1. Asmodeus - Demon of Lust: Part 8


    Date: 1/19/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Body modification, Horror, Male/Female, Monster, Pregnant, Romance, Written by women, Author: steelkat29, Rating: 92.3, Source: sexstories.com

    answers everything. Salt? Touching my face, I trace a stripe of dark skin which runs from the corner of my eye down to my lip. Right. Tears. “What are we going to do? Did you bring more clay? I can’t get married like this!” “Be calm, Selena. Of course I will acquire more clay before tomorrow. For now, a salt bath will remove the remaining clay.” “And where are we going to get the salt for this bath? We can’t exactly take a walk to the corner shop and pay for a container full with a diamond now, can we?” “That will not be necessary, Selena. The good Mr. Carrington has provided for us already,” he says, plucking up a small mesh bag of pink bath salts from our complimentary basket of toiletries. It isn’t long before I’ve filled up the porcelain tub with steaming water and dumped the crystals in unceremoniously. I swill them around a little, watching them shrink as the water eats away at them. They reek of roses, the scent thickening the weight of the humid atmosphere of the bathroom. Moisture clings to me and I am relieved to strip off my stifling clothes. I slip into the tub and groan in utter bliss as the heat envelops my body. The dissolving salt is silken against my skin and I slide my hands up my legs, loving the luxurious feel of it. Asmodeus watches me approvingly, tossing me a small sponge. I catch it gratefully and use it to wash away the peaches and cream coloured skin of my disguise. I slide further into the tub and submerge my head, scrubbing at my face with the ...
    sponge and running my fingers through my hair. When I emerge, I find that Asmodeus has stripped down and is walking towards the tub. Certainly the thing is big enough – just barely – to fit us both, and I want to have him in here just as surely as he wants to jump in, but I stop him nonetheless, placing a hand firmly against his chest. “Wait,” I say, “One of us has to keep up our disguise. What if we need to interact with Mr Carrington again? I can’t exactly tell him that I’ve dyed my hair and worked on my tan since he last saw us.” My hand leaves a dark print on his skin where the salt removes the clay of his disguise. I like the thought of leaving a mark on my King, a symbol of my claim over him. The mark is only temporary of course, and will disappear when he eventually washes his disguise away, but my handprint is rendered faithfully out of his real skin, almost as if it is physical evidence of our connection. For once, he listens to me and with a heavy sigh, steps away from the tub. He doesn’t replace his clothing however; he just leans against the vanity in all his masculine glory and watches me bathe. I want to relax and lie in the tub for a while longer but I find that I cannot while he stands there. My cheeks heat under his gaze and I redouble my efforts to get out quickly. I’m not uncomfortable per se, just so conscious of his all encompassing presence in the small heated room. I wonder, vaguely, if conversation would make this better or worse. Asmodeus does not throw ...
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