Rithwraith
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Greetings all. This is my attempt at absurdist romantic quasi-pornographic humour. It’s rather long winded and contains scenes of a rather more sexual nature than my stories usually do.
Hope you enjoy.
The Broadsword that was Cupid and the Grateful Demoness
It had started as just another Sunday morning. I’d woken up late, took in some refreshing breaths of air from my bedroom window, had a bowel of Frosties and a mug of coffee and was debating in what manner I should waste the rest of the day, when my house was invaded by Demons.
The first of them barged through the kitchen door, shrieking like a maniac and brandishing a spear which he thrust, without making much effort to aim, in my direction. The Frosties box was thus eviscerated and pushed clean off the table, falling to the floor in a messy spectacle.
Now I was rather shocked, as you might imagine, however I’d seen enough of combat, demons and general purpose nasty surprises in my years (I’m 254 years old coincidently) to know how to respond to such a situation.
“Terrance, to me!” I cried, unable to completely quell the absurdist dramatic tones in my voice.
Terrance, my trusty broadsword, flew through the other kitchen door a second later and buried his haft in my right hand, just as my red, horned aggressor was making another thrust with his spear.
I sidestepped the attack and quickly brought my sword down hard on the wooden shaft, snapping it a third of the way down. The beast tried to fillet me once again with just the broken stick. I managed to deflect the blow and then drove Terrance through the Demon’s leathery neck.
It gurgled, dribbled and died. Huzzah!
Another Demon then stepped through the kitchen door. Unlike the first one, this fellow was walking with a purposeful stride and he was glaring at me with murderous intent rather then screaming and gibbering like the Starfish Princess of New Atlantis after a night out.
He was also wearing a silken shirt with those strange puffy wrist-thingys, it looked absurd.
“Explain yourself.” I said, hoping that I sounded less nervous to him than I did to myself. I could only imagine that this was an assassination attempt. No doubt some benefactors of a despotic warlord or necromancer or someone who I’d helped put down whilst on the war-band had come for revenge. Some groups of demons tend to be amazingly methodical about revenge, sending legions of assassins after entire armies.
He cleared his throat and then spat on the floor, disgusting creature.
“Someone wants your home
Would claim it for her own see?
Slice ye, give it she.”
I stared in puzzlement for a second.
“Was that a haiku?”
He nodded, his eyes losing none of their murderous quality in the wake of such random poetry. He then charged at me, claws outstretched towards my throat. I ducked down and swung Terrance in a wide arc, slicing his legs off.
“Bloody hell that hurts.
Gaaah, You sliced my legs off *seethe*!
I’ll kill you, you swine!”
I do so love absurdity, and the sheer extent to which having a Demon who speaks only in haikus try and kill me is such a joyous happenstance that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing there and then.
It was easy enough to avoid his crawling frame as he tried to pull his body close enough to my legs to slash at me. Finally, when the rancid smell of his ever-spilling blood on the kitchen floor started to get to me, I drove Terrance through his back and into his heart.
“Stabbed, run through I am.
My life is cut short by you
No pun intended.”
He died, and I have to admit that I felt rather bad about killing him. Perhaps I should have just flung him in the dungeon and not released him until he’d imparted upon me a hundred haikus as delightful as the last three.
Then again, he was trying to kill me wasn’t he? and all to steal my house, for some manner of ‘she’. Well, the house was not going to switch owners today.
A third demon showed up, but because he was not nearly so interesting as the preceding one I’ll just say that me and Terrance dispatched him as well.
For a long while after that, nothing seemed to happen. I stood guarding the Demon’s entrance way for a good ten minutes, but when no more appeared I moved off to the control room in the rightmost tower. The radar confirmed that there were no more demons on the premises, not for the moment at least. I instructed it to let me know in case any more uninvited guests show up.
You may ask yourself why I didn’t have that manner of security system on as a precaution anyway, and the truth is that most of my neighbours in the trans-dimensional rift I’ve built my house within are far more pleasant than the previous three. Having some manner of noisy, uninviting alarm system in place for every stranger that comes to the door would make me seem most ungentlemanly, and would have deprived me of more than a few opportunities in my time.
Anyway, thirty two minutes passed and I had just managed to clear up most of the mess in the kitchen and was about done burying my haiku spewing friend in the back garden when the alarm started going off.
“Terrance, to me!”
To me did Terrance to thenceforth.
I scurried back to the control tower, deactivated the noisy alarm and summoned a lifesign detecting device for the left hand. The intruder was, rather predictably, in the kitchen. They appeared to be going through my fridge. If they stole one of my beers than I was going to be rather more upset than a simple impaling can adequately remedy.
Whoever they were, they didn’t seem too concerned about having set off the alarm. Perhaps they thought the house had been taken and that their comrades had simply not figured out how to deal with the security system.
Ever so slowly I crept back into the house, through the rooms and halls leading to the kitchen and then, with a grunt of indignation, I kicked open the door and stepped through to face… Wow.
The woman glaring absently in my refrigerator, no, sorry, the inhumanly beautiful Demon Goddess-person glaring absently in my refrigerator turned to look at me as my dramatic entrance degenerated into awed staring.
Her skin was pale to the point where it almost seemed to glow. Her figure was lithe and, dare I say it, perfect, and was complimented further by tight fitting black garb that somehow, paradoxical as it may sound, managed to be both revealing and dignified.
Her hair was mostly black with blonde flashes hanging down at the front. The rest stretched midway down her back. Her eyes were an unfriendly red, and two small horns were jutting a little way out of her forehead. A demon to be sure, perhaps a succubus… but no, I’d dealt with them before and there was always a definite artificial quality to their seductiveness that was plain to see for anyone who could bring themselves to see it. This person, for lack of a better word, was possessing of a quite natural, albeit supernatural, beauty.
Terrance thankfully was free from such concerns, and he snapped my drooping sword arm back to a raised posture.
“Who are you?” I finally asked, “and why are you trying to steal my house?”
“Fair questions,” she replied in a strange voice, it sounded distant, kind of apprehensive, maybe even excited though I had little idea why it would. “But first I have to know, what’s become of my three… co-workers.” She pushed the last word out through clenched teeth.
“They’re quite dead.” I said, grinning a little as moronic lust gave way to the memory of battle for a few seconds.
Instead of the shock or anger that I expected, the Demoness instead smiled a hauntingly beautiful smile and flung herself at me, weaving around Terrance with ease. I tried to pull back, expecting to find her teeth in my throat any second now, but instead I discovered that she was hugging me. Very tightly too I might add.
“Thank you!” She said into my shoulder, “Thank you! I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for someone to put those three bastards to death.”
I contemplated slicing at her back with Terrance, but curiosity, among other things, got the better of me.
“What are you talking about?” I said, reasoning that she would try and deceive me before trying to kill me, presumably still for the purpose of seizing my humble rift-space domicile, which gave me time enough for some questions.
She didn’t answer, she merely tightened her grip around me, pushing her breasts into my ribs and running one hand down the length of my back.
“I owe you more than you can imagine.” She said, sounding on the verge of tears. Demonic tricksmanship to be sure. “I’ve been a prisoner of those three for millennia.”
“Really?” I said incredulously, pressing the flat of Terrance’s blade against the exposed skin at her back. Her grip loosened ever so slightly, “Cause the only vocal member of the group seemed to suggest that they were fighting in your name. Someone, a ‘she’ specifically, wants my household, and they seemed quite eager to kill me to get it.”
She, whoever she was, loosened her grip entirely and stepped back, looked suddenly very conscious of the sword in my hand.
“It’s a long story.” She said timidly, “Mind if we sit down?”
“Of course.” I said, moving to shut the front door which, to my surprise, was surprisingly well intact despite having had four Demons barge through it.
“Got anything to drink?” She asked, even more timidly than before. It was fine acting I’ll grant her that. Rationally I knew that I was in terrible danger of, most likely, death. Here was a powerful infernal entity and a consummate deceiver to be sure. All the same, I found I was having to repeat that fact to myself over and over again as my instincts began to doubt the fact.
“Beer, orange juice and coffee.” I muttered absently, keeping my eyes on her and my hand on my sword at all times. I really did try to keep my eyes on her head, but damn me if I couldn’t keep myself from looking down.
Beers in hand, we sat on the living room couch. It was a ludicrously elaborate gothic satin thing which I’d nicked from the money laundering Baron Hoiviivii of Washington DC in 2312 AD. It clashed horribly with the IKEA bookshelf but I can live with that.
“My name is Llyren.” She said after a few sips, “I am… I was a Tarlnivarin of the 45th Wretched Kingdom.”
“A what?” I asked.
“Tarlnivarin. There’s not really a suitable translation in any human tongues I know of. The best I can say is...” She paused to think, “Half Queen, half slave.”
“I’m still none the wiser.”
“I was the head of the party of Demons you just butchered.” She flashed me a smile that made my heartbeat speed up, “At the same time though, I was bound to them. I could never travel more than half a mile from their presence, nor be out of their sight for longer than an hour. I was supposed to lead them, seizing lands, corrupting and murdering mortals and generally doing Demon-things for the rest of eternity.”
I nodded and sipped, trying with some effort to listen intently rather than hope she’d find some reason to take her boots off. It was an interesting story in truth, but there was just no getting rid of the ever growing desire. I suspect that some manner of pheromonal Demonic trickery was at work as well.
“How long had you been doing that then?”
“Five thousand years.” She said gloomily.
“Five thousand years of haikus?” I muttered in jest.
Her face took on an abrupt look of horror and she grabbed at my arm tightly with one hand. Her grip was a strong one, and the stare she gave me seemed frenzied.
“I – do – not – ever – want – to – hear – another – fucking – haiku.” She said through her teeth. “Or even hear mention of them.”
“Sorry.” I replied.
She collected herself then and shook her head. The grip on my arm lessened.
“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. Five thousand years of haikus, five thousand years of screeches and idiocy. All three of them were in love with me, and all three of them were repulsive, unworthy idiots. Can you imagine that? Five thousand years of it?”
“No, I don’t think I can.”
I took another long sip of beer, thinking that this encounter might just end amicably with her walking out the door when all was said and done, when something occurred to me.
“Wait a minute. How come in five millennia no one’s ever managed to kill them. They were pitiful fighters at best, and I’m hardly Zorro myself.”
“Who?”
“Uh, nevermind. Suffice to say, I can’t possibly be the most challenging opponent they’ve faced in all this time.”
“They’re impeccable cowards.” She stopped and smiled at me again, “They were impeccable cowards. Five thousand years of running away when things got too tough. Today though, with just one human to worry about, I suppose they got overconfident.”
“You ordered them to kill me didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said matter of factly, “sorry.”
I shrugged, in truth I didn’t much care. There was a moment of silence while we finished our beers and then she stood up, and then I stood up.
“So what will you do now?” I asked. It took a while for her to answer.
“I have no idea. I’ve spent almost all my life with them, serving the will of the Foul Lords and Ladies of Hell. I’ve never really chosen anything for myself.”
I was so perilously close to offering to let her stay here for a time. Some sliver of rational survival instinct however just about managed to keep me acting cautiously.
“What’s your name?” She asked then, “I should know the name of the man who saved me don’t you think?”
Gah, sly cunning she-demon wiliness. All these compliments, ego-playing asides and revealing garments would have caused most undignified blushing and possibly an erection by now if not for the biological regulators that they’d inserted into our brains at the academy.
“Did I not introduce myself earlier? Forgive me, I am Sir Nathan de Sangliare of Her Majesty’s Rift-guardians… retired.”
“A rift guardian? I should have known. Sworn enemies of all Demonkind aren’t you?”
“Technically.”
“Does that make us mortal enemies?”
“You tell me.”
She stood up took two steps towards me, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. My caution and resolve crumbled and I stood and returned the kiss with all the passion I could muster.
She drew her head back and looked at me. She was trembling, and looked more than a little nervous; and some part of me was probably crying out ‘trickery! Pay it no heed!’ but by this point I’d stopped caring.
“I hope not.” She whispered. She started to say more, but then instead she started crying and buried her head in my shoulder.
Five thousand years. The words repeated themselves over and over again. Her ordeal could only have been far more horrific than the ghost writer I hired can covey on paper, even if she was secretly trying to kill or ensnare me, her suffering would have been unspeakable.
I embraced her and for a long while we just stood there.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.” I said, ignoring the myriad protestations from the rational half of my brain. If a problem did arise than doubtless Terrance would intervene on my behalf, and it wasn’t exactly as if I was breaking my knightly oath, assuming that she had indeed severed all ties to her Demon kingdom. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of.
She looked at me with tear stained crimson eyes.
“I’d like that, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I paused, “Look, I’m sure there are at least half a hundred better things you could be doing to mark your first day of freedom than weeping. How about I summon some celebratory items from the requisition offices? Alcohol at the very least.”
That may have sounded a tad insensitive, but sadness and vulnerability tends to be either very short-lived or everlasting where immortals are concerned, and Llyren didn’t strike me as the overly sorrowful type.
She blinked a few times, took in many deep breaths and wiped her perfect face free of tears. She smiled again then, and that same damned teenage schoolboy excitement returned.
“You’re right.” She said, “We should be celebrating. We should be drinking from the skulls of my former… associates. We should be tanning their hides, stitching them into rugs and dancing on them.”
Without warning, or perhaps with no shortage of warning, depends on your interpretation, she brought her hands to my chest and started to unbutton my shirt.
“I should be thanking you properly.” She said, sounding anything but sad all of a sudden.
My hands, with barely any prompting, found the straps holding Llyren’s quasi-corset in place and began to undo them. I sent a mental command to the regulator to shut itself down for twenty four hours.
“Are you sure you want to?” I said, almost reluctantly, feeling a nagging urge to remain as chivalrous as I could.
“Yes.” She said, stepping backwards and effectively walking out of the corset which stayed in my hands.
I dropped the leather garment to the floor, tore off my shirt and then started on my trousers.
“You are beautiful.” My blood-drained brain managed to bid me say.
She giggled, it was a lovely sound, and it also served to remind me of my earlier desire to see her out of her boots.
With sudden purposefulness, I stepped in, scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the bedroom. Once there, I gently manoeuvred her around the ornate wooden posts at each corner of the bed and lowered her onto the mattress. She hastily disposed of her underwear, which I can only describe as two thirds of a pair of latex shorts. When I say disposed of, I don’t mean took off, I mean she wrenched them from her thighs, set them on fire and cast them out an open window.
Rather less dramatically, I removed my last lingering items of clothing and then lowered myself down on top of her, propped up on my elbows. We kissed once again for what felt like at least ten minutes. We rolled onto our sides and then I began to make my way downwards, kissing her breasts and exploring her waist with my hands whilst she pushed my head into her chest with her hands and wrapped her legs around mine.
My hands moved to her hips, and ever so gently I dug in my fingers. Almost at once I was rewarded with some delicious squirming on her part. Grinning like a New Seattle swine-weasel, I intensified my attack on her lithe midsection and sure enough she began to react most strongly, her body thrashed on the mattress and her hands shot down to swat mine away. A minor counterattack that I easily worked around.
That beautiful laughter of hers was soon resounding throughout the bedroom. I could be wrong, but there seemed to be a definite edge of joy to it. Not an unreasonable assumption considering her recent change of circumstances.
I paused after a few minutes and let her catch her breath. To be honest I’d tickled her for far longer than I expected she’d let me. That bode well, perhaps.
She made no attempt to scratch away the lingering sensations. She simply lay on her back for a while, giggling reflexively. Finally however she turned her head towards mine, grinned, blushed and traced a lazy hand down my chest.
“Is that all I can expect?” She asked, folding her arms behind her head.
“Not at all,” I said, stepping back and standing up, “Not even close.”
I snapped my fingers three times, and then something rather odd happened. Odd from anyone else’s perspective at least.
Two miniature doorways opened in the walls, one at each end of the room. From one shot a length of rope that sought out Llyren’s wrists and bound them tightly, (though not uncomfortably) together. She struggled reflexively at first, but then realisation dawned on her and she sat back once again, already laughing against her will at just the thought of what was about to happen.
I took her left leg in one hand, raising it upwards. With my other hand I worked on undoing the straps of those damned knee high leather boots of hers. Ever so slowly the stubborn lace loosened, the grip of the boot on her leg waned and finally I was able to pull it off.
She even laughed as I did that much, the felt lining within evidently tickling her as it brushed against her heel.
I repeated the process with the other boot, wanting to see both of her feet together, and also wanting to see them both tied together, which was what the other doorway was for.
As I stepped back, boot in hand, my eyes fixated on the pale, flawless feet and toes of my… houseguest, the rope shot forth, swerved around me and started winding itself around her ankles.
I stood there for a moment, admiring her prone, bound and naked form whilst she waited with closed eyes and a barely suppressed grin for whatever was to come.
Finally, I stepped forward and took hold of the bindings around her ankles with one hand, with the other I began to lightly tickle her smooth soles.
For such a modest touch the intense reflexive response that followed was more than a little unnerving. She virtually shrieked at the light touch, and when she calmed down I noticed that she was trying to scratch one foot with the other.
And yet she wasn’t demanding or begging that I stop, nor was she pulling her feet out of my grasp. Taking this as a cue, I wrapped my arm around her ankles and launched a far more savage attack on her feet.
“NEEAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA! SHEEEAAAAAAAAAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
Her body flailed as best it could, but her feet were going nowhere. I explored her soles, heels, toes and arches for many a long minute, never stopping, never giving her a chance to adapt.
She pulled her legs against my grip, and her torso was thumping manically down on the mattress, yet all the same I could tell that she loved it. Her natural instincts may compel her to get free, but her laughter held almost no involuntary quality, and there was still no begging on her part.
When my tickling arm was starting to get tired, I stopped and, gentleman that I am, rubbed away some of the lingering sensations in her feet. I’d be torturing them again soon enough but it was only polite to make her respite all the more restful.
She lay on the mattress, giggling and panting heavily. A few moments passed and then she rolled onto her back, propping herself up on her bound arms to look at me with eyes that looked as mischievous as Demonic, crimson eyes can.
“You like my feet I’m guessing.” She said, pushing her legs out towards me and slowly dragging her toenails up my chest.
“I like all of you.” I responded truthfully.
“That’s good.” She said, lifting her feet to my face and started pushing her toes through my hair. I reached up with one hand and ran it along the length of her left leg. I was hesitant to tickle her just yet as the close proximity of her feet to my face might result in an unfortunate, involuntary kick.
She laughed a little as my well conditioned hair brushed against her feet and found its way between her toes. Soon she lowered her legs so that her feet were in line with my lips. Avid hint taker that I am, I wrapped my hands around her feet, bent forward and started to kiss them.
Llyren moaned contentedly and lent back as I brushed my lips over each of her toes in succession, then down the length of her left arch, across her heels and back up her right arch. I then moved my mouth over my new housemate’s big toes and wrapped my lips around them.
Her moans turned to squeals as my tongue worked its way across every last millimetre of her faultless toes. They curled around my tongue as best they could, and her feet pulled against my grip, but she stood no chance of breaking free. It was all she could do to lay there and laugh. Swine that I am, I started to draw my thumbs up and down on her soles as well, increasing the extent of her delightful laughter and writhing nicely.
Even when I heard her start to become breathless, it took quite a strong force of effort to extract myself from her feet, which were not only perfect, but bewitching. One would necessitate the other though really, I think. I’ll have to think on that.
Anyhoo, I wiped her feet free of lingering sensations with the quilt and then shuffled up to the head of the bed.
“So,” she said, nuzzling against my shoulder, “Have you delivered me from five thousand years of suffering just to make me your tickle-slave for the next five thousand?”
“Certainly not.” I replied, “I am no keeper of concubines milady, and what kind of a travesty against nature would it be to have a Goddess like you reduced to such a state.”
“Flatterer.” she said, leaning forward to bite at my neck while I traced my hands down the length of her arms, down to her buttocks, which was also ticklish as I was then to discover.
She yelped and bounced back a little.
“Well,” she said as she shuffled over to me and we kissed again briefly, “What are you planning to do whilst you have me tied and helpless here?”
Her voice was difficult to describe. The best I can say is that it was the voice of an impatient temptress.
“Are you going to play with my feet again?” She asked.
“Would you like me to?”
“It’s tempting.” She said, mashing her breasts against my chest, “But then it’s not like we’re short of time, or options.”
“I hope not.” I said, surprised I’ll admit by just how much I meant that. For all my caution and scepticism of only an hour or so ago, I suddenly didn’t want her to leave.
I leaned forward and started to kiss her neck, which she seemed to like. I snapped my fingers next, and the bonds around her wrists and ankles fell away.
Things seemed to progress naturally from there. It was very frenzied, each of us was hungry and impatient to sate ourselves upon the other. I did spare a few moments to torment her feet again, persistent fellow that I am, and I have to say, her reactions were far more enjoyable when she was unbound.
Hours passed until we could wait no longer, I entered her and brought us both to orgasm.
Now don’t ask me why, it can only be some trick of her doing, but my orgasm lasted well over ten minutes. Her own seemed to endure for at least an hour. Shortly after I’d retracted my, uh, self, and for a long while afterwards, she wrapped her arms around me and clung to my pale frame with a grip that would not be broken, not that I had any mind to try of course.
Her body was shaking, and continued to shake well passed the conclusion of our carnal hoo-hah.
(If I may interject at this point, allow me to reassure you that I gave the ghost writer a clip round the ear for phrasing it thus, alas he uploaded this story before I could check it, fool that he is).
“Are you ok?” I finally asked, feeling quite the fool for asking.
“Better than ok.” She said, her voice warm and sleepy, but I could tell there was an edge to it, something that she was hiding.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, pulling my head back to try and get a look at hers.
She sighed, and perhaps even sobbed a little.
“How long do you think you’d be happy for me to stay here?” She finally asked.
“I told you, you can stay as long as you want.”
“And if I wanted to stay forever?” She asked, pressing her horned forehead against my shoulder to keep her face from view. “For millennia I dreamed about nothing except being free, seeing the sights of the multiverse with no infernal obligations or wretched companions. Now at last I can do that, but add to the equation a handsome knight who rescued me from my fate. Someone I’d be glad to spend five millennia with, ten millennia even. What would you say if I said I wanted to stay with you for the rest of time?”
Though ultimately it took us another two months to finally say the words, I knew there and then, beyond all doubt, that I was falling in love with her as well.
“Then I’d say that we should visit the crystal tunnels of Kajnailnma first.” I replied, running my fingers through her hair in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. “They’re the most… uh, second most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I could feel her sigh in relief. A few tears escaped her eyes, but soon she was almost glowing with happiness. I can only imagine what grinning foolishness my own face must have been.
“Sounds great,” she said, “when we get out of bed, in a month or two, let’s do that. Until then I’ve still got to thank you properly.”
The End
Hope you enjoy.
The Broadsword that was Cupid and the Grateful Demoness
It had started as just another Sunday morning. I’d woken up late, took in some refreshing breaths of air from my bedroom window, had a bowel of Frosties and a mug of coffee and was debating in what manner I should waste the rest of the day, when my house was invaded by Demons.
The first of them barged through the kitchen door, shrieking like a maniac and brandishing a spear which he thrust, without making much effort to aim, in my direction. The Frosties box was thus eviscerated and pushed clean off the table, falling to the floor in a messy spectacle.
Now I was rather shocked, as you might imagine, however I’d seen enough of combat, demons and general purpose nasty surprises in my years (I’m 254 years old coincidently) to know how to respond to such a situation.
“Terrance, to me!” I cried, unable to completely quell the absurdist dramatic tones in my voice.
Terrance, my trusty broadsword, flew through the other kitchen door a second later and buried his haft in my right hand, just as my red, horned aggressor was making another thrust with his spear.
I sidestepped the attack and quickly brought my sword down hard on the wooden shaft, snapping it a third of the way down. The beast tried to fillet me once again with just the broken stick. I managed to deflect the blow and then drove Terrance through the Demon’s leathery neck.
It gurgled, dribbled and died. Huzzah!
Another Demon then stepped through the kitchen door. Unlike the first one, this fellow was walking with a purposeful stride and he was glaring at me with murderous intent rather then screaming and gibbering like the Starfish Princess of New Atlantis after a night out.
He was also wearing a silken shirt with those strange puffy wrist-thingys, it looked absurd.
“Explain yourself.” I said, hoping that I sounded less nervous to him than I did to myself. I could only imagine that this was an assassination attempt. No doubt some benefactors of a despotic warlord or necromancer or someone who I’d helped put down whilst on the war-band had come for revenge. Some groups of demons tend to be amazingly methodical about revenge, sending legions of assassins after entire armies.
He cleared his throat and then spat on the floor, disgusting creature.
“Someone wants your home
Would claim it for her own see?
Slice ye, give it she.”
I stared in puzzlement for a second.
“Was that a haiku?”
He nodded, his eyes losing none of their murderous quality in the wake of such random poetry. He then charged at me, claws outstretched towards my throat. I ducked down and swung Terrance in a wide arc, slicing his legs off.
“Bloody hell that hurts.
Gaaah, You sliced my legs off *seethe*!
I’ll kill you, you swine!”
I do so love absurdity, and the sheer extent to which having a Demon who speaks only in haikus try and kill me is such a joyous happenstance that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing there and then.
It was easy enough to avoid his crawling frame as he tried to pull his body close enough to my legs to slash at me. Finally, when the rancid smell of his ever-spilling blood on the kitchen floor started to get to me, I drove Terrance through his back and into his heart.
“Stabbed, run through I am.
My life is cut short by you
No pun intended.”
He died, and I have to admit that I felt rather bad about killing him. Perhaps I should have just flung him in the dungeon and not released him until he’d imparted upon me a hundred haikus as delightful as the last three.
Then again, he was trying to kill me wasn’t he? and all to steal my house, for some manner of ‘she’. Well, the house was not going to switch owners today.
A third demon showed up, but because he was not nearly so interesting as the preceding one I’ll just say that me and Terrance dispatched him as well.
For a long while after that, nothing seemed to happen. I stood guarding the Demon’s entrance way for a good ten minutes, but when no more appeared I moved off to the control room in the rightmost tower. The radar confirmed that there were no more demons on the premises, not for the moment at least. I instructed it to let me know in case any more uninvited guests show up.
You may ask yourself why I didn’t have that manner of security system on as a precaution anyway, and the truth is that most of my neighbours in the trans-dimensional rift I’ve built my house within are far more pleasant than the previous three. Having some manner of noisy, uninviting alarm system in place for every stranger that comes to the door would make me seem most ungentlemanly, and would have deprived me of more than a few opportunities in my time.
Anyway, thirty two minutes passed and I had just managed to clear up most of the mess in the kitchen and was about done burying my haiku spewing friend in the back garden when the alarm started going off.
“Terrance, to me!”
To me did Terrance to thenceforth.
I scurried back to the control tower, deactivated the noisy alarm and summoned a lifesign detecting device for the left hand. The intruder was, rather predictably, in the kitchen. They appeared to be going through my fridge. If they stole one of my beers than I was going to be rather more upset than a simple impaling can adequately remedy.
Whoever they were, they didn’t seem too concerned about having set off the alarm. Perhaps they thought the house had been taken and that their comrades had simply not figured out how to deal with the security system.
Ever so slowly I crept back into the house, through the rooms and halls leading to the kitchen and then, with a grunt of indignation, I kicked open the door and stepped through to face… Wow.
The woman glaring absently in my refrigerator, no, sorry, the inhumanly beautiful Demon Goddess-person glaring absently in my refrigerator turned to look at me as my dramatic entrance degenerated into awed staring.
Her skin was pale to the point where it almost seemed to glow. Her figure was lithe and, dare I say it, perfect, and was complimented further by tight fitting black garb that somehow, paradoxical as it may sound, managed to be both revealing and dignified.
Her hair was mostly black with blonde flashes hanging down at the front. The rest stretched midway down her back. Her eyes were an unfriendly red, and two small horns were jutting a little way out of her forehead. A demon to be sure, perhaps a succubus… but no, I’d dealt with them before and there was always a definite artificial quality to their seductiveness that was plain to see for anyone who could bring themselves to see it. This person, for lack of a better word, was possessing of a quite natural, albeit supernatural, beauty.
Terrance thankfully was free from such concerns, and he snapped my drooping sword arm back to a raised posture.
“Who are you?” I finally asked, “and why are you trying to steal my house?”
“Fair questions,” she replied in a strange voice, it sounded distant, kind of apprehensive, maybe even excited though I had little idea why it would. “But first I have to know, what’s become of my three… co-workers.” She pushed the last word out through clenched teeth.
“They’re quite dead.” I said, grinning a little as moronic lust gave way to the memory of battle for a few seconds.
Instead of the shock or anger that I expected, the Demoness instead smiled a hauntingly beautiful smile and flung herself at me, weaving around Terrance with ease. I tried to pull back, expecting to find her teeth in my throat any second now, but instead I discovered that she was hugging me. Very tightly too I might add.
“Thank you!” She said into my shoulder, “Thank you! I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for someone to put those three bastards to death.”
I contemplated slicing at her back with Terrance, but curiosity, among other things, got the better of me.
“What are you talking about?” I said, reasoning that she would try and deceive me before trying to kill me, presumably still for the purpose of seizing my humble rift-space domicile, which gave me time enough for some questions.
She didn’t answer, she merely tightened her grip around me, pushing her breasts into my ribs and running one hand down the length of my back.
“I owe you more than you can imagine.” She said, sounding on the verge of tears. Demonic tricksmanship to be sure. “I’ve been a prisoner of those three for millennia.”
“Really?” I said incredulously, pressing the flat of Terrance’s blade against the exposed skin at her back. Her grip loosened ever so slightly, “Cause the only vocal member of the group seemed to suggest that they were fighting in your name. Someone, a ‘she’ specifically, wants my household, and they seemed quite eager to kill me to get it.”
She, whoever she was, loosened her grip entirely and stepped back, looked suddenly very conscious of the sword in my hand.
“It’s a long story.” She said timidly, “Mind if we sit down?”
“Of course.” I said, moving to shut the front door which, to my surprise, was surprisingly well intact despite having had four Demons barge through it.
“Got anything to drink?” She asked, even more timidly than before. It was fine acting I’ll grant her that. Rationally I knew that I was in terrible danger of, most likely, death. Here was a powerful infernal entity and a consummate deceiver to be sure. All the same, I found I was having to repeat that fact to myself over and over again as my instincts began to doubt the fact.
“Beer, orange juice and coffee.” I muttered absently, keeping my eyes on her and my hand on my sword at all times. I really did try to keep my eyes on her head, but damn me if I couldn’t keep myself from looking down.
Beers in hand, we sat on the living room couch. It was a ludicrously elaborate gothic satin thing which I’d nicked from the money laundering Baron Hoiviivii of Washington DC in 2312 AD. It clashed horribly with the IKEA bookshelf but I can live with that.
“My name is Llyren.” She said after a few sips, “I am… I was a Tarlnivarin of the 45th Wretched Kingdom.”
“A what?” I asked.
“Tarlnivarin. There’s not really a suitable translation in any human tongues I know of. The best I can say is...” She paused to think, “Half Queen, half slave.”
“I’m still none the wiser.”
“I was the head of the party of Demons you just butchered.” She flashed me a smile that made my heartbeat speed up, “At the same time though, I was bound to them. I could never travel more than half a mile from their presence, nor be out of their sight for longer than an hour. I was supposed to lead them, seizing lands, corrupting and murdering mortals and generally doing Demon-things for the rest of eternity.”
I nodded and sipped, trying with some effort to listen intently rather than hope she’d find some reason to take her boots off. It was an interesting story in truth, but there was just no getting rid of the ever growing desire. I suspect that some manner of pheromonal Demonic trickery was at work as well.
“How long had you been doing that then?”
“Five thousand years.” She said gloomily.
“Five thousand years of haikus?” I muttered in jest.
Her face took on an abrupt look of horror and she grabbed at my arm tightly with one hand. Her grip was a strong one, and the stare she gave me seemed frenzied.
“I – do – not – ever – want – to – hear – another – fucking – haiku.” She said through her teeth. “Or even hear mention of them.”
“Sorry.” I replied.
She collected herself then and shook her head. The grip on my arm lessened.
“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. Five thousand years of haikus, five thousand years of screeches and idiocy. All three of them were in love with me, and all three of them were repulsive, unworthy idiots. Can you imagine that? Five thousand years of it?”
“No, I don’t think I can.”
I took another long sip of beer, thinking that this encounter might just end amicably with her walking out the door when all was said and done, when something occurred to me.
“Wait a minute. How come in five millennia no one’s ever managed to kill them. They were pitiful fighters at best, and I’m hardly Zorro myself.”
“Who?”
“Uh, nevermind. Suffice to say, I can’t possibly be the most challenging opponent they’ve faced in all this time.”
“They’re impeccable cowards.” She stopped and smiled at me again, “They were impeccable cowards. Five thousand years of running away when things got too tough. Today though, with just one human to worry about, I suppose they got overconfident.”
“You ordered them to kill me didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said matter of factly, “sorry.”
I shrugged, in truth I didn’t much care. There was a moment of silence while we finished our beers and then she stood up, and then I stood up.
“So what will you do now?” I asked. It took a while for her to answer.
“I have no idea. I’ve spent almost all my life with them, serving the will of the Foul Lords and Ladies of Hell. I’ve never really chosen anything for myself.”
I was so perilously close to offering to let her stay here for a time. Some sliver of rational survival instinct however just about managed to keep me acting cautiously.
“What’s your name?” She asked then, “I should know the name of the man who saved me don’t you think?”
Gah, sly cunning she-demon wiliness. All these compliments, ego-playing asides and revealing garments would have caused most undignified blushing and possibly an erection by now if not for the biological regulators that they’d inserted into our brains at the academy.
“Did I not introduce myself earlier? Forgive me, I am Sir Nathan de Sangliare of Her Majesty’s Rift-guardians… retired.”
“A rift guardian? I should have known. Sworn enemies of all Demonkind aren’t you?”
“Technically.”
“Does that make us mortal enemies?”
“You tell me.”
She stood up took two steps towards me, wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. My caution and resolve crumbled and I stood and returned the kiss with all the passion I could muster.
She drew her head back and looked at me. She was trembling, and looked more than a little nervous; and some part of me was probably crying out ‘trickery! Pay it no heed!’ but by this point I’d stopped caring.
“I hope not.” She whispered. She started to say more, but then instead she started crying and buried her head in my shoulder.
Five thousand years. The words repeated themselves over and over again. Her ordeal could only have been far more horrific than the ghost writer I hired can covey on paper, even if she was secretly trying to kill or ensnare me, her suffering would have been unspeakable.
I embraced her and for a long while we just stood there.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.” I said, ignoring the myriad protestations from the rational half of my brain. If a problem did arise than doubtless Terrance would intervene on my behalf, and it wasn’t exactly as if I was breaking my knightly oath, assuming that she had indeed severed all ties to her Demon kingdom. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of.
She looked at me with tear stained crimson eyes.
“I’d like that, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I paused, “Look, I’m sure there are at least half a hundred better things you could be doing to mark your first day of freedom than weeping. How about I summon some celebratory items from the requisition offices? Alcohol at the very least.”
That may have sounded a tad insensitive, but sadness and vulnerability tends to be either very short-lived or everlasting where immortals are concerned, and Llyren didn’t strike me as the overly sorrowful type.
She blinked a few times, took in many deep breaths and wiped her perfect face free of tears. She smiled again then, and that same damned teenage schoolboy excitement returned.
“You’re right.” She said, “We should be celebrating. We should be drinking from the skulls of my former… associates. We should be tanning their hides, stitching them into rugs and dancing on them.”
Without warning, or perhaps with no shortage of warning, depends on your interpretation, she brought her hands to my chest and started to unbutton my shirt.
“I should be thanking you properly.” She said, sounding anything but sad all of a sudden.
My hands, with barely any prompting, found the straps holding Llyren’s quasi-corset in place and began to undo them. I sent a mental command to the regulator to shut itself down for twenty four hours.
“Are you sure you want to?” I said, almost reluctantly, feeling a nagging urge to remain as chivalrous as I could.
“Yes.” She said, stepping backwards and effectively walking out of the corset which stayed in my hands.
I dropped the leather garment to the floor, tore off my shirt and then started on my trousers.
“You are beautiful.” My blood-drained brain managed to bid me say.
She giggled, it was a lovely sound, and it also served to remind me of my earlier desire to see her out of her boots.
With sudden purposefulness, I stepped in, scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the bedroom. Once there, I gently manoeuvred her around the ornate wooden posts at each corner of the bed and lowered her onto the mattress. She hastily disposed of her underwear, which I can only describe as two thirds of a pair of latex shorts. When I say disposed of, I don’t mean took off, I mean she wrenched them from her thighs, set them on fire and cast them out an open window.
Rather less dramatically, I removed my last lingering items of clothing and then lowered myself down on top of her, propped up on my elbows. We kissed once again for what felt like at least ten minutes. We rolled onto our sides and then I began to make my way downwards, kissing her breasts and exploring her waist with my hands whilst she pushed my head into her chest with her hands and wrapped her legs around mine.
My hands moved to her hips, and ever so gently I dug in my fingers. Almost at once I was rewarded with some delicious squirming on her part. Grinning like a New Seattle swine-weasel, I intensified my attack on her lithe midsection and sure enough she began to react most strongly, her body thrashed on the mattress and her hands shot down to swat mine away. A minor counterattack that I easily worked around.
That beautiful laughter of hers was soon resounding throughout the bedroom. I could be wrong, but there seemed to be a definite edge of joy to it. Not an unreasonable assumption considering her recent change of circumstances.
I paused after a few minutes and let her catch her breath. To be honest I’d tickled her for far longer than I expected she’d let me. That bode well, perhaps.
She made no attempt to scratch away the lingering sensations. She simply lay on her back for a while, giggling reflexively. Finally however she turned her head towards mine, grinned, blushed and traced a lazy hand down my chest.
“Is that all I can expect?” She asked, folding her arms behind her head.
“Not at all,” I said, stepping back and standing up, “Not even close.”
I snapped my fingers three times, and then something rather odd happened. Odd from anyone else’s perspective at least.
Two miniature doorways opened in the walls, one at each end of the room. From one shot a length of rope that sought out Llyren’s wrists and bound them tightly, (though not uncomfortably) together. She struggled reflexively at first, but then realisation dawned on her and she sat back once again, already laughing against her will at just the thought of what was about to happen.
I took her left leg in one hand, raising it upwards. With my other hand I worked on undoing the straps of those damned knee high leather boots of hers. Ever so slowly the stubborn lace loosened, the grip of the boot on her leg waned and finally I was able to pull it off.
She even laughed as I did that much, the felt lining within evidently tickling her as it brushed against her heel.
I repeated the process with the other boot, wanting to see both of her feet together, and also wanting to see them both tied together, which was what the other doorway was for.
As I stepped back, boot in hand, my eyes fixated on the pale, flawless feet and toes of my… houseguest, the rope shot forth, swerved around me and started winding itself around her ankles.
I stood there for a moment, admiring her prone, bound and naked form whilst she waited with closed eyes and a barely suppressed grin for whatever was to come.
Finally, I stepped forward and took hold of the bindings around her ankles with one hand, with the other I began to lightly tickle her smooth soles.
For such a modest touch the intense reflexive response that followed was more than a little unnerving. She virtually shrieked at the light touch, and when she calmed down I noticed that she was trying to scratch one foot with the other.
And yet she wasn’t demanding or begging that I stop, nor was she pulling her feet out of my grasp. Taking this as a cue, I wrapped my arm around her ankles and launched a far more savage attack on her feet.
“NEEAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA! SHEEEAAAAAAAAAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”
Her body flailed as best it could, but her feet were going nowhere. I explored her soles, heels, toes and arches for many a long minute, never stopping, never giving her a chance to adapt.
She pulled her legs against my grip, and her torso was thumping manically down on the mattress, yet all the same I could tell that she loved it. Her natural instincts may compel her to get free, but her laughter held almost no involuntary quality, and there was still no begging on her part.
When my tickling arm was starting to get tired, I stopped and, gentleman that I am, rubbed away some of the lingering sensations in her feet. I’d be torturing them again soon enough but it was only polite to make her respite all the more restful.
She lay on the mattress, giggling and panting heavily. A few moments passed and then she rolled onto her back, propping herself up on her bound arms to look at me with eyes that looked as mischievous as Demonic, crimson eyes can.
“You like my feet I’m guessing.” She said, pushing her legs out towards me and slowly dragging her toenails up my chest.
“I like all of you.” I responded truthfully.
“That’s good.” She said, lifting her feet to my face and started pushing her toes through my hair. I reached up with one hand and ran it along the length of her left leg. I was hesitant to tickle her just yet as the close proximity of her feet to my face might result in an unfortunate, involuntary kick.
She laughed a little as my well conditioned hair brushed against her feet and found its way between her toes. Soon she lowered her legs so that her feet were in line with my lips. Avid hint taker that I am, I wrapped my hands around her feet, bent forward and started to kiss them.
Llyren moaned contentedly and lent back as I brushed my lips over each of her toes in succession, then down the length of her left arch, across her heels and back up her right arch. I then moved my mouth over my new housemate’s big toes and wrapped my lips around them.
Her moans turned to squeals as my tongue worked its way across every last millimetre of her faultless toes. They curled around my tongue as best they could, and her feet pulled against my grip, but she stood no chance of breaking free. It was all she could do to lay there and laugh. Swine that I am, I started to draw my thumbs up and down on her soles as well, increasing the extent of her delightful laughter and writhing nicely.
Even when I heard her start to become breathless, it took quite a strong force of effort to extract myself from her feet, which were not only perfect, but bewitching. One would necessitate the other though really, I think. I’ll have to think on that.
Anyhoo, I wiped her feet free of lingering sensations with the quilt and then shuffled up to the head of the bed.
“So,” she said, nuzzling against my shoulder, “Have you delivered me from five thousand years of suffering just to make me your tickle-slave for the next five thousand?”
“Certainly not.” I replied, “I am no keeper of concubines milady, and what kind of a travesty against nature would it be to have a Goddess like you reduced to such a state.”
“Flatterer.” she said, leaning forward to bite at my neck while I traced my hands down the length of her arms, down to her buttocks, which was also ticklish as I was then to discover.
She yelped and bounced back a little.
“Well,” she said as she shuffled over to me and we kissed again briefly, “What are you planning to do whilst you have me tied and helpless here?”
Her voice was difficult to describe. The best I can say is that it was the voice of an impatient temptress.
“Are you going to play with my feet again?” She asked.
“Would you like me to?”
“It’s tempting.” She said, mashing her breasts against my chest, “But then it’s not like we’re short of time, or options.”
“I hope not.” I said, surprised I’ll admit by just how much I meant that. For all my caution and scepticism of only an hour or so ago, I suddenly didn’t want her to leave.
I leaned forward and started to kiss her neck, which she seemed to like. I snapped my fingers next, and the bonds around her wrists and ankles fell away.
Things seemed to progress naturally from there. It was very frenzied, each of us was hungry and impatient to sate ourselves upon the other. I did spare a few moments to torment her feet again, persistent fellow that I am, and I have to say, her reactions were far more enjoyable when she was unbound.
Hours passed until we could wait no longer, I entered her and brought us both to orgasm.
Now don’t ask me why, it can only be some trick of her doing, but my orgasm lasted well over ten minutes. Her own seemed to endure for at least an hour. Shortly after I’d retracted my, uh, self, and for a long while afterwards, she wrapped her arms around me and clung to my pale frame with a grip that would not be broken, not that I had any mind to try of course.
Her body was shaking, and continued to shake well passed the conclusion of our carnal hoo-hah.
(If I may interject at this point, allow me to reassure you that I gave the ghost writer a clip round the ear for phrasing it thus, alas he uploaded this story before I could check it, fool that he is).
“Are you ok?” I finally asked, feeling quite the fool for asking.
“Better than ok.” She said, her voice warm and sleepy, but I could tell there was an edge to it, something that she was hiding.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, pulling my head back to try and get a look at hers.
She sighed, and perhaps even sobbed a little.
“How long do you think you’d be happy for me to stay here?” She finally asked.
“I told you, you can stay as long as you want.”
“And if I wanted to stay forever?” She asked, pressing her horned forehead against my shoulder to keep her face from view. “For millennia I dreamed about nothing except being free, seeing the sights of the multiverse with no infernal obligations or wretched companions. Now at last I can do that, but add to the equation a handsome knight who rescued me from my fate. Someone I’d be glad to spend five millennia with, ten millennia even. What would you say if I said I wanted to stay with you for the rest of time?”
Though ultimately it took us another two months to finally say the words, I knew there and then, beyond all doubt, that I was falling in love with her as well.
“Then I’d say that we should visit the crystal tunnels of Kajnailnma first.” I replied, running my fingers through her hair in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. “They’re the most… uh, second most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I could feel her sigh in relief. A few tears escaped her eyes, but soon she was almost glowing with happiness. I can only imagine what grinning foolishness my own face must have been.
“Sounds great,” she said, “when we get out of bed, in a month or two, let’s do that. Until then I’ve still got to thank you properly.”
The End
