Part 3
Hold Me Tightly
Lucifer
I am Satan, the Prince of Darkness and the Father of Lies. And I think I have a girlfriend. I do believe that I am actually dating a woman. And I'm faithful. What is my existence coming to?
But don't feel sorry for me. Don't even bother. I have better sex than you do!
Ah, if gloating is not one of the seven deadly sins, it definitely should be. It's my favorite one.
Well now, as it happened, my lover and I took the next step in our relationship one evening a few weeks ago after I had been away for longer than usual. I showed up unannounced, as I am wont to do, and once she let me in, I left a trial of discarded clothing on my way to her room where I promptly I took my place on her bed. She followed, unable to resist my display, and stood over me as I lay waiting for her She ran a lazy hand down my back and I arched myself up towards her hand and purred like a good kitty. As her hand was trailing over the backs of my thighs, I was thinking to myself how much I was looking forward to the sensation of her fingernails digging into my skin. How much I longed for the spasms of pain that rip through me when her teeth nip at my nipples or any other part of me she feels like marking as her own. How I was aching with the anticipation of being led to the wall of her bedroom where decorative hooks try desperately to look inconspicuous. But I know why they are there. And afterwards, how I would respond to her gentle hands coaxing me to ridged attention so eagerly that even if spilling myself meant death, at a word from her I would die willingly.
Oh, I was ready to make my offering. I was more than ready.
"Are you hungry?" my lover asked, breaking into my reverie.
"Hungry?" I replied as if she had spoken in some archaic language and I turned my head to look at her.
She smiled and laughed at me.
"Hungry, as in, do you want to eat something?" She informed me.
I fought a three second battle with myself not to answer with "If you will it." That would have been interesting. The state of mind I come to her in tends to elicit, uh, devoted responses. And normally, the goofy expressions that come out of my mouth fit with the game she thinks we are playing, but you can't agree to go to dinner with someone in such a submissive way and expect them not to think you're loony.
Finally, I managed a lame, "Yes."
"Good, I'll get dress and we'll go someplace nice," she said and then proceeded to attack her closet with gusto.
"I will call my driver," I offered, not being able to think of anything else to say. We don't talk much, not in a casual way. She tells me what she wants of me and I do it. There isn't the need for much dialogue.
"I can't believe you actually have a driver!" She exclaimed, still focused on her wardrobe, "I suppose it figures. Those suits you wear are not from Macy's."
"Well, how else should a devastatingly rich and handsome man get around town?" I retorted with a cocky smile, easing into my habitually arrogant self.
"Oh," she replied with great sarcasm, "I assumed that you rode a winged horse. Silly me!"
"Ah, yes, well, he's in the shop," I replied, my smiled having widened at her witty remark.
Then she turned back to me with a mirthful smile, her outfit selected, and ordered, "Put your clothes on," in a comfortingly familiar way.
I obeyed and then left her to go to the living room to pretend to call my driver. I actually do have a driver and a stately Bentley but I don't communicate with my demons via something as ridiculous as a phone.
Adoniel, get your lazy ass over here with the Bentley now! – I projected politely into the mind of my faithful chauffeur and then I took a seat on the couch and waited.
As I sat there, it occurred to me that allowing another fallen angel to know about my little obsession was probably not the brightest idea I'd ever had. But they would all find out soon enough. My dutiful demons spread the rumors better than rich housewives and bored officer workers combined. It's usually a skill that I admire but in this case it would be a nuisance.
Oh, well! I will start some talk of my own. I'll pick some poor unsuspecting cherub and make an example of him in a very public manner. And then I let my victim spread it around that if any of them come anywhere near her, if anyone so much as breathes the first syllable of her name . . . I will tear them into infinitesimal shreds of throbbing agony and watch them spend eternity trying to put themselves back together again! I will show them what pain really feels like! I will . . .
What? Her name? Elizabeth. I do trust that my secret is safe with you. You've been so obliging as to listen to me rant and rave. It really would be a shame to have to destroy you, wouldn't it?
So! Uh, yes! Elizabeth eventually finished her preparations and came out to the living room grinning like a girl going to the Prom. I don't think she gets all gussied up much. She was dressed in a pale blue cocktail dress that looked lovely against her tanned skin and wearing these heels that made her legs look positively scrumptious. I had been admiring the effect on her calves when I suddenly realized that I was staring at her feet as she moved towards me. Oh, you know you've truly lost it when you're gazing longingly at your lover's feet and you're thinking that it would be a very good idea to kneel and kiss them.
I promptly snapped my head up to her face and said, "You look beautiful."
"Thank you," she blushed and then she reached out her hand to me to remind me that one must stand before walking.
Like a proper gentleman, I tucked her hand in the crook of my arm and escorted her to our idling chariot.
"That's quite a car," she commented on our way down the stone path to her driveway.
"Did you think I would have anything as boring as a common limousine?"
"I don't think much about your mode of transportation," she quipped.
"Ah, I forgot my place, my dear!" I answered with a laugh. "With you I am not the Prince of this World. You can reprimand me for my insolence later."
Elizabeth stumbled and blushed positively scarlet. The use of one of my many titles did not register with her as anything but a witty comment, but my not so subtle allusion to our bedroom activities did not sit well with her. I stiffened my arm to stop her from falling and then moved to open the door to hand her into the car. She ducked quickly into her seat, keeping her eyes fixed on the seat in front of her, and began fussing with her seatbelt. I had no choice but to close the door and scold myself all the way to the other side of the car.
By the time I slid in next to her, she was firmly strapped into the vehicle and staring at the back of Adoniel's unsuspecting head. A sudden rage blew through me, a gust of hot jealously. Her eyes should be on me. In love or in hate or in anger, I didn't care, but her attention was mine.
"Elizabeth," I practically growled.
My lover turned to me with a warm but timid smile. Her eyes fluttered down shyly and then back up to cautiously meet my gaze. And I saw to my horror that the great force of her will, the domineering confidence, that I love so much was being washed away by wave after wave of embarrassment and insecurity. My goddess was abandoning me. The woman who sat before me was that and nothing more. She was just a girl going out on a date with a guy she met at a club a few months ago. I was no longer her creature. I was a man to be flirted with and carefully sized up as a potential mate. I was unfamiliar ground instead of conquered territory. And unfortunately, this change of attitude was making me want to hurt someone . . . badly.
It was then that I realized how delicate her belief was in her power over me. In her mind, we played a game were she gave me the rare opportunity to relinquish control and in return I generously indulged her fantasies. Well, she was half right.
And as I sat there battling the wild parts of me that clamored to take advantage of her weakness, she regarded me with innocent eyes, until finally I succeeded gently taking one of her hands in mine and raising it to my lips.
"Where are we going?" She asked amiably, as my gesture calmed the tempestuous sea of her emotions.
"Ado. . . Adam, knows where he is going?" I murmured and a delighted smile broke across my face as Adoniel pulled away from the curb.
"I suppose I'll just have to trust you," she said, grinning back at me.
And there it was. Her trust was in my hands now and she didn't even realize the risk she was actually taking. She had no clue what was sitting next to her and what I was capable of in my untamed state.
"So what is it that you do?" She asked me on the short ride to my favorite spot for experiencing culinary decadence. "I mean for a living," she continued.
"This and that," I replied with a smirk that wanted to become a malevolent grin but was losing out to my last ounce of restrain.
"Oooo, mysterious," she chided and chuckled easily. Her momentary battle with uncertainty was over and her return to a more relaxed state eased me a little, but not enough.
"I could tell you but then I would have to kill you," I blurted out.
At this she, put a hand to her stomach and giggled.
"Okay, James Bond!" She snorted in between her fits of laughter. "Sorry, sorry! I don't mean to laugh at you . . ."
"It's alright," I rumbled grumpily, "I know where you live."
She laughed again and put her hand on my shoulder to steady herself, "You're funny," she proclaimed and in her shining eyes I saw the shadow of the self-assured woman I adored shift and move beneath the surface.
When we arrived at the restaurant, La Porte du Ciel, I got out of the car and she waited obediently for me to open her door only because I had stared her down until she had nodded her compliance. I walked her on my arm in to the foyer of the establishment were we were rudely greeted by a pompous maître'd.
"Do you have a reservation?" he asked in a tone that showed how much he was looking forward to sending us away when we told him that we did not.
"No," I informed him coolly.
"In that case . . . "
"In that case," I interrupted him, "You might want to take a look at my card before you decide which table we will be seated at."
I reached into my breast pocket and unveiled said business card which I impatiently allowed him to inspect.
"Oh my!" he gushed when he was finished, "Mr. Morningstar, welcome to our humble restaurant. Allow me to notify the manager and we will have the best table ready for you immediately."
I nodded my acceptance of his proposal and he scurried off to make it happen.
Elizabeth regarded me curiously after this display of male authority but she was soon too caught up in her fascination with the opulence of the place to analyze it further. Even once we sat down, I could not get her attention on the menu. When the waiter finally arrived and rattled off the appetizers, entrées and wine selections we would be having for the evening.
When the man left she said to me, "That was expertly done. I think I might have a gentleman on my hands."
"In your hands," I corrected her before I could stop myself and another hot blush spread across her lovely face.
From then on I tried to stick to banal pleasantries. We talked about the weather and the state of the economy. We discussed her favorite pieces of literature and my vast, uhm, knowledge of history. And it all was going perfectly fine until she asked, "How is it that you speak Icelandic?"
"I speak many languages," I deflected, "In business it is wise to be multilingual."
"But Icelandic," she said, not buying it. "And that song you sing some times when we're . . . intimate. "
I smiled remembering.
"My father taught me that song," I told her semi-truthfully, "It is a song of love and joy."
"Oh!" She mumbled.
"I sing it when I am happy," I added.
Elizabeth flushed but this time with pleasure and then we were mercifully distracted by the chocolate soufflé.
Dutiful Adoniel was waiting for us at the curb when we exited and like a good boy remained safely behind the driver's seat where he belongs. I ushered Elizabeth in to the back seat and took my place by her side for the ride home. When we got there, I didn't need to intimidate her into waiting for me to come around to her door. She waited for me patiently and gave me a sweet smile when I opened the door.
Walking Elizabeth along the path to her front door, I began to worry that I had irrevocably destroyed the illusion of home that she had created for me here. She reached for her purse and fumbled with her keys before unlocking the door and preceding me into the darkened living room.
Then tossing her bag on the couch, Elizabeth strode over to her wing backed armchair, her heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood floor, and sat down, leaning back and crossing her legs seductively. I stood in the middle of the room, waiting nervously for some sign that I was forgiven for a transgression that she didn't even know had occurred.
I had burned hopeless agony for a few moments and then she purred, "I have a new toy for you."
Abruptly, I surged forward and knelt at her feet. Uncrossing her legs, she leaned forward and dug a hand into my hair. Then forcing my head back, she kissed me roughly, before she pushed me backwards onto the floor, her new toy forgotten. As I lay back, she stood over me, kicking off her heels and slipping her dress down her body and onto the floor. Coming down to kneel over me, she slid off my jacket and seized my mouth again fiercely. Each piece of clothing that she took from me was flung away impatiently as if its presence insulted her and my lips paid the price for each offense.
And just like that, my goddess returned to claim me again. She took me there on the bare floorboards, her hips grinding me against the unforgiving wood. I existed for her pleasure once again and my trembling body welcomed her right reign over it completely. When she cried out ecstasy, I felt her satisfaction as a blaze of joy in my heart. My arms tightened and I clung to her desperately, uncontrollably following her lead into the rapture of release, and unleashing more than mere seed.
Elizabeth got the whole first verse of the Gloria out of me that night, boys and girls. Oh yeah! With all the choirs of angels in heaven let us proclaim His glory and join in their unending hymn of praise, my friends. Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus!
I didn't actually sing in Latin obviously. But that didn't stop my little performance from ruining her acceptance of my white lie about the song's origin. I'll just leave it to her to torture the truth out of me. I'm looking forward to it.
Oh, if you're wondering why sex with humans is so attractive to a fallen angel, you will first need to understand that angels don't have sex like humans do. In heaven, when two angelic beings get a bit randy they embrace and mix completely like air with air, a union of pure spirit, one soul mixing with the other. When we fallen angels tried that, we quickly discovered that we could feel each other's agony. The spiritual pain is doubled when we join like that, not fun, and so you can see why your version of sex is appealing.
And the sex is so good! I've got to hand it to the Big Guy! Glory to God for the female body!
But it is incredibly strange that she feels me, isn't it. She doesn't just hear my cute half-sung, half-chanted tune, and think that it's just a weird sexual quirk. She feels me worshipping and she knows I don't have any control over myself when it takes me. And in the aftermath, when I am as weak as a baby until I become reacquainted with the fact that I'm in physical form, her arms enfold me and soothe me. She comforts me as if sending me into the throes of angelic ecstasy was exactly what she had planned from the first caress. Hm!
Elizabeth asked me to stay with her that night too. At first I used to leave after she was done with me but as our liaisons became more intense I had begun to hold her against me until she fell asleep, until I was ready to leave the sanctuary of her presence. But that night I remained firmly pressed against her all night long as I watched over her dreams.
And in the morning, she gave me a key to her house, so that I might visit her temple when she is away. I already do pop in from time to time, but now I have official permission to wander around her abode like a crazy stalker. I'll have to come up with ways to put my unrestricted access to good use.
Elizabeth does have this adorable fantasy of finding me chained to her bed when she comes home from work. I wish she would put me in chains. I would make my existence a heck of a lot easier. Oh, I could leave, of course, chains can't hold me, but I would stay if she put me there. The problem is that I sense all sorts of desires from her: She wants peace in the Middle East, she wants to get a nice dinning room table to replace the hand-me-down her mother gave her, she wants the dog next door to stop barking at all hours. And I can give her anything she wishes, but a good servant is obedient. A good servant awaits his master's command. I was made to be a perfect servant and if she ever asks for more than my body, I would try to give her that. It is all that I have to give. But what need does she have for my obedience? For the misplaced devotion of a broken angel? For the love and adoration that was once capable of pleasing a Deity?
Perhaps it is best if she never asks. Perhaps it is best if I remain a plaything and nothing more.