tagErotic HorrorXaemyl's Tale Ch. 01

Xaemyl's Tale Ch. 01


He knew she wanted him.

He had warned her, after all, as if his nature wasn't clear enough. He chuckled, a deep malignant sound.

As if . . .

She had known and she still wanted him.

Today's world was so sweet. The cynicism of modern people made gathering his pleasure so much easier. No one believed in anything anymore. Even as recently as a century ago, the mere mention of his name made mortals tremble in fear, terror flashing in their eyes.

Now, subterfuge was unnecessary. Most of the fools had never even heard his name and were delightfully clueless in their ignorance. The select few who recognized his name were so jaded they believed him harmless. A fellow jaded mortal playing the game.

He smirked, amused. Their lack of belief had made the world his playground. He was no longer denied anything, or anyone.

She was just one of the many women drawn to him. One of the many begging for his attentions. So what was it about her that drew his mind back to her over and over? Her beauty? No, he'd had millions of women - all beautiful in their own right - some far more than she. And he knew all too well what beauty could be corrupted into. He smiled, remembering what he had twisted their beauty into; remembering their tears, their begging and pleading through the blood and the pain.

Not that she wasn't beautiful. Not in the least. He had always been partial to redheads, with their fiery hair that begged for his touch.

She had blazing red hair, dark and rich, and animated eyes that fluctuated between blue and green depending on her mood. They'd been green most often recently because he kept her in a constant state of arousal. A depraved grin played across his face as his mind toyed with that wicked thought.

Looking down at her sleeping, unsuspecting form, he admired her pale skin. The smoothness of her face belied her human age, giving her the ability to pass for one in her twenties. He caressed the soft red lips that he ached to violate, running his hand down over her sensual jaw line, down to the soft, delicate flesh of her throat; his own mouth barely restrained in his desire. She moaned, still deeply asleep, as his hand continued its journey of exploration, running over her chest. The snaps of her nightgown released before his touch as if of their own will. He caressed the valley between her voluptuous breasts and followed the curve of her left breast to the puckering nipple, his fingers gently teasing the attentive flesh.

His hand reluctantly left her breast, traveling down the arc of her rib cage, over the supple flesh of her stomach, savoring the feel of her nearly translucent skin, pausing as it reached the top of her soft, auburn triangle. As his fingers brushed the ends of the feathery hair that covered her most intimate area, she arched her back, her body willing him to touch her despite her mind's oblivion. Her creamy thighs parted, yielding to his caress and he smiled, knowing that he could take her right then and there and she would be his utterly, completely and without reservation.

His own cock was ready, rock hard and almost painfully engorged. For this visit he wore his favored body; that of the angel, standing a full six feet tall, with a solid, muscular body and dark, wavy hair that flowed down his back to his waist. Were it not for the wicked glint in his dark brown eyes, one would have believed this being to be divine. Pure. His other form was undeniably evil. From the luminescent blood red eyes to the wicked curve of his horns along with his eight-foot height, massive chest and a member so obscenely huge, it was the feature of many of his past conquest's nightmares. Those who survived, that is.

He found that when first taking a woman, this body was so much more efficient. They practically begged him to take them, giving themselves eagerly to him. When he'd finished with them, it amused him to switch forms and hear their screams as he brutalized them. Could anyone expect any less? After all, he was the Daemon Xaemyl.

The change in her breathing alerted him to her waking and he dissipated just as she opened her sleepy eyes.

She started, thinking she'd seen something - a man, maybe - standing over her. But no, there was no one there, she thought, surprised to find herself disappointed. She'd had such a dream and was horny beyond belief. Unsure as to why, she recalled feeling a touch - a man's touch - one that made her ample nipples harden into tight little points and made her juices flow, dampening her nightie. She moaned softly, sliding her fingers down into that dampness, feeling the slick fluid covering the bud of her clitoris as she rubbed, aching for release.

As she stimulated herself, Xaemyl watched, hidden from her eyes, enjoying the sight of her masturbation, knowing he was the reason; the focus of her mind's attention. He considered revealing himself, but he chose to wait. Let her anticipate his touch a while longer, suffer, wanting him. The only problem with that plan was that he wanted her, wanted her badly, and he was not used to waiting for what he wanted. Patience, he normally had much of - he could wait - living a millennia had taught him to wait for the perfect time to strike. But he was also used to taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, and she was driving him mad with desire. He wondered at the intensity of his desire for her. Perhaps he should take her. Maybe that would remove her from his mind, as it had all the others. Once tasted, once defiled, corrupted, used, they lost their attraction, their mysteries torn open under his attentions, vulnerable and weak to his plundering.

She came with an intense shudder, and lay there softly moaning as the waves of ecstasy slowly ebbed away. He growled, determined to have her soon.

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