Read your Contracts 04.4

(Pt4 contains, eventually, debatable and non-debatable NC, anal, both male and female gay sex, gender transformation, femdom, pegging, bondage, urophagia, and incest. Reader discretion is appreciated. Thank you for your interest.)

Chapter 10

-

A few days away from home, and she had long since started considering that apartment her home, Memi found disquieting similarity in the manner of human politicians and the demons she'd left behind. It made all sorts of sense in a backward way that she'd seen so many shades of that type being tortured in Hell, but she'd never thought deeply on the subject before. It had been her opinion, as well as the popular one down there, that it was all of humanity that deserved torment, not only their worst, most depraved examples. The way these people twisted words into veiled threats and promises in the open would have made, maybe not her mother who was too used to it, but some other demons down in Hell blush (assuming the proper combination of red blood and non-red skin).

There was all sorts of waiting each time the party moved from one venue to another; it took time to arrange things for the swarm of speech-writers, fashion consultants, and whatever else it took to make Laura's father presentable enough to push out like a parade float onto the stage. The man himself was a decent orator, though Memi had no intent on wasting her mental energy listening to his dishonest excretions; dishonesty was no longer to be her craft because of Hairy. Still, after seeing the man falling before her own conjured penis and then as a gimp-like pet/slave to his own daughter, it was a distinct difference.

She'd excused herself again to get some air behind the stage where campaign workers busied themselves around her without disturbing her rest. Laura had been holding her hand until minutes ago when she was drawn away to attend to some high-priority campaign contributor... who Memi turned out to know...

It was a realization she should have come to earlier, given the circumstances of her life for the last few decades: most of her summoners had been politicians and so-called philanthropists. Those were the sorts who would have had the cash to buy her summoning seal from Auntie Blackrod, and she'd simply taken their similarities to mean that they were the representatives of humanity vis-a-vis wealth. What a pleasant shock it had been when master Hairy's few rooms turned out to be the entirety of his space, not even owned outright by him.

Pleasant, yes. Although his whole apartment was smaller than her palatial quarters within Mother's home. She could go to any corner of his space and not be noticeably separated from his voice, his scent... Memi sat on a box and curled into her lap, rested her head on her folded arms, sighed so that she wouldn't begin tearing up with loneliness. Right then, she was being stupid, wasn't she? It had been Laura's idea, Memi hadn't planned a moment of it. What was she doing by keeping herself separated from her master for so long? What was the point? Teaching him a lesson with her absence, because there had only been a day or so since they'd met that they weren't together?

That was moronic. He hadn't done a damn thing to plausibly shake her confidence in his fidelity. His accusations toward Satilli weren't entirely unfounded, as far as a human was concerned. Memi had caught the thieving cat trying to cuddle up when she'd thought the other two were unaware, take a place snuggling onto Hairy's legs during a movie and purring into his lap with purpose: the intent to seduce. In fact, Memi was incensed more by the fact that he'd had a wet dream about the girl competing with her for his love...

"Fuck, I'm a hypocrite..." Who was the one that pushed Satilli into his arms in the first place? Twice even, as both a male and a female! What gave her the right to be jealous when she yet took the place of his primary lover and eventual master of his soul? Satilli was cuter than she was, she could admit as much without straining vanity; Memirellin had at many times cursed whatever attractiveness her albino body held that drew in predators like flies to honey, but the thought that Hairy might put her aside for another woman produced a tightness in her chest she'd never experienced.

She had no idea how to excise these feelings.

While she was lost in a spiral of self pity, the fat man came back from his speech, sweaty from the stage's overhead lights, and took a seat beside her. And she was actually thankful for the distraction.

"Did it go well?" she asked.

He startled. Memi could hardly blame him, given what she'd done to his ass while wearing the face of his daughter that once, but he regained his composure quickly. "Well enough. With how I polled in this county, there's not much chance I'd lose if I went out and start hurling abuse into the crowd."

"So why are we even here if that's the case?" She knew of an answer, but she wanted to hear his.

"Support is something that can be lost in an instant, like trust. You have to reaffirm your commitments to the people every time when you're asking for their help to get elected otherwise they'll start looking elsewhere." He was sweating profusely, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his brow. "Not really, actually. Incumbency is a powerful force and the majority of the voters will only ever vote for one party unless something egregious happens, if then. Still, it isn't wise to take them for granted as though they belong to you. Make jokes all you want about the stupidity of large groups; the behavior becomes so much more complex each time you zoom in enough to see the individual. They may not even know it consciously, but they do know when a politician doesn't care enough even to come out and show his face every once in a while."

I don't take his love for granted... "That's something I'm only starting to learn now," Memi said, unfeeling at the fact that she was baring her feelings to a former potential tormentor; he was Laura's father and effectively impotent to hurt her anymore. "You know, I've spent the vast majority of the last few hundred years in one of five rooms... Even well before I started being summoned by name, humans call up succubi by the hundreds each day, if not with a formal ritual then by informal lures. I held the resentment of the expectations I was burdened with upon my birth close to my heart. I feel now as if I'm only coming out of the egg and seeing the world. Before my master, I'd only seen humans like you, who were willing to threaten my indefinite confinement and torture to compel service; I worked to earn a reputation that would save me from being desirable, and they became more savvy in their contracting to compensate rather than leave me be."

Whether the fat man was blushing or still overheated from the monkey suit and the stage lighting, she couldn't tell and didn't care to tell. "Sorry about that... again..." Actual contrition or a trained response from his time as Laura's gimp, it didn't matter either way. "My daughter said you saw one of those guys again?"

Memi smiled, made sure the fat bastard got a flash of sharp fang. That man had to be escorted to the hospital when he was found and they were unable to rouse him from his slumber; Memi reminded herself to thank Satilli the next time she saw him/her for the technique. "Yes, it seems that politicians made up a large percentage of my summoners, considering the cost of my summoning ritual. I will say that I like you lot better than that one serial killer who kept trying to do this and that."

"Sorry, what!?"

"Before you ask, I've never killed anyone... who wasn't attacking me at the time. Anyway, I'm telling you that I think you're right. I thought that my summoners were the sum total of humanity and that I could justify any kind of torture I could devise on your pathetic race. There are notes in a small box in Hell which would be embarrassing to have read aloud... Now that I think about the problem of the individual, I wonder if some of them had good reasons for whatever depraved predilections they had, if they thought that all succubi were wanton sluts rather than disillusioned laborers." She turned and looked into the fat man's beady eyes for the first time in a long time. "Can I ask you a question?"

His lip twitched for a moment as he fought off a sneer. "With the blackmail you have on me, how can I say no?"

"I'm serious, you don't have to answer it."

He searched her face, her posture for any sign that she was pulling his leg, that a penance would be in order if he refused her simplest request even once. But she felt too contemplative, sat with her knees hugged to her chest and her feet on the box she sat on, guarded from either the world or, more likely now, her own thoughts. "I won't promise to answer, but you can ask," he said as a compromise. Surely nobody could fault him for protecting his own interests.

"Why did you want to fuck someone who looked like Laura?"

He looked side to side to make sure nobody was close enough to hear them; the staff were dozens of feet away at minimum and more focused on their work than the politician who might get angry for interrupting his conversation. When he was confident, he sighed and said, "You've clearly seen her. In fact, don't you two knock elbows anyway?"

Memirellin bent and rested her elbow on her knees, her chin in her hand while she watched through the crack in the set dressing that separated the backstage from yet another dinner being held in the room beyond. In flashes, Laura could be seen extolling the virtues of her father as a... Memi didn't know what he was running for. "I was hoping it would be a deeper reason than simple lust. The kind of lust a father holds for his lovely daughter, the temptation of every day when she is raised to be comfortable in his presence, waiting for the day when his resolve breaks at last and her trust is betrayed... It's not the same with demons, not really. I was aware of the paradigm, my mother had me study the patterns long enough ago that there have been cultural revolutions requiring me to learn it all again. You, don't think that I find it particularly immoral what you tried to do with me back then; I don't care that you find your own daughter attractive."

"I care so very much about your opinion of me."

"Sarcasm isn't helpful, I'm just trying to talk... You would be shocked by the kinds of evil I've facilitated in the past few centuries. Even you would be shocked." She cut off the foreseen response, "No, I am very serious, you would be appalled if I were to tell you some stories... But, I'm a Demon, and my summoners knew what they were doing when they called me to this plane. I can no more be held to account than a gun in the hand of a murderer. What I'm saying is: you very easily could have told me to force Laura to have sex with you, and I would have done so gladly because it wouldn't have required me to do anything myself. Those were always my favorite contracts, the ones where I was used to fulfill a carnal desire in that way. You were comparatively moral, considering."

The man slumped almost unnoticeably in his seat, as though some small, internal strain had been lessened. "I see."

"Don't get me wrong, I would have tried to punish you somehow while doing it. I call them my favorites, but at the same time I would also have gladly tortured the lot of you to death with my bare claws while laughing." Memi smiled sweetly at him for a moment then returned to contemplation. "It's really not that horrible, to want to fuck your daughter. My dad did."

"What!?"

Memi nearly covered her mouth, but it would only fuel more suspicion to withhold the rest of the story. "Before I made my contract with that witch, I was shared between my parents on a rotating basis. My father wanted so much for me to take on his contracts with Pandemonium, to live in the caverns above the desert where it constantly rains flame and fly around it to catch shades who were on the verge of escape. I loved it, the flaming rain made for these amazing and consistent updrafts that you couldn't get even in the whipping winds of the second layer. Really, flying in the second layer feels as though you're being picked up like a dandelion seed and flicked out into the air; the stone there looks better for being wind-worn, but the desert is the best for a controlled flight."

"Flaming desert?..."

She considered briefly trying to describe the differences in metaphysics between the planes which allowed for such weather patterns, just like she'd been surprised the first time she saw water rain, but he wouldn't appreciate it. Hairy might have had appreciation for it all, since he'd actually been there for a short time after all, if shielded by mother's home from the winds. "You don't have to worry about that unless Minos ends up sending you deeper, and then there are pseudo-psychopomps from Pandemonium who will usher you quickly through to your final destination. That said, you should hope for one of the upper layers. Politicians don't tend to go to Limbo or the first couple layers, but... yeah..." She faded as she caught the dawning comprehension crawling across his face. "Anyway, it was only the once. I was staying with my father and-"

--

Memirellin swept up through the ceiling of the flaming desert, rolling onto the pitted floor of the cavern with mirth in her heart as she retracted her wings and prepared herself for her father's arrival in a few seconds. She'd have to wipe the goofy grin off of her face before then so she could portray the regality of her father's bloodline when they both returned to rest in the ceiling city; though, she was well enough known for her enjoyment of this work within Aba's circle of friends. Aside from the bandeau she wore and the loincloth, she was covered head to toe in sweat, and that very fact separated her from most of those demons engaged in the same work.

Her scales were more on the side of skin thanks to her maternal bloodline, but she didn't curse the inability to be so affected by the heat of the updrafts and the flakes of fire that rained eternal through the skies of the desert. She pitied those others with their higher proportion of draconic blood for their own inability to truly experience their environment to the fullest. The chill of evaporation and the scent of char were a sign of a day's work well done.

By the time her father crested the hole into the cavernous ceiling, his daughter had retreated to silent appreciation. Without the blood of a succubus allowing retraction, his strong, draconic wings draped over his broad shoulders, the talons at their peaks drawing attention to the glittering, pale scales of his maw. This was the pinnacle of manliness so far as Memirellin was concerned, strength and power embodied moreso to her than any of her mother's visitors and contractors, who boasted, at most, incredible manhoods.

He stalked past and regarded her with his beady, slanted eyes, patted her back with a hand nearly its equal in breadth to have her follow at his side. Her heart was flying; this was her spot, uncontested. Her father belonged to her. She could nearly smell herself on him at the end of one of his weeks with her, and she hoped he retained her scent as a mark of ownership for days afterward while she attended to her mother. Those surrounding him should know that she would be returning too soon to sow doubt against her rightful position.

She'd eclipsed his speed and technique in the air after a few decades of training, using the whipping gales of the second layer for practice which made anything he'd flown in pale in comparison. Instead of clipping her wings in a bout of pique, he celebrated his daughter's skill. Her accomplishments were his as well, even her beauty for his having secured such a high-ranking succubus for her mother. There was no shortage of demonic females who sported monstrous appearances after all, and the children of succubi could be exceptionally expensive. Memirellin suppressed a desire to skip happily beside her most manly of men as they went home to rest for the day. She was his jewel, his pride given form, and she held his pride lovingly to her chest.

"Your mother has not mentioned me," Aba said. It was not a question, he knew too well the resentment of his one-time conquest.

Because it was not a question, Memirellin did not offer an answer.

He grunted, his scaly lips opening for a moment in the kind of restrained smile his rigid maw was capable of. "The fat shade you and I turned around today; tell me your opinion."

"The more recent shades have been getting fatter, I know. Mother's excursions to the human world have shown me that they are becoming more gluttonous by the year, so much that the eponymous circle cannot be the exclusive domain of such swine."

"They feast ever more as the days of reckoning approach. In my youth, when I was as young as you, such a figure was the domain of the rich and the clergy." A lick of withheld flame lit in his throat as an expression of anger. "Had I been told seven centuries hence I would strain my back lifting a human, I would have laughed! But perhaps this is for the better; his screams as he was carved to a reasonable size were amusing."

Memirellin smiled at his side, the expression respectably light and professional on her face. "Better that he fear coming too close to the edge of the desert and feel such agony again. Shall we herd them out to see it again?"

He glared at her and her blood froze for an instant before he continued in his stride. "That is not our place. Take it only as an occasional treat."

"Yes, father."

They went in silence to the city, such as it was, being primarily small warrens carved into the stone where one could rest without rolling into one of the many holes leading down into the desert below. Ash-blackened and polished over the years, the walls of the cavern shone with the reflection of millions of flakes of flame falling in perpetuity from the ceiling below their feet. But father was important, respected; his estate was one of the largest, carved over hundreds of years with the accoutrements of a modern life. There were many patios to lie out and bathe in the ash, even accents of light wood contrasting beautifully against the dark, contiguous stone of the mansion's foundations, though they required servants working around the clock to keep them clear and stainless.

One such servant met Memirellin and her father at the entrance. "My lady, your bath is waiting," he said, then made himself scarce. They were funny, father's servants, with their overblown fear of him coming from generations of learned response that told them to stroke their master's ego, no matter how gentle he was in practice.

Memirellin bowed to her father and said, "With your leave."

He merely tipped his pointed chin in acknowledgement to send her on her way. Memirellin passed through her quarters, imperiously leaving behind her clothing for the servants to make themselves useful cleaning, paying no attention to her nakedness as not a one of them would be brave or stupid enough to act on their desires. As alluring as her svelte, pale body was, her father's reputation for capability in violence protected her even from offhand glances; her own reputation as a crematorium likely contributed too.

The personal bath was a basin again carved into the stone of the cavernous room which contained it, its bottom covered with fine silt which pleasingly squished between Memirellin's toes as she waded out to the depth of her waist. One of her lessers had spent his day providing for the water's heat, casting magical flame at the heater until now when whorls of steam condensed in the air, bringing with them the soothing scent of sulfur. This water, expensively piped in for her benefit alone, was like a massage in liquid form; tightness in her muscles built up over a day of flying melted and drained away as she leaned against a smooth rock in the basin's center and slid down to sit in the silt with the water's level above her shoulders and her chin resting on the surface.