Crave Page 4

  The glass vibrated as Asmodeus fucked her. He rammed his cock inside her, slipping easily in her wet cunt. He wanted more, pulling his monstrous length from her. Now, urged on by the dying crowd, the blood flowing down the golden sand and turning it to purple mud, he pushed the head into her tight ass. She yelled in pain, but he was beyond pain. This was ecstasy and he pushed until his huge sacs met her rim. The more he fucked her, the louder she screamed. Her pussy pressed to the glass, her folds, as her nipples had, morphed. Hot, dirty mouths and long forked tongues flicked at her open cunt and clit.

  “Dream or nightmare.” It wasn’t a question, simply words whispered in her ear as he filled her tight ass, her worn ass, with his come.

  Asmodeus rolled his head back. His eyes too rolled in their sockets as he rammed her for one last thrust. He moaned loudly in the tiny room. Elizabeth’s sleepy form rocked with his motion. Her firm buttocks quivered then settled as he pulled out. The frothy spew slipped from her ass and glistened in the half light. Zipping himself up, he stroked the soft cami knickers and bent over her.

  “Dream or nightmare. Reality or...”

  The laugh took several seconds to fade, the stench of evil longer still as the cold air caressed soft, aroused flesh.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth bolted upright in bed. The cool air filtered through the window and chilled her sweat-covered body. Her heart thumped wildly against her rib cage. She pressed the heel of her hand against her chest, rubbing slowly to stop the brutal drumming. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth closed her eyes and attempted to settle her nerves.

  It was a bad idea.

  Images flashed behind her closed lids as she saw the vile and disturbing acts she’d performed in her dream.

  Yet it felt so real.

  The aches of her body were fresh. Even in her tight virgin backside, she felt the pleasant—no, not pleasant—ache of him being there. Opening her eyes, she stabbed her fingers through her damp hair and leaned over her bed. She was suddenly very sick to her stomach as she dropped her legs over the side and gazed out her window. The fresh ache of dawn covered the beautiful landscape of Neive, Italy. When she had first come to this place the beauty had been so breathtaking, she’d figured if she was going to be stuck anywhere, this was the perfect place.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  Everything beautiful seemed to have a dark core that infested her life and damaged it. Even this sanctuary wasn’t safe anymore. It had been infested by the evil that corrupted her life from birth.

  Lost to the faux beauty that taunted her outside the window, she didn’t notice the knocking on her door. The slight tapping seemed like something forwarded to the front of her brain from the overwhelming nightmare she had just taken part in.

  Why didn’t I wake up?

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the tell-tale creak of her large wooden door. Warped over the years, it didn’t quite fit in the frame anymore. The aggressive shove exposed Sister Samantha. The sweet dark-eyed woman met her with a smile.

  “Miss, mass is starting shortly, and I was told by Father Samuel to come and make sure you came to join us.”

  Her sweet dulcet tones set Elizabeth at ease for the moment, and the dream drifted to the back of her mind. As she rose from the soft comfort of her bed, she felt her body protest. She whimpered and the sister was at her side, lightly taking hold of her upper arms.

  “Are you okay, miss? What happened? Can I get you something?”

  The woman was honestly the nicest person she had met. The other sisters and the Mother Superior were stern and strong women, but she felt an odd kinship to Samantha. The young girl was like a broken bird that needed shelter, much like herself. Elizabeth reached out a hand and touched it to Sister Samantha’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know. Everything seems to ache. My whole body feels like it ran a marathon. I even hurt—” she stopped before she continued that line of thought.

  Fighting the urge to reach down between her legs, she pressed her thighs together and whimpered at the hot pain that sliced through her.

  “I don’t—” She couldn’t finish. Mostly because she didn’t understand how her dream could have felt so real after the fact.

  Then, as if a sledgehammer collided with her head, she had a sudden realization.

  “What if that wasn’t a dream?’

  A violent shiver took over her body. She fell back down onto the bed. The sister headed over to the washroom and came back with a fresh cup of water.

  “Beg your pardon, miss. Can I get you anything? You’ve gone white as a sheet. Shall I get Father Samuel? Or perhaps Father Patrick? I was told to come to Father Samuel if anything were to happen to you.”

  Elizabeth felt the walls of darkness closing in on her.

  No one could know her predicament until she understood it herself. She had to be sure that the devil had really in fact invaded her dreams and—raped her.

  She swallowed hard against the desert that was now her throat. Gingerly, she took a sip of the cool water and nearly gagged on it.

  It felt wrong.

  This whole place felt wrong now.

  She was trapped. Like a pretty little bird for all the world to look at with awe.

  The girl who lost her virginity to the devil.

  You don’t know that for certain.

  Her inner voices were right. She had no clue if the dream had been real, or a fiction created by the beast. If he could create a dream that vivid, he could surely make the pain of rough sex that real—right?

  Shaking off the disgust she felt, Elizabeth stood up slowly and grabbed Sister Samantha’s small hand.

  “Thank you. I’ll be fine. Go tell the fathers and Mother Superior I will be down to mass soon. I’m going to shower and get all this grime of sleep off me.”

  A bright smile filled up the woman’s face.

  “I will tell them. They will be so pleased.”

  At that, she turned and dashed from the room.

  Elizabeth felt the furrow of her brows as the odd statement repeated in her head.

  Why would they care so much about me now?

  Most of them had left her alone up until yesterday and the incident in the church.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes tight. Taking in a deep breath, she headed to the washroom and shut the door tightly behind her. She turned the faucet to scalding and stepped under the violent spray of water. The burning liquid sliced through the pain and sleep-groggy state to wake her up fully. As she washed, she thought about the elements of the dream and found she was getting turned on. It was rough, and yet the possessive way he had owned her did something to her insides. As if her whole life she had been waiting for his touch, his approval, and his cock buried deep inside her.

  Fuck that shit. What is wrong with me?

  She slammed off the water and yanked the towel off the rack with such force that the weak old metal bar tumbled to the floor.

  “Shit!” she mumbled.

  Elizabeth stepped out of the shower and mentally filed away telling one of the sisters about this.

  Glancing at the small clock on her bedside table, Elizabeth cursed. She had less than ten minutes to get down to mass. They would come, they would hover, and she would snap if that happened. After last night, all bets were off. She was going to get a hold of Jared and get the fuck out of this place. Elizabeth knew that she needed another plan; she just didn’t know what that plan was. She knew that Jared had been coming up with other options and places for her to hide out if push came to shove.

  Elizabeth slipped on a bra and panties. She put on a light yellow sun dress that stopped at her mid-thigh. It was cool now, but as the service would progress, it would get steadily more heated. The fabric was light and felt like air against her body. Tiny pink roses dotted the soft fabric and made her look innocent—more innocent than she should. She slipped on simple white ballet flats and tugged her wet hair behind her into a braid that went down to her mid-back. She swiped a layer of strawberry-f
lavored chapstick over her lips and on a sigh headed out of her room.

  She made her way quickly through the old stone hallways. The arches had suffered over the years and the natural decay in the outer layer of concrete only added to the appeal of the place. Her footsteps were silent. As she passed the center courtyard, the large fountain of running water muffled the voices of people starting to fill the church. The tinkling of liquid served to devour some of her anxiety as well.

  Elizabeth knew one thing for sure.

  Father Samuel was the devil. She didn’t know how she knew, just that the connection she felt to him was unmistakable. As much as she didn’t want to—she knew him. The same as he knew her.

  Distracted by her thoughts, she entered the courtyard in a haze. She graciously nodded and smiled towards the familiar faces. Some tourists littered the crowd of people as she finally entered the church. The center alter had been replaced by a huge marble carving of the Virgin Mary. Her body was arched, her top exposing her breasts as tears that were chiseled into the hard marble decorated her face. She held Jesus’s crown of thorns in her hand and a large male-shaped hand settled over her bare belly. It was an odd sculpture, to say the least. Her face—smiling—belied the tears and her body looked as if it was arched in passion.

  Elizabeth started to worry her hands in her lap as she took a seat—not in the front, but a few rows back. She wanted to remain unnoticed until she sorted everything out. From the corner of her eye, she spied Father Patrick. His handsome figure strode with such confidence to the doorway of the church to greet his flock. Her tongue flicked over her lips and she reached for the book of worship, finding the place she needed to be for that service. She started to mark and note the hymnal when the room went still.

  Silence.

  Goosebumps teased up her arms and she closed her eyes tight when the first moan crashed through the quiet room. It was followed by another. A whimper slashed over the moaning and it was then Elizabeth was sure. Father Samuel was her worst nightmare—and he had come for her.

  Refusing to be trapped in a cage, she slowly rose to stand. Her eyelids suddenly felt as if they were full of lead as the scene came into view.

  Bodies on top of bodies. Multiple forms in various stages of nudity rolled around her. She was bumped on her right side, and she couldn’t even look down. She just knew.

  Anxiety tightened her chest. Her breath coming in ragged pants, she started to slip from the pew and make her way into the aisle. Elizabeth had to move past writhing bodies. The dream flashed through her mind and she felt the wetness coat over the swollen lips of her pussy and absorb into her panties. She ground her teeth together as her gaze fell on the handsome face of Father Samuel. Behind him, Mother Superior Theresa was tied to the huge cross that looked over the parishioners. She was naked. Her body was covered in light purple bruises and deep red slashes over her breasts, belly, and thighs. Her nipples were decorated in something silver and metal. As Elizabeth’s gaze traveled down her body, she locked her gaze on the apex of the woman’s thighs and the fingers fucking her slowly.

  Elizabeth breathed in deep and instantly regretted it. The scent of sex, lust, and sulfur filled the room and she felt herself retch.

  “Oh, come now, little one. You don’t think I really buy the whole disgusted act, do you? Not after last night.” The deep rumble of his voice brought her attention back to him. The smirk lit up his whole face. His dark eyes hypnotized her.

  Slowly, she started to back away. One small step at a time, seeing as there were now bodies blocking her way of escape. She found Sister Margaret being railed by two men. One, Father Patrick, took her hard in the pussy and the other gagged her, it seemed, as she seemed to choke on each in-thrust.

  Nearly to the door, Elizabeth felt a surge of strength as she passed over the bodies copulating at her feet. Hands would reach for her randomly and she felt a disturbing urge to fall into the pile and be taken—long and hard.

  NO!

  She took one more step.

  “STOP!” the devil roared.

  Nothing stopped but her backward retreat.

  She found him at the front of the room now. This time his hands were gone from Sister Theresa. His fingers tugged on one of the nipple decorations as Theresa panted and begged him.

  “I thought you were smarter than this, Elizabeth.”

  Shit, he used her name. She had somehow pissed him off, and she somehow failed to give a shit as she took another step back.

  “It would be wise to stop, Elizabeth, unless you want me to force you. Then there is no telling what my flock will do to an innocent little female unable to move. I imagine it would be quite—disturbing.” He winked.

  “Fuck you,” she snarled.

  He laughed. It wasn’t just any laugh. He didn’t chuckle or muffle it with his mouth closed. The laugh came from deep in his belly and exploded out of his chest and filled the whole room with that horrible sulfur scent that seemed to arouse her and make her want to vomit at the same time.

  “I believe I did that last night, sweet one.”

  And we are back to the endearments.

  Elizabeth allowed her gaze to roam around the room. She took it all in. Every single sister was engaged in some vile sexual act. Father Patrick was now violating Margaret from the rear and her own tender hole tingled from seeing the act face on.

  “Tut tut, sweet one. You’re watching.” He paused and started down the steps.

  He didn’t walk—nope, that was too simple of a word for how the devil came towards her. He had swagger. His over-six-foot frame moved with a confident air that froze her to the spot. Her brain screamed at her to run. Yet her heart thumped wildly and her pussy creamed and made her panties uncomfortable. Her clit throbbed as he came to stand in front of her.

  He towered over her lithe frame. The devil took hold of her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his.

  “You fight and it is useless. If you keep moving I’ll tie you down.”

  She felt the cold shiver run up and down her spine and she mentally swore at herself for showing any weakness or arousal for the man.

  He lightly ran his fingers down her chin, her throat. The man made little circles over her bare collar bone.

  “If you keep fucking with me, sweet one, I will let every one of my flock have a taste of you.”

  Elizabeth swallowed and righted her spine.

  “Kiss my ass!”

  She took a step back and put space between them. His eyes went dark and cold.

  “You dare!” he snarled.

  “No, I’m telling you to kiss my ass, you dirty mother fucker!”

  Elizabeth turned quickly and yanked open the door. Before she could get through it, it was yanked from her fingers and slammed back shut. The heat and power that was suddenly behind her forced her to suck in a breath. Both the devil’s hands slapped against the old oak on either side of her head. His lips grazed over her cheek. One hand dropped to her belly and he started to gather up the skirt of her dress. The whisper of fabric against her thighs brought a whimper to her lips. She felt a haze of lust fall over her. The realization that she craved this man hit her hard and she forced the arousal out of her mind. She felt the smile against her cheek.

  “You are going to be my biggest prize. My due is all in you. All these years waiting, with women that fell at my feet—” He paused and his warm, callused fingers slipped under the waist-band of her panties. “You will be most sweet of all.”

  The devil’s fingers dipped further, brushing past her mound and teasing the top of her slit.

  “Now strip. I want you laid out for me, now,” he demanded on a whisper.

  It took all her self control, her strength waning quickly with each centimeter lower he got into her slit. He was just about to part her wet lips when she screamed and slammed back against him.

  She heard the growl behind her and felt incredible heat against her back. Elizabeth didn’t want to turn around and look, she couldn’t. Fear replaced the arousa
l and she stepped over the threshold of the church and ran.

  Chapter Six

  “Elizabeth please, please don’t leave me. He will hurt me.”

  The sweet Samantha called out to the running girl, the devil inside, Asmodeus possessing her, watching through her pretty, yet tear-worn eyes.

  “Please.” He knelt in her form, his eyes aching, watching as Elizabeth turned. The habit, white as scented roses, clean as the girl herself, rubbed against the flesh, stirring and teasing.

  “Samantha, I...”

  “Please, Elizabeth.” He tossed the hood back, loosening the long hair, once hidden. “Come back to me.”

  Now he felt the doubt and his lips quivered, eyes reddening with soreness. Elizabeth took a step forward.

  “I am still untouched. Please Elizabeth, please, don’t let him harm me.” He fell forward and cried hard, the tears hitting the stone floor. He saw it in slow motion, watching as each drop bounced and shattered into tiny droplets. Oh, what glorious fun. Kneeling once more, he slipped the robe from the shoulder, exposing flesh. His hand, delicate, tiny fingers, gripped the hem and lifted, exposing soft naked skin and pubic hair.

  “He will have it all. You will leave me to suffer and torment at his demonic hands. He will rupture my virginity with his devilish cock and pound me. It will be your guilt, not mine, Elizabeth.”

  He laughed, loud and long. It echoed and poor Elizabeth fell to her knees.

  Asmodeus rose to his feet. The habit fell to the ground.

  “You will never be a nun with a habit like mine!” The chuckle grew louder as he laughed at his own private joke and became more evil as he plunged his fingers in his hot tight cunt, plunging deep. “I can see the attraction of being a woman. The aches and the pain of arousal are so attractive and delightful. I must grow some tits of my own so I can lift them and suckle. My clit burns with such tension, it’s so damn good. No wonder he fucked the bitch.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head, her body locked in place by his stare.

  “Can’t move? No wonder. You are mine, Elizabeth. Mine to hold, mine to play with.”