The thing with finally talking to someone you've shut out of your life for awhile is that all that angst, all the rage, all the worry and sadness have an outlet. They get channeled to the person on the other end of the conversation and suddenly two people who were raging at each other, who were nose to nose figuratively speaking, are suddenly tired. Exhausted. And curious.
So Satan and I had conversations. He letting out his vitriol in emails, me letting the pounding surf of his anger crash against me until he was just done. And then, in my quiet way, I raged back until I couldn't rage anymore. Slowly, so slowly....those conversations stopped being about us hating, and started being about us just talking. We'd have careful talks about our lives, friends, family, and how we were. Careful talks that never said anything meaningful, and never talked about sex. Boring talks. Talks about how he was going to leave Maine and move to Boston.
One day out and about in Portland, I decided I couldn't let him leave the state without having the courage to say goodbye. I had to pee like the dickens, and though I could have stopped anywhere, I called him and asked if I could use his bathroom. He said yes, that he was packing, and that I was welcome. I went, and seeing him in person was like a physical blow to the gut. So beautiful, and so untouchable now. We sat in his room as he folded and packed his pants, and sneakers. And we talked about things I can't even remember now. I stayed a bit, but had to get home for my daughter. I let him know I had to scoot, and he walked me down to the door. I remember turning back and trying to say...something, but failing to find the words. He let me off the hook then, and just moved in, held my face in both his hands, and kissed me softly. My eyes watered, and fat tears slid down my cheeks knowing he was leaving, and I bolted.
Seeing him, smelling him on every level that a mate scents her male was vicious. My beast, which had been roaring already, went ballistic. It was a physical pain inside me screaming for release. Like a shape shifter that can't actually change to let her beast out, so mine was clawing against my innards. I hosted a party and played with a boatload of men, each one merely ramping up my need to release another notch, and nothing coming even CLOSE to the level of release that I needed. Every orgasm I gave myself just made me more frustrated. Nothing, it seemed, could calm the beast.
Jachin and I, during this time, had resumed sexual relations. His growing concern for my inability to feed my beast led him to volunteer his services in attempting to fill the role. Scared he wouldn't last, he took a pill, or two. He fucked me until he came like a rutting beast, and then continued to try and fuck me with his hand. But his heart, literally, couldn't take it and we had to stop and attend to him. Realizing that The Beast was going to kill someone should I not adequately attend to her, I kept trying. A few days later, after being teased by my pet endlessly that morning, I laid in my bed and tried to masturbate. Jachin came by and sat in the bed with me trying to help. I came, hard, but I could feel the tight coil inside knowing it hadn't been satisfied at all....it had merely gone up another notch. Jachin tried to help me rub another one out, and I busted out crying, begging him not to touch me because it just got worse and worse. Jachin, worried for real now, did the only thing he could think of. He called Satan.
Keep in mind that since things ended badly between Satan and Jachin with the roommate situation, Jachin absolutely HATES Satan. He has said that if he saw Satan on the side of the road riding his bike while he was driving, that he would swerve just enough to pick him off. Yet he was moved enough by his concern for me to call the one person he thought could solve the problem, regardless of the fact that it made him want to puke acid through the phone. They made arrangements to bring Satan up to Maine that weekend, mid-May.
My pet drove down to pick up Satan. He left around 11 in the morning, and I saw them drive in around 8:30 that night. I was so pissed at the time warp it took to get from Massachusetts to Maine that I slammed my bedroom door in Satan's face. He was in high spirits though, and wouldn't be deterred. I felt as skittish as a colt, not knowing where to look, heart beating in palpitations, mouth open to breathe because I felt breathless. He had that look in his eye, that his prey was target marked and locked. He came to me and enveloped me in his massive hug, his lips descending to mine, not letting my nervousness make me bolt, or turn me into a shrew. He took my hand and led me upstairs, to the spare bedroom we'd be using for the night.
He laid me on the bedroll on the floor, opened my thighs and settled his mouth on my quim. And I could breathe again because my mate was home. He licked my cream, lapped at me like I was nectar and sweet syrup. And he made these satisfied beast noises, grunts, and sighs, and small growls. His hands roamed my body, clutching my thighs in a death grip, then gripping my tummy, holding my breasts. He loves my rolls, loves to hold and squeeze them, sink his fingertips into my fluffiness. He pushed me over my first small orgasm, and the coil unraveled, not to let me off the hook, but to perform as my master expects...with frenzy and abandon.
He climbed back up my body like the predator he is, lifted my legs up and back, and pressed his cock into my hole. Slow, steady pressure moving all that dick inside me. It was tight, it was beautiful, and my pussy contracted all around him. He didn't stop pressing inward until the head of his cock had bumped my cervix. Then he withdrew and slammed it home. Again. Again. Again.....over and over until he triggered my spot, made the rain squirt out of my body. It was so intense, that it overwhelmed me emotionally and all the rage I had carefully tucked away from him erupted. I pummeled his chest repeatedly, screaming my hate out, releasing my anger and disappointment and hurling it at his body, which never missed a beat in fucking me to another orgasm. Tired of being punched and hit, he grabbed my fists and lifted them over my head kissing my lips and sucking my neck while he continued that shattering rhythm.
Flipping me over to my knees, he opened up my ass for his pleasure. He still had a hold of my hands, holding my wrists behind me while he fucked my ass and made me cum like a ban-sidhe. I was filthy from his handiwork, and he had no qualms, and no mercy. He demanded my submission, demanded I answer his age old question...."Who do you belong to?" "NOBODY YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, I BELONG TO NO ONE. I AM ALONE" He grabbed my hair then, hauling my ear up to his mouth "You are NOT alone, and you will ALWAYS belong to ME. I will NEVER, EVER, let you go again." He sank his teeth into the meat of my back, and roared out his release. We both collapsed for a moment, he rolled me onto my back, and ate me some more. By the whimper in my voice and the cadence of my noises, he knew I hadn't given him my big orgasm. His hand crept between my thighs, and two fingers went into my pussy, stroking in there and hitting the trigger point. He was sweating like a madman, and fucking my pussy with his whole hand. It bloomed then, like a white hot poker radiating in circles from my core to the tips of my fingers, and even after I fell limp, he pushed me towards the abyss again. And just that quickly, I climbed to another peak, higher, more devastating, that destroyed me on every level. I hated him, I loved him, I needed him. And I thought briefly, could I just use him for sex?
Tucked into his body, held safe in his arms, I slept the sleep of the dead for the first time in many many months. No bad memories, no regrets, no sadness, no emptiness, no.....beast. At last and by the mercy of god, Lilith was sated, and quiet.
