The Demon's Bride

When I open the door, the delivery man stands right here before my very own eyes with a very bright and big smile, saying out happily and composedly the words, "Good morning, Miss Mila Brooks."

I don't want to be rude to him, but honestly speaking, I woke up in a sour, bitter mood today. With a feigned, insincere, and faked-up smile, I reply him:

"Good morning. What can I do for you, sir?"

He is standing there with a bunch of cutely and amazing-looking flowers. They must be fairly expensive and delicate too. Are they for me? I am wondering quietly and noiselessly.

"I have got this special delivery for you," he intones freely. "It is from a man who honestly and sincerely loves you. Where can I put them please, ma'am?"

"Right here please!" On my living room table that is—it is one hundred per cent glass made and fashioned up. I live here with my two best friends, Chloe and Zoey. Yes! The three of us are all fresh and beautiful girls in their mid and early-on twenties. I am the eldest after Chloe. She is twenty-seven; I am twenty-six; and Zoey is just twenty-one years old.

There is a note brought along with the flowers which I detect and come across after the delivery man is gone away and disappeared. It indicates:

Hi, sweetie. I am missing you big time; I hope to see you at my album lunch tonight at 8 here in Las Vegas. Yours faithfully; Chase Hughes.

Chase Hughes is a popular musician and actor here in Hollywood. He is a member and singer of the well-liked boy band—Butterfly Boys. They are just the three of them; Chase Hughes and his dearly most treasured two buddies: Dylan Moore and Carter Martins. Together, in a career spanning over six damn years and two wildly successful albums, they have sold over 35 million albums and grossed a net worth of over a hundred and fifteen million dollars. Oh yes! They are really that rich and successful; but not so is my on-and-off, sex-and-fight relationship with Chase himself. I work for the Paparazzi, and it was through my job and field that I got to meet and fall in love with him. For now, we are not seeing each other, possibly thinking up to break our bond and continue on with our prosperous lives as before. Chase is a living hell and stunning handsome Son of The Devil all in one! Screw him for it!

My phone rings three hours later. I am at work. The Graham House of Paparazzi which is—organizing and collecting up stuff. Of course! This is Zoey Williams calling to find out what plans I specifically have—if any—for tonight. She sounds moderately happy and ecstatic. "Would you mind going out for dinner with Chloe-y and I? It is going to be much more fun and amusement, I promise, my dearest girlfriend."

I breath and heave out a sigh of relief. "The Butterfly Boys are releasing their third studio album tonight in Downtown. I have to be there, Zoey."

She abruptly sounds a bit disappointed and let down. "Why? Do you still have feelings for Chase? I thought that you guys are over and done with. Are you doing this just so you can please and support him, Mila?"

"No, Zoey. You are right. Chase and I are through and finished with. There is no way on planet Earth I am going to give him another damn second chance. It won't happen please. If I will be there at his album lunch, it is because he is a celebrity and I work for the Paparazzi—meaning that my job here is to chase and stalk after wildly popular superstars like him. Do you clearly get this, darling?"

"Sure, Mila!"I can imagine my petite but tall Zoey rolling and wheeling her eyes in sheer disenchantment and annoyance. Is she seriously all that annoyed and vexed up with me? Is she—honestly speaking?

I am finally home at long last. Once I am in my private and tastefully-furnished bedroom, I toss my handbag onto my bed and quickly hurry to my closet to chuck its white-painted doors open and then anxiously look inside the wee, immaculate breathing space. What specifically am I going to wear this special night? What really?

I think this bright, darkish red glittering dress will frankly do—goodness, it ends somewhere mid my thighs, meaning it's supposed to be a reserved mini, right? On my chest, it has got this wonderful and breathtaking decorations of feathers and flower-made stuff and so on. It looks plain damn gorgeous and magnificent! I definitely think I am going to be en-ravishing and glorious-alike in it tonight. Definitely!

How about putting on high heels? Of course! This will also be wonderful and excellent! My stilettos must be wholly black. I will also have to thoroughly darken my light brown hair to match and impeccably harmonize with them. I myself Mila in deep black hair? It would be quite incredible and amazing too. I love brunette dark hair. It is like the most awesome thing ever!

My long, shiny, sparkly-like hair will be curled and twirled lavishly, I presume. Any other better idea? I don't marginally think that one more does exist. I have to do and dye my hair up in like two hours before it becomes deeply dark and lightless out there. My nails need to be chopped and hacked up too. This is all such an easy thing and task altogether. My legs? I last shaved them in like two months. Oh yeah. I am not all this excessively hairy and woolly like most men and even some women are. But as I will be drop-dead and alluring in a mini tonight, I better be on the safe and harmless side. Anything can happen. I can trip or fall down those damn soaring stairs, scratching and clawing my legs so that I bleed and suffer terrible pain as a result, and just exactly how do I first-aid and treat myself in this particular kind of situation? Huh? I better be safe than sorry, baby!

I am about to leave when Zoey and Chloe arrive. They are just the two of them, glittery and gorgeous in black jeans and jackets, and they are carrying plastics and bags filled with vegetables, meat, chocolate, and the sort. Chocolate? It definitely and absolutely is my favorite!

"You are leaving us, girlfriend?" Chloe asks with a shocked, staggered, and dumbfound-seeming expression. How exactly do I explain this to her? Too bad, I won't be available for a girls-night exclusively sort of event. I like to spoil up my friends a little bit; but then I am awfully and regrettably sorry about my deliberate absence this particular night.

"She's going to the Butterfly Boy's latest album lunch. She is dying to see Chase one more time, I am imagining," Zoey relates with a gloomy and darksome countenance. I glare at her reprovingly for that.

"It's not like I am dying to see that moron, Zoey."

"Whatever," she rolls and wheels her eyes like she is habitually fond and affectionate of doing. Damn her for it! Who is she now? My dating and girl Guide to Men and Bachelors or let's plainly say my tutor?

"Have the best of luck," Chloe tells me, proceeding on to pat and tap my shoulder and back gently with her hand. Thank goodness for this! I was in serious need and lack of it especially.

Chase is one such bad wicked guy. He calls himself a freaking 'Son of the Devil.' If you get to pay a random visit to his home, you will definitely know what I am talking about here. At his house, there are crosses turned upside down—hung and dangling in almost every room imaginable. Oh yes—even in his private toilet, can you just picture this? On some cross-correlated picture frames, instead of there being Jesus Christ, there hangs and droops down a certain kind of intensely handsome naked man with ash blond hair, who is this horribly wounded and gushed and bleeding all over. In his dining room, the bottles of wine here all contain and hold wine that looks as deep and darkly red as blood itself. This is actual wine in any case. Dolls of dragons and vampires and ghouls lie sprawled carelessly and recklessly on his bed. There are even serpents, pythons and poisonous vipers to be exact, in his lounging room, slithering and hissing their way fiercely. At odd, bloodcurdling times I do frankly think that Chase is Satan himself clothed and attired in human flesh and blood. Why does he have to be all this scary and ghoulish? Honestly questioning—why?

"Are you a worshipper of the Devil?" I asked him this the other time I was there at his house. I can't specifically remember when it was essentially.

"No; I just worship myself."

"Why, Chase? I believe that there is only one God who is worthy of being worshipped."

He smiled scarily and eerily-like at me; is he human or demon? I can't exactly tell. "I am just joking by saying this, Mila. I know all this religious stuff and bits and pieces. You don't have to teach or coach me anything about it from A to Z."

"Then what are these venomous vipers and deadly pythons doing here in your house?"

"They are not all that poisonous and deadly actually. I habitually remove their poison if they start to develop or contain any. These small, cutely little creatures are like my best friends here at home. As you can see, this place was once infested and crowded disastrously with rats and mice. I hate cats. Being around them makes me seriously and awfully sick; and so I had to keep snakes and serpents to get totally done and rid with them. Do you get this, Mila?"

Frankly speaking, I don't exactly know how I came to date this guy. He is all things erotic and good-looking and satisfying. But he is a 'Son of the Devil' on the other hand. I can't help but tremble whenever I am alone here with him. He scares and frightens me to hell. Regardless, the most stunning thing about him is that he truly and deeply loves me so much that he would never hurt or abuse me in any slight way or manner conceivable. I just can't be with him simply because I fear and dread him. He freaks me as not being human and being an actual demon alternatively. That is precisely where the problem lies.

When I arrive at Weiss Hotel, I am a bit late and behind time. I find everyone settled and stationed here inside the grand conference room, and the famous three boys themselves are right in the very centre and middle of everyone, chatting and talking freely and merrily with their fans and supporters. It seems like a dream come true for some of the invited guests present. Am I really actually invited here—I myself? Well, I just came, having been provided an invitation card that is, and precisely knowing that Chase would really appreciate and relish my presence and being. Oh yes, he definitely and probably will!

"Mila Brooks," Chase states this out to me suddenly and abruptly from behind me. I spin and revolve towards him as quickly best as I can get myself to act out. Oh goodness! How come I have not seen him amble or stride his way after me? He is unpredictable just like a ghost. You never know when he is coming to you and from where exactly. He is just there, standing and ogling at you, and then gone and vanished away in the forthcoming moment. That's just how he is!

"Chase Hughes. What an unforeseen surprise as always." I am angry and annoyed in some sort of way; and the precise cause for this? He has taken me by utter and absolute surprise. How does he every time manage to do this? Damn it!

"I thought you wouldn't come here. I am very much glad and honestly delighted that you finally came."

"Really? Well, Zoey was against my coming here as a matter of fact. I think she had a good point. You always don't appreciate or value my presence around you, or do you really?"

He frowns and knits his brows at me. "What are you trying to tell me? That I am satanic and heartless."

"Those might be the right words and description to portray you, Mr. Hughes. You do think correct and bona fide of yourself, you know?"

"An hour after now, I want to talk to you in private. In the V.I.P longue that is. You and me—just the two of us; do you hear me?"

"No, I don't. You are whispering and murmuring things all to yourself, aren't you?"

"I will be waiting for you. So please enjoy yourself here while time lasts." With this, he is gone and wandered away. Damn him! What does he think that I am? A toy that he can meddle up with one moment and then chuck it away in boredom and displeasure that other? Crap! I am not this cheap and worthless as he is thinking of me. Screw him up for thinking this of me way a million multifold times!

I am waiting for him in the V.I.P lounge. I don't even think that he is coming. Well, why did I even bother to bring myself here in the first place? Maybe he just wants to prove and tell how obedient and reliable I would be to his commands and requests. Am I his slave here? While I am busy pinching my eyes in anger and frowning recklessly, the door steadily swings open and there he appears before my eyes, holding a bunch of beautiful, shimmering roses that he walks towards me carrying in his left hand.

"I don't like roses. I hate that they have thorns and prickles."

"I know that," he responds back calmly and with self-assurance. "I have never forgotten about that one slice of a moment, Mila. Anyway, these flowers are not for you. I got them for this special kitty seated right there besides you."

Shit! I hadn't even noticed or got to realize that there is this white, amazingly exquisite cat ensconced down right here besides me. How are his eyes able to make it out and sight it perfectly flawless all from that further distance? Is he a witch, a sorcerer, maybe a magician? I don't really know...

"Why did you have me come here, Chase?"

"So that we can make love and have beautiful sex. No one will be able to interrupt or disturb us. Not any fan or follower of mine, or just about anyone."

"I can't have sex with you here. Besides, we broke up; or you have already about this forgotten too soon?"

"We are still considering to break apart, Mila. We are not yet broken up, you get it? Things can be as sweet and beautiful between the two of us like they were before."

"Well, I don't want them to be. You always know how awful and ugly they always get after this, don't you?"

"You are being stubborn again. I hate this."

"Take me home. Now! It's a command from me."

"A command?" Chase asks with a raised and up-heaved eyebrow.

Of course—this is a command and a decree on my part. "Exactly, Chase."

He merely shrugs and does what I ask him to. Once settled down inside his car, none of the two of us talk or say anything to the other. I feel so bored and fagged up. I don't even know why I asked him to take me home in the first place. He shouldn't have done it. Now I bitterly regret my choice!

"Why have you stopped the car, Chase?" As I ask him these furious, mad words of mine, he takes a moment or two to effortlessly heave a sigh out, which is before proceeding on to glance at me breathlessly and quietly while softening his hard, grave-like countenance. That is scaring the hell out of me to be blatantly honest and revealing with you. Chase is a real Son of the Devil. Something creepy and spooky that is supposed to send chilling, frost-like tremors down my spine and not make me be relaxed and calmed when exposed to his hellish-like presence.

Without saying any slight, subdued word, he goes on to stir and inch himself towards me, sealing and slamming shut his watchful eyes as he does this. I become terrified and shaky. I start to quiver and tremble remedilessly, and I can't even get to control or restrain myself from wishing and desiring him to furnish and provide me with sex and the like. I know that he is going to end up banging and slamming frantically into my slowly soaking and drenching up pussy; I don't seem to even care or bother about it all that much.

With a hurried, frenzied-like sweep and thrust, Chase abruptly and unexpectedly raps and strokes his lips against mine. I freeze in my seat this very instant, putting my breath and locomotion on an un-delayed hold. The way and manner that his teeth gnaw and chomp delightfully on my lips makes me tingle and vibrate with fierce, unrelenting desire of him.

He moves and crawls himself up onto me. His broad, heavy chest collides and makes immediate contact with my breast. I budge and switch my hands to his behind, where I caress steadily and gently his velvety smooth, thrilling-to-touch-and-caress bums. He straight away groans out happily in immense, immeasurable pleasure.

I lift and toss my head back up, furthermore going on to chuck and sling away the impatient threads of hair that have cascaded and tripped over into my face. Chase Hughes here belongs to me. He is all mine—my man and my treasured lover all combined in one.

"Pull your legs up, my sweet baby," he purrs and hisses out to me specifically, shortly carrying on to bite and nibble my ear gleefully after voicing this out. I moan and weep out softly as a starting point, and then dare on to do what he has inquired me. I lift and heave my feet to settle them down on the seat beneath, and just as I am about to sift and search charily for his loving, compassionate and deeply caring eyes, he slots his fingers in between my thighs. I moan and cry out in extreme most pleasure and gladness. Are we really supposed to be faring this far?

As I exhale and breathe out heavily and relentlessly, Chase's gentle lips smooth and graze their way against mine, electrifying and galvanizing me instantaneously into a two-minute orgasm all at the very same time and moment.

I don't know what to precisely think or even do this particular moment. I think that I am in heaven. Are those sweet, melodious, and tuneful voices I can hear now not the unquestionable crooning and singing of happy, innocent angels?

As he continues to kiss and smooch my lips deeply and more deeply and deliriously, he bores and mines his fingers deep inside my vagina, touching this side and that other, tapping this ecstatic, rapt gland this way and that other manner and fashion. I keep my eyes fastened and sealed up, devouring and consuming the boundless pleasure and delight that he is furnishing me with.

"Would you mind if I lick and take a fleet, momentary lap of your sweet, honeyed-like vagina?" He is asking me this in a beautiful and merry-most tone of voice. I like how his voice sweetly and harmoniously chimes and intones inside my ears. It is like exquisite music, irresistible and captivating.

"Go ahead and do it, Chase, if you feel like it." My voice is as submissive and yielding best as I can easily make it. I don't want to be authoritative or any demanding here. Chase dislikes it. He abhors and shuns to be ruled and taken charge of by a fucking god-damn woman; and I respect and value this of him.

As he pitches and submerges himself down, I heave out and weigh stuff up. I don't know how he is precisely or exactly going to handle and manage all of this, but he evermore does it well and superbly.

He slinks and slithers his tongue into my vagina slowly and steadily. I vibrate and quiver helplessly the moment he acts this out. I am already wet and drenched up down there. My buttocks behind are wagging and throbbing fast all on their own. My nipples are itching and tingling with lust and lasciviousness of him on the other hand. I just can't help being aroused and whipped up sexually. The pleasure and enjoyment is all too grand and immense on my part and perspective. It actually and veritably is!

There are these slinky-like but steady, unhurried movements inside my vagina that are cropping up and materializing as Chase buries and digs his tongue deeper and more profoundly into my pussy. I can feel and even sense my womb being wide awake and fully active and restless too. Oh yes! Chase knows well how to perform his job and he does it perfectly and amazingly brilliant. While licking and lapping my vagina agilely, he lifts his hand above to liberally pet and caress I my breasts. I freaking love and adore this!

My eyes are stinging and aching with tears. I want to cry out as much as I would love to remain silent and unspeaking. Once Chase is through with licking my pussy, he picks himself up immediately so that he can look straight and directly into my face and stir himself towards me. I break open my lips for him to make direct contact with. As he brushes and sweeps them carefully and steadily, ramming and poking his tongue directly into my mouth, I shudder and tremble helplessly.