her MP3 player to her wireless speaker. "I know you love the goth music, Ronan, especially The Sisters of Mercy. I paid attention during your presentation. Yes, I was there, I just didn't make my presence known. Us elder goths have to be all about the aesthetic, the younger crowd needs instruction. This is my own custom mix -- The Sisters, Type O Negative, a little Siouxsie." She turned the speaker on and synced it up. Ronan dared not speak as she sat beside him, latex squeaking against the velvet. He was fairly vibrating.

She spoke again, "Absinthe, the genuine imported article with thujone -- double strength! You partake? Yes?" She set up two cut-crystal glasses and poured them half-full of the deep green Absinthe, then sat the Absinthe spoon with a perforated bowl over each glass. A sugar cube was perched on each spoon bowl, and she poured two plastic hotel cups of strained ice-cold water, placing them behind the crystal glasses in readiness. Dripping a bit of Absinthe over the sugar cubes, DeMoania said, "Burn the sugar, never ever the Absinthe. Fucking twats today don't do it right, ruins the flavour and strength. And this brand is strong as fuck!"

As she leaned over to light the sugar cubes with the shotgun lighter, her breasts came dangerously close to falling out of her dress. The cubes flamed with a blue-green light until she took up the ice water and slowly dripped it over the cubes, extinguishing them. "This is key, too -- drip, don't let the Absinthe ever go alight!" DeMoania slipped the sugar cubes off the spoons and began to stir in the ice water gently as Ronan watched her pneumatic breasts jiggle, transfixed. She served him first. "Ready to chase the Green Fairy, Ronan? May it calm you down and boost your endurance!" She leaned back on the couch beside Ronan with her hand on his thigh as she cued up the MP3 player. The Sisters of Mercy's "Lucretia, my Reflection" began playing. Ronan sipped his Absinthe Drip cocktail, the pungent, bitter Anise taste assaulting his tongue, pleasantly though. It was strong! Was the Green Fairy seizing his senses already? The music echoed in his head....

"I hear the roar of a big machine....

Two worlds and in between....

Hot metal and methedrine....

I hear empire down...I hear empire down."

DeMoania sipped her cocktail, but made sure to sing along to the line "Get down, get undressed" while looking salaciously at Ronan. "Come on, love -- 'dance the ghost with me'!" Offering both hands, she pulled Ronan to his feet. He by his own admission was a bad dancer, beyond "the mope", "sweeping the floor", "washing the windows" and other goth dance-move staples. Instinctively, he assumed waltz stance with her, made all the more difficult because he chastely stood over a foot away from her, avoiding coming into contact with her immense breasts. "Seriously? A waltz? How decadent! Hold me closer, though, Ronan, they're not dangerous, they like it rough!" She pulled him close enough to mash her breasts against him and make him blush, but they began waltzing around the room until the end of the song. DeMoania stepped back, Ronan stepped back, and Ronan managed to impress her thoroughly by performing a formal bow. She smiled in pleasure, found the hem of her latex dress, and curtsied in turn. "Your seat, M'lord! Sit tight, drink deeply, wait for me to slip into something more appropriate, and know that tonight, nice guys finish first! But, I don't want you finishing first, if you get my meaning! And don't touch yourself while I'm gone, love. That's my job, and I'm anticipating it so!"

She left for the restroom and closed the door, leaving Ronan alone on the couch, listening to the music playing. He sipped his Absinthe, trying to remain calm at all costs. The Green Fairy became his ally in this quest, she began to take hold, and Ronan relaxed, actually relaxed! Siouxsie and the Banshees' "Spellbound" played in the background.

"Follow in the footsteps of a rag-doll dance, we are entranced.

Spellbound"

Noticing an ashtray on the table, he pulled out a cigarette, lit up, and inhaled deeply, allowing the combination of alcohol, thujone, and nicotine to "allay all his fears". He could not, however, shake the feeling that this was all a dream. He escaped into the music. Spellbound.

The bathroom door opened at last as Type O Negative's "Black No. 1" began.

"She's in love with herself,

She likes the dark.

On her milk-white neck,

The Devil's Mark.

Now it's All Hallows Eve,

The moon is full.

Will she trick or treat?

I bet she will."

DeMoania made her dramatic entrance, wrapped in a black velvet cape trimmed in equally-black marabou. Ronan could just make out her glossy stiletto-heel thigh-high boots beneath. She swept across the room and seated herself beside him, pulling out a long rosewood cigarette holder, in which she inserted a cigarette of her own, British imports, and lit it up when Ronan offered her a light. Inhaling, she leaned back, smoking languidly, draped along the couch like a Golden Era Hollywood starlet. Ava Gardner incarnate. Or Theda Bara.

They sat there, sipping Absinthe, smoking, and staring into each other's eyes, watching the flicker of lust in both pair kindle to a raging, uncontrollable fire. Ronan actually felt powerful for a moment, the wet blanket defeated by passion. That moment seemed an eternity. "I've a treat for you, Ronan. Are you prepared?" She picked up the fleam from the table, the same one she had nicked Ronan with earlier that day at Turtle's Terrors vendor stall. She had bought it, cleaned and polished it, sharpened it. DeMoania removed her ornate choker, the red blood phials glistening as she placed it carefully on the table. The choker had hidden a tattoo on her neck -- a vampire bite design trickling streams of blood. "On her milk-white neck, the Devil's mark". Ronan noticed that the area of the tattoo looked a little bit scarred. He would soon discover why.

"I've gotten to taste you, Ronan. Time to return the favour! I remember you saying you

do drink. Seriously, though, on my word, it's clean!" DeMoania opened one of the small blades on the fleam, felt her neck, and made two small cuts over the tattoo. Rich crimson blood trickled down the column of her neck, and she presented it to Ronan. "Drink from me, Ronan! Taste the desire in my blood!" Ronan encircled her in his arms, and traced the very tip of his tongue up the trail of blood on her neck, then placed his lips over the cuts. Sucking gently, he tasted the coppery sweetness of her blood. He felt the throb of her pulse in her neck, the increase in the speed of her breathing. She stretched her neck and pressed in against his lips, and he began to suck harder, lapping his tongue over the small bleeding cuts. She let out a low, soft moan of pleasure, then trembled slightly, and went briefly all-over rigid as her breath caught in her throat and she shivered hard. She broke away and stared deeply into Ronan's eyes with an amazed smile, her skin flushed pink.

"Did she just...?!" Ronan thought in wonder.

"My...well done...um...wow!" It was DeMoania's turn at last to be flustered and tongue-tied, and she gasped the words rather than enunciating with her usual confidence. "That was one, remember that, Ronan love. And now...sit back, relax, and enjoy." She queued up another song on the MP3, then dragged the coffee table out of the way to make more space in front of Ronan. As the opening notes of The Sisters' "Alice" played, she began a slow, sensuous dance, running her hands along her thighs, gyrating her hips slowly, and toying with the collar of her cape. DeMoania then made direct eye contact with Ronan, and ran her pink tongue salaciously over her gloss-black lips before shrugging the cape to the floor. Ronan's eyes bulged as he took in the reveal -- in addition to her stiletto boots, she wore a full fishnet bodystocking that hid nothing beneath. Over this, she wore only one of Ronan's "Pit of Despair" haunt t-shirts from the giveaway. Only by cutting out the collar and cutting a deep slash down the neckline and front was she able to barely force her breasts into it -- as it was, the fabric strained violently and mashed them flat. "Surprise, Ronan!" she exclaimed, slowly gyrating and dropping down low to the music. She slithered back up, her own hands caressing her body, her thighs, her arse. "And now, the piece de resistance!"

"Tish, that's French! Cara Mia!" Ronan managed to gasp out of his lust-choked throat, much to DeMoania's approval and amusement. And then.....

As the MP3 began Type O Negative's "My Girlfriend's Girlfriend", DeMoania inhaled deeply and thrust her bosom violently outward, quite close to Ronan's face. The strain was too much -- an intentional calculation on her part. The black t-shirt split fully apart with a thunderous rip, and her fishnet-covered breasts literally burst into Ronan's face. He lifted his hands toward them, automatically, longingly. "Ah-ah! Don't touch! Not yet!"

"In their 62' Vette...

Sharing one cigarette...

In a blacklight trance, they

Go-Go Dance."

DeMoania's gyrations became faster, deeper, more lustfully expressive. She dance right in front of Ronan, whose eyes were wide open and unblinking, whose mouth was slightly agape. "You like my tattoos, Ronan? Look closely, through the stocking, you glorious perv!" Ronan shoved his glasses up his nose and looked hard. Both of DeMoania's small pert nipples were pierced, with barbell type piercings that resembled daggers; just beyond the areolas her breasts were tattooed with pentagrams in black. Beneath her breasts, almost framing them like an underwire, small gothic script spelled out "Give yourself over to absolute pleasure -- Erotic nightmares beyond any measure", the black script standing out in sharp contrast to her pale white skin. She wore no panties of any kind beneath the fishnet bodystocking, and Ronan could see that she was waxed completely bare. On the area over her pubic bone was the Sisters of Mercy star band logo, and just below, almost serving as a "nametag" of sorts, small gothic script proclaimed "Temple of Love".

She turned around, presenting her back to Ronan, showing him her back-piece as she shrugged off the remains of the ruined t-shirt -- a full-back image of Baphomet, only this one was sporting a massive erection. A scroll tattooed above proclaimed "Satan's Mistress", while below another scroll was lettered, "If masturbation is a sin, welcome to HELL!"

The Sisters of Mercy's "More" began playing now, and DeMoania continued to gyrate seductively before Ronan to the song's beat, having moved her long hair to allow a better view of her back.

"Some people get by....

With a little understanding...

Some people get by...

With a whole lot more...

I don't know...

Why you gotta be so undemanding.

One thing I knowwwww....

I want MORE!"

Without warning, she bent over fully at the waist, wriggling her firm, large, perfect arse in Ronan's face. Two more tattoos there, on the left glute, a naked devil girl queened a figure dressed like a priest; on the right, the same devil girl was pegging a scantily-clad, large-breasted nun with a strapon. DeMoania looked back at Ronan over her shoulder with a sly wink, to sing along to the music. "I want MORE!" she fairly growled, then began twerking right in front of his face, jiggling her white cheeks. Ronan began to reach out again, but she said, "NO! No, no touching! Fuck, have you not ever had a stripper before? Not allowed, love!" She stopped briefly, reached for the table, and picked up both glasses of Absinthe. "Drink this, Ronan, all of it, now! You're going to need it! Quickly, now -- there's a lad!" Ronan spluttered briefly in the process, the bitter Anise taste a bit hard to swallow rapidly. DeMoania quickly downed her glass, and tossed it aside, shattering it on the floor. She wiped her lips carefully so as not to smear her lipstick, and stared at Ronan. He stared back, in awe.

The thujone was taking hold hard. DeMoan Bursts of light flashed about her as she danced, the Green Fairy making her presence known. She approached close to Ronan again, turned her back on him, and lifting her long hair up with both hands, squatted her perfect arse on Ronan's crotch. "NO touching, fucker!" she hissed as she rolled her hips, grinding hard on Ronan.

"So hot...

So cold...

So far, so outta control...

So hard to come by...

And harder to hold!"

She sang along as she literally pumped her arse against Ronan. It was probably an unnecessary gesture on her part, Ronan had been steel-hard and rapidly growing larger, painfully so, since the moment the t-shirt met its' demise. He could feel the wetness of his own precum dripping in his underwear. He threw his head back with a groan of pleasure and pain as DeMoania began shifting a series of tight circles with her hips, grinding her arse harder and harder into Ronan. Reaching up, she yanked down the top of her bodystocking and bent over almost to the floor, allowing her breasts to fall free. Sitting up and leaning back against Ronan's chest, she hissed, "Now you may touch me, you fuckin' wanker! Worship my tits!"

Ronan's hands went like a shot to those breasts. Firm, silky soft, the pierced nipples hard as diamond. He cupped them as best he could -- they overwhelmed his hands. His thumb and index fingers encircled her nipples, rolling them gently. Her speed increased slightly. "HARDER!" she shouted, and Ronan's massaging became rougher, his fingers pinching and tugging those erect buds. "Yessssss!" Her pace quickened, her hips bucked. Ronan held on for all he was worth, Absinthe trails clouding his vision. She now bucked violently against his groin, then gave a whole-body shiver. As the song ended, she rose up off Ronan's lap. "That's two!" she cryptically remarked. The Green Fairy had such a hold on Ronan he couldn't question the statement. His whole body was throbbing.

DeMoania suddenly dropped to the floor on all fours. She made a point of making direct eye contact with Ronan as she crawled lithely toward him, licking her lips. Her breasts were quite close to the floor, given their immense size, but she arched her back and quite deliberately swayed her arse from side to side. She slithered up Ronan's legs and knelt high before him. Ronan blinked his eyes into focus as long, pointed, black fingernails flicked up the zipper pull to his fly. She mashed her breasts against his thighs as she carefully tugged the zipper down with her teeth. The Absinthe coupled with the sheer erotic shock of everything leading up to this point left Ronan powerless to resist. "Lift!" she demanded, and Ronan rose his arse up off the couch. Her hands snaked their way into the tight leather pants, down to his arse, and she dug her nails painfully hard into his glutes. When he rose more with a gasp of pain, she forced the leather down to his knees, against his knee-high buckle boots, dragging her pointed nails deliberately down his thighs as she did so, scratching to the point of drawing small droplets of blood. She ran her tongue up to the front of his precum-soaked underwear, along his throbbing bulge, then bit gently into him through the wet cloth.

"Ah! Fuck! Ow! Fangs! Could you...maybe...take your fang caps off?" Ronan squeaked. DeMoania looked up and flashed him a wide evil grin.

"Implants, love, I'm a professional! Satan's Mistress. They don't come out -- but they can do this!" Ronan went briefly numb with shock as she gripped the cloth of his underwear carefully in her fangs, and with a jerk of her head, she ripped away the cloth! He violently burst free of his bonds -- madly, stupidly erect. "Mmmm, nice! 'Bout eight? And still growing, too! Let's see!" She flicked her tongue over the head of Ronan's cock and wriggled it over the frenulum. Whether it was the Absinthe muddling his brain, or the mere sensation alone, Ronan saw stars! She popped his swollen purple circumcised cock into her mouth and "nursed" just the head. Ronan squirmed uncontrollably, the pleasure was almost too much to bear! He tensed and gasped. "No mercy!" DeMoania stopped long enough to say, then increased her speed on his cock head until he was literally clawing at the couch to keep his focus and not explode. "Say my name, Ronan!" She sped up more.

"De- De- DeMoania D-Damned. Oh fuck!"

"Louder, fucker! Scream it!" Faster still, her tongue fluttering as well, putting Ronan in pleasurable Hell.

"DEMOANIA DAMNED!" he shouted loudly, trying to focus on anything else beside the sensation of her lips and tongue.

"And who AM I, Ronan?" She throated him to the balls.

"S-SATAN'S MISTRESS!"

She dragged her fangs sharply along his shaft, scraping the tight skin as she slid his cock out of her mouth. It was twitching madly, pulsing in front of her. Ronan sucked down air as the pain of the scratching in a sharp inhale. "That close already?" she teased. "NO!" She slapped his cock hard! He about fell off the couch. "Nowhere near done, love, not at all!" She leaned back, then thrust her breasts in his face. "I know you love these Ronan, know you can't stop staring at them. Let me feel your tongue on them. Cool you down a bit!" She flicked his precum-dripping cock with her finger.

They were perfect, that fact that they were not "real" was irrelevant to a "breast man" like Ronan. He found himself offering up a silent prayer to the surgeon who had done the work. As Type O Negative's "Christian Woman" began playing, he fastened his lips around her left nipple and toyed with the piercing with his tongue. She inhaled deeply and moaned, low and throaty, as she pulled Ronan's head closer to her by his long hair, almost suffocating him. His lips tugged gently at her hard nipple, his hands caressing both breasts. "I've...AH...two, you know!" she gasped. Ronan shifted his lips from one nipple to another, giving each equal attention, moving back and forth. He traced her pentagram tattoos with his tongue, kneaded her milk-white flesh firmly as she writhed in pleasure and moaned loudly.

His hands went to her shoulders and gently leaned her back a bit, and he slowly trailed his tongue from her throat, down the valley of her breasts, to her navel, into which he gave several shallow thrusts of his tongue through the fishnet. Trailing back up, he buried his face in the valley between her breasts. She encouraged him by forcing his head firm against her. He gave a sigh of pleasure, buried there, suffocatingly so, between those amazing breasts that drove his lust to fever pitch. Then he gave each nipple in turn a sucking kiss before teasing then both once again between his fingers. DeMoania tensed up and shivered. "Three." she whispered.