FSE

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***Evening***

Whipping your head around, you scan your surroundings with wide eyes.

When you determine the coast to be clear, your hand slides into your apron pocket to withdraw the butter knives you had stolen from the kitchen- which the head maid had watched you take, but said nothing.

Carefully, you work to wedge the blade into the tiny crevice between the hollow of the dragon's eye and the edge of the gemstone, and use the handle of the second knife to tap the end of the utensil lightly in effort to dislodge the jewel.

After a few minutes of gentle chiseling, the adhesive holding it in place chips away, and you then lever the blade until the strawberry-sized sapphire pops out to land heavily into your palm. The surprising weight of it reiterates to you the gravity of what you have just done- that there is no going back after this, and your breath hitches with a sharp wave of anxiety as you tuck it into your apron's pocket.

If you have played your cards correctly, Demiurge is still on the Ninth Floor and will remain there for the at least twenty more minutes- which is barely enough time for you to haul ass to the kitchen where Pestonya is waiting for you.

With hands shaking and heart drumming deafeningly in your ears, and you whirl around to-

Time slows to a crawl.

Towering over you is Lord Demiurge, and by the severe expression on his face, there is no question that he has seen enough to condemn you for theft; his features are harshly etched with rage- you watch, frozen in terror, as his lips curl into a wolfish snarl to bare ivory fangs that glisten wetly in the dim firelight of the sconces lining the walls, sending your heart plummeting into Arctic waters.

'Run. Run! RUN!' You internally scream, but under his smoldering gaze of crystallized white fire, your every muscle locks in paralytic indecision.

Cold fear trickles over your scalp and you begin to tremble as adrenaline spills into your veins.

You're so fucked.

When an furious growl rumbles through his chest and reverberates through the marrow of your bones, your stasis crumbles.

In what seems to be slow-motion, you finally react; the muscles in your legs coil, and your body pitches forward as you launch into a sprint. Your forearm swings to shove your way past him as you bolt, but your feet only manage a single step before Demiurge's gloved hand flies to your throat. Suddenly your heels leave the ground as your neck is caged within inhumanly strong fingers and he effortlessly lifts you to crash your back into the doors. Your breath bursts from your lungs with a choked cry of shock, and the knife falls from your hand to clatter to the floor as he disarms you with brutal efficiency.

Demiurge raises his left hand, and terror rakes through you as you watch the talons of his fingers lengthen to nearly twelve inches with the sound of a quartet of blades being drawn.

This is it. This is how you die.

"What. The Hell. Do you think you are doing?" Each word is clipped from between the Devil's fangs, and his back crests with furious breaths.

Words utterly fail you at the moment thanks to fear causing your tongue to go numb in your mouth, and you curse yourself for dropping your only weapon.

"I asked you a question." He impatiently snarls, and you can practically hear the sizzle of caustic, black venom dripping from his lips and his grip tightens from dangerous to deadly.

"P-please," You finally choke out. "I-I'm sorry, have mercy..."

"Mercy?" He hisses, barely above a whisper. Disbelief and something far more lethal taints the air between you and the Devil. You feel the muscles of his hand twitch, as though he is debating whether or not he wants to follow through with crushing your windpipe, and you gulp nervously beneath his palm.

His crystalline eyes search your face as though he is gleaning for something- a muscle twitch, a facial tick, anything which may indicate deception.

_'Damn it all, he's going to know.' _You decide then and there and no matter what he does to you, your lips are sealed; you won't let Pestonya take the fall for you.

Her eyes shine with unshed tears...and all he wants to do is break her.

How dare she try to steal from him!

He should disembowel her for such a trespass, for marring his brother's work, his grand gesture of a gift, one of the few things he still possesses which serves as a physical reminder that this Floor was once Malphas' home too.

But no... she was his creator's treasured Pet, and now she is his, gifted to him by Lord Ainz himself. He cannot so carelessly dispose of her, no matter her offense. To do so would be a grave disrespect to both his creator and Lord Ainz.

Demiurge supposes he can sculpt this in his favor, as he does with everything else.

He closes the distance and leans in uncomfortably close, speaking so that each word fans over your lips- a lick of flame you feel as well as hear. "Your audacity never fails to astound me," He snarls, and to your relief, his talons retract from gleaming black scythes to their normal length.

But then, he lunges and sinks his fangs into the curve of your neck, just above your shoulder. Had he aimed any higher, his canines would have procured a potentially lethal bite.

You fold under his storm of teeth and tongue, your jaw slackening with a broken cry of pain as you let him do as he will- which, at the moment, is to feast on your blood while he keeps you suspended in a strangle-hold.

Panting for breath, you watch the ceiling swim as the deep pull from his lips and scathing swipes of his tongue spark an illicit pleasure that lights through your veins, warming your flesh like sunshine.

"You think you can take what is mine? That there will be no repercussions for your actions?" He scolds after wiping the back of his gloved hand over his scarlet-stained mouth, the velvety timbre of his voice drops, evolving from annoyed to threatening. "You've yet to learn your place, Pet."

"I'm sorry," You whisper, trying for a conciliatory tone. "I shouldn't have touched it, but please- I was scared, I didn't know what to do-"

"And therefore, you thought stealing and fleeing from your Master was an acceptable solution?" His eyes burn into yours, scanning for falsehoods, reading the energy between your flesh and fear. "Do you have any idea as to how perilous it is outside of this sanctuary for a mere human? You are but a lamb ripe for slaughter."

She is sincere in her regret, but it does little to quell his rage, and only confirms what he already suspected- she's young, foolish, and utterly clueless as to what he is capable of. Perhaps he should show her...

He then leans against her so that she can feel the growing erection concealed in his trousers. He sees it the instant she registers his arousal, blue eyes widening with a glassy glimmer as her lips part to gasp in surprise.

"If anyone else were to find you outside of these walls..." The demon growls and scrapes his fangs over the tender flesh of your jugular, and their needle-like points snag. You freeze, and hold your breath, terrified. "Not only would they have most violently had their way with you, but had they been inhuman, they would have devoured you afterwards, bones and all."

"Please, don't kill me," You entreat, struggling to breathe in his severe grip as he traces the arch of your throat, gathering a stray pearl of blood. The demon withdraws, and regards you. A hot trickle of blood rolls down your neck. "I'll do anything!"

Demiurge scoffs, your plea falling on deaf ears.

His stare is cold and unblinking, like a shark's as he allows himself a moment to mull over your sudden compliance.

His gaze flickers from her lips to her teary eyes as he senses the distinct, golden thread of fearful yet intrigued excitement that imbues her energy. It remains undiminished in the wake of his brutality, giving him pause.

"Why would you do this?" The demon rasps, "I've given you everything. All I ask in return is your compliance in servitude."

"I-I... I don't know." Her eyes are wide as she stares back at him.

He glares at her, the wavering note in her voice indicative of deception. His eyes narrow, studying her and waiting for her to offer the truth in its stead, but she fails to do so. It infuriates him to know she never once lied to Lord Ulbert, yet so readily attempts to deceive him. Perhaps his Lord had broken her of that behavior when he first took possession of her.

'Ah. Of course.' After wiping her memory, she would no longer recall her Master, nor his lessons.

His new Pet simply needed to be housebroken once again.

"Is that so?" He lowers you until your feet find purchase again, then steps back to watch you suck in a desperate breath. After a moment, he affixes you with a blunt stare and to your relief, releases your throat.

"Then show me," Demiurge demands. "Show me exactly how sorry you are."

You rub your neck and square your shoulders, trying to ignore the bright flare of fear coursing through you as you brace for the violence which is sure to come.

"I d-don't know how-"

You halt mid-sentence, blushing furiously as he shakes his head.

"You mistake words for actions." He smiles, all fangs, and slides his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "I said, show me."

"You mistake words for actions." He smiles, all fangs, and slides his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "I said, show me."

Your mouth snaps shut and you watch with burgeoning fear as black flame materializes to lap at his heels, and his energy changes, brewing with a raw, primal quality, projecting a dark swarm of menace. It sends an icy chill dripping down your spine.

'Oh, shit...'

"On your knees." The demon commands. You obey, and immediately drop to the floor.

Your immediate assumption is that he wants you to give him oral.

But to your surprise, he instead raises one long leg and lands his heel firmly upon your shoulder, urging you down on all fours. To your relief, the flame wreathing his form, while uncomfortably warm, does not scorch your flesh as you had feared it would.

"Shine my shoes." He orders.

You glare up at him incredulously.

Shine... his shoes?

'How? And with what?'

Surely, he doesn't mean-

"Did. I. Stutter?" He impatiently bites out each word. "I'm waiting."

His foot slides further back to settle between your shoulder blades and he applies more weight, more pressure. Stunned by the fact that you are touching supernatural fire, you fail to follow his unspoken direction, and before you can gather your wits to do so, you find your cheek mashed mercilessly to the baked cobblestone of the ground, pinned in place by his shoe.

Unable to move, you can only stare straight ahead and watch his tail swing to and fro behind him like a deadly pendulum composed of spikes and armor. Your heart crashes against your ribs and you tremble, but you dare not make one false move.

"Do NOT test my patience as you have my generosity. To do so will be a grave mistake." The Devil seethes, threateningly shifting his weight and crushing a startled cry from your lips. "Now- comply."

To your relief, he withdraws and lets you up.

You hastily raise onto your elbows with your rear in the air, and begin to lick his shoe in earnest, using broad swipes of your tongue to wet every inch of the toe box of black leather. It tastes of bitter polish and makes your mouth tingle with a chemical effervescence. With your breasts pressed to the floor, you trace your tongue along the seams, leaving no portion but the sole untouched. An anxious upwards glance reveals a satisfied smirk, and you shuffle to his left side to give his other shoe the same lavish treatment.

"Good girl..." He offers praise in light of your degradation. "That wasn't so difficult, now was it?"

You are quick to shake your head, and pray he's satisfied with your effort.

"You fail to understand how fortunate you are to have been granted sanctuary here." He chides and suddenly yanks you to your feet, only to push you face-forward into the wall, making you yelp in surprise. He then rucks your dress up over your hips, and leans over you. "It would seem you need a lesson in discipline. Perhaps a firm hand is necessary in gaining your obedience?"

You feel his leather-clad palm slip between your legs and a finger hook around the silk he finds there, and then he yanks unforgivingly. The material tears away with such force that it stings the insides of your thighs, and you feel red welts rise.

"Please don't, I'm sorry!"

Demiurge winds a hand into your hair, pulling hard to crane your head back to his lips. It hurts, and yet his rough handling sends an unwarranted, forbidden thrill zipping down your spine.

"Sorry doesn't fix the priceless work of art that you so selfishly marred for your own personal gain!" He seethes in your ear, and you can hear the metallic clinking behind you as he hastily unfastens his belt.

Gods, is he pissed off.

You feel the silken head of his shaft slipping up and down along your folds, and a shriek rips from your throat as your body is suddenly breached with one smooth, brutal thrust. You blink furiously, your brows furrowing in distress at the invasion. Glancing back, you watch as he pumps shallowly, his eyes enrapt as he fixates on your face, measuring your fear with silent, sadistic interest.

Demiurge then suddenly lunges, plunging in further and crushing you against the wall. You cry out in shock as your tender tissues are violently stretched. It burns, as you are not sufficiently wet, nor ready.

Last night he was kind enough to lavishly prepare you to accept his impressive girth, and while it was still a stretch, taking him without adequate lubrication hurts. A lot.

"Are you going to try to run away again?" He breathes in your ear, each word clipped and seething with menace.

"N-no!" You promise, unable to be anything but honest as his cruel grip holds you in place, your helplessness punctuated as his shaft slips deeper and your body tries to prevent further trauma by lubricating itself- but too little, too late. "I swear!"

"You had best not. Or you will have not only I, but Greed to contend with." He threatens. "Do I make myself clear?"

A panicked whimper and tight nod are your response, and your hands splay and curl into fists against the wall as you grit your teeth in pain. Slowly, the initial burn begins to fade and is supplanted with a warmth that laps at the ache, slow and sweet like a tide of molasses.

Trapped and immobilized, you are powerless to do anything but feel. Your body responds, growing increasingly aware of how hard his body is beneath his suit in contrast to your feminine softness. His deep growls rumble through your back, visceral and low, and it somehow lulls you, the sound reverberating into your taut internal muscles. Gradually, they begin to relax around the marble-hard pillar of his shaft as his strokes even out to be less vicious.

'No... gods, no...' It was happening again. Your body is purring for his, and no matter how hard you try, you cannot ignore it, as you're so deliciously full of him that despair-laced ecstasy lights outward from where you are joined, muddying the waters of your resolve.

"Please- please stop-" You halfheartedly resist, but he only slows down, dragging out each perfectly measured stroke, and gods-be-damned, it makes your eyes roll back in your head.

"Oh, but my dear Pet, I can feel how wet you are, how you grip and tighten around me." He coos, and shifts the angle of his hips, his hand on your hip hot steel. Suddenly blinding white lights burst behind your eyes as the lip of his glans glides over something inside you, and your legs nearly collapse out from under you. "You do not want to stop any more than I do."

He purposefully grinds into that same sweet spot, the pulsating ache of being split wide unraveling your every thought. Receding in your mind's eye, your resistance dims, a dying candle in a dark room.

The wet, hot slither of his withdrawal is exquisite, and you gasp, then release your breath with a sharp cry as he thrusts back in, impatiently coaxing your body into accepting his.

"You can pretend to hate this all you like, but I can smell how you relish such a profane thrill." The molten purr of his voice sends you reeling yet again; your jaw drops open- to deny what you both know to be the truth, to draw breath, anything.

Instead, your head falls back with a hitched cry as he thrusts up into you with barely restrained violence. The muscles of your passage flutter spastically at the harsh penetration, and you moan as you melt into the lush, velvet oblivion.

Suddenly he rips you away from the wall and hurls you to the ground to crawl over top of you. The wind is punched from your lungs by the impact and you gasp and cough for breath. He then gathers your wrists to pin them on either side of your head, and wedges your thighs apart before slamming back into you with a rough groan.

You glance down with morbid curiosity to watch as his girth sinks in and out of you, and are fascinated by the way his shirt rides up to show a small portion of his chiseled abdomen flexing as he moves, a leonine power rippling beneath smooth, copper skin.

Holding you firmly in place, the demon gazes down at you, practically purring with smug pleasure. The smothered vestige of your humanity spills from your eyes as he molds you around his unyielding strength.

"You're going to learn proper submission," He says spitefully through bared ivory fangs, "you'll become agreeable enough, given the right... training."

His words barely register over the roar of blood in your ears.

Demiurge's breath is a scorch of heat over your offered throat, which he follows with a sharp bite. You gasp, waiting in morbid anticipation for him to rip out your jugular as his hips rock back. Instead, he then soothes the livid mark with a rough swipe of his tongue.

You dare to look up at him.

His eyes gleam behind his spectacles as the light hits them just right, an eye shine in the dark, a testament to the predator that hides beneath his humanoid disguise.

An icy veil of fear settles over your scalp, tingling its way down your neck.

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright.

The Devil then slides an arm under your hips raise yours higher so as to meet him stroke for stroke, and he braces his other next to your head.

The shreds of your mind are aghast; you can hear how obscenely wet you are from... this, for him, and his faceted eyes shimmer with the knowledge that your resolve is once again breaking.

Finding your wrists free, your hands wind into his vermilion pinstriped jacket, holding tight as he begins to fuck you with deep, bruising thrusts; on the fifth stroke, you shatter for him with a scream. Your core convulses around his girth, the dam to breaking and you bleed out your dignity with a slow, shamefully throbbing euphoria.

"Look at me."

You are only distantly aware of his savage growl. There is no strength in your body as he yanks your head back, forcing your wild gaze to meet his.

He jolts hard as the first gush of dreamy warmth erupts from him when he begins to fountain inside of you, filling you to the brim until opulent streams overflow from where you are joined.

"Oh, Gods..." A fresh wave of unanticipated ecstasy begins to spread within you, like earth warming in the light of a golden dawn.

The visceral pulse of his cock pumps like a beating heart as he fills you with his seed. Scarlet rapture blooms brightly behind your eyelids and your cries echo across the Seventh Floor as you contract on his length.

With a throaty groan, Demiurge sinks in as deeply as possible. Your hands seem to move of their own accord to grip him tightly, and your thighs cinch around his waist. And then you are floating... drifting from this plane to soar into an abyss of gilded ecstasy.

"Master..." You absently gasp, clinging to him because he is the only thing anchoring you to reality.

"Good girl, take all that I give you..." He commands as empties himself into your channel, and you moan with every hearty throb. His spend is so hot, so thick, it feels as if you are being injected with molten gold.

A strangles whine is pulled from your throat when the pressure of his shaft eases from you, leaving you excruciatingly empty. Your sheath aches with aftershocks as the warm wet flood of his release spills forth, streaming in milky trails down your inner thighs.

The Devil pushes himself to his feet, and you watch as he tucks himself away and straightens his suit.

Your eyes flutter, unwilling to cooperate in keeping fixated on the greatest threat in the room.

"Get up." He snips callously, and you surrender to his order as you find yourself in an odd state of unquestioning compliance.

But after being so thoroughly ravished, your legs are boneless and buckle beneath you, so you only manage to stumble, then collapse onto all fours.

Demiurge lets out an exasperated scoff before scooping you up and slinging you over his shoulder like baggage.

As he carries you to your room, it feels as though you are staying still while the world around you is rushing by. The firelight of the torches burn like the sun, causing your vision to swim with glowing red patterns, absent of shape or design, and births a host of shadows that dance and jump along the walls. You allow your eyes to drift closed. Your arms hang like limp noodles as they dangle over the Devil's back, but a small bit of awareness flickers, barely breaching the surface of oblivion's haze.

Gods, you feel good, as if your blood has been replaced with sunshine. You wonder if this is what a full dose of morphine feels like. When in the brothel, the barrel of the needle they used on you was only ever a quarter loaded.

But Demiurge never gave you anything. So why does this keep happening?

Why do you feel so... high?