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Cinnamon & Ash

A very old story I originally posted on Literotica many years ago, dusted off for the enjoyment of all you pervs.


Saretha let the darkness envelop her. As far as she knew, no-one had set foot in the cavern for many thousands of years. But she found the place, following the lines of power that converged upon it, and discovered the ruins hidden below the forest.

Clumps of luminescent fungus pooled on the floor, their bluish light giving the cavern a strange underwater feel. They picked out the angular carvings that spelled out a language long-dead, the tongue of a civilisation that had fallen so completely in aeons past that pockets of ruins like this were all that remained. Statues worn smooth with age lined the tunnel that led to the ritual cave, so eroded they looked more like stalagmites than images of a long-lost people.

Saretha loved the place. It was hidden, and it was hers. Ever since her training at the Monastery of the Opening Eye she had never been alone, always wandering through lands full of ignorant people who needed defending or competing for attention with the other initiates. It was only when she was alone that she could deal with these forces in her own way. She didn't want anyone else observing – solitude was part of the magic, in more ways than one.

The tunnel opened up into a large cave lit by pools of bioluminescence. In the centre was a circle of stones cut from dark purple rock that must have been quarried elsewhere and brought here by the slaves of that ancient civilisation. Something had once been worshipped here, powerful and revered enough for slaves to carve the ritual cave out from beneath the forest and set up the stones. But the cave was used for something else now. Saretha wondered at the weight of years that must be on her, and at the obscure rituals that must have taken place there. Did the ancients have magic of their own? Did they once summon something from beyond the mortal world into that circle of stones, to honour it, or plead with it? Did they make bargains with those powers? Did they fear them? If history was anything to go by, the truth was probably a combination of them all.

Saretha had chosen this place precisely because of the circle, and the power that flowed around it. Because in the circle, chained between two of the stones, was her quarry.

It snarled as it saw her. Saretha felt a thrill of fear, but chased it away. The demon couldn't hurt her. Not now. Not after she had spoken the words that had summoned it here.

'You. Bitch.' The demon's voice was so low and powerful it was like an earthquake. 'What is the meaning of this? Do you not know what I am?'

'Yes, I do,' said Saretha as she walked towards the stone circle, remembering all the lessons she had learned with the Opening Eye. 'You are Thorgulian. The Butcher. You have killed many thousands of my people.'

'Many thousands and one!' spat the demon. Saretha could see it clearly now. It stood with its arms splayed out, ensorcelled golden chains binding its wrists to the stones. It was huge, head and shoulders taller than a man, and its skin was a deep, burning crimson. Its face was long and cruel, its hair a shaggy purplish mane that couldn't hide the gnarled ram's horns that grew from its skull. The muscles of its chest were heavy and corded, straining against the bonds. Its cloven hooves stamped on the stone floor and it lurched forward - but gold, like any monk knew, was magic, and the demon could not break the chains.

'Ha! Just another one of your hunters,' continued the demon. 'Did the League of Illumination send you? The Dawnlight Brotherhood? Or are you here on your own, a little girl looking for revenge?'

'No,' said Saretha. She was inside the circle now, close enough to see the sweat glistening redly on the demon's skin. Its face might have been that of a handsome man, the chin slightly too pointed, the eyes set too deep, and too black, the teeth flashing like a predator's, all transposed into demonic red. 'The Opening Eye sent me forth.'

'The monks?' Thorgulian laughed. 'Scholars and poets. They know everything until the time comes to face us.'

'Not me,' said Saretha. 'Things have changed since you were last summoned forth, Thorgulian.' She was standing right in front of the demon now. It smelled of cinnamon and ash, of the hot winds that blew across the wastes of the Infernis, the endless realm of demons. 'You see, the Monastery of the Opening Eye teaches its monks of many paths that can help us conquer your kind. Some of us seek out knowledge. Some learn to fight.' Saretha stood on tip-toe so she could whisper into the demon's ear. 'But me... they taught me what real magic is.'

Saretha laid her hand on the demon's chest. Its skin was hot, like the fires that burned in the lowest reaches of the Infernis, and she could feel its bestial heart thudding. She let her hand slid down, over its pectorals and onto its belly, down further until she felt the thatch of hair covering its groin.

Her hand reached the flesh that hung between the demon's legs. It was big, bigger than a man, burning hot. She felt Thorgulian flinch as she took him in her hand. Physical combat, or torture, or some contest of wills – it had been prepared for all those things. But not this.

It growled, deeply like a cornered animal.

'Do you really believe, said Saretha softly, 'that you can ever defeat us? Every evil you commit, a hundred more of us swear ourselves to the cause.'

She was kneading him now, her fingers moving up and down the velvety skin. She could feel the demon's blood pulsing beneath her palm.

'And for every one of us you defeat,' replied Thorgulian through clenched teeth, 'a thousand more are born into the Infernis. And more and more of your people bring us forth, call us into your world to do the work of demons.'

The demon was stiffening in Saretha's hand. Her touch was practiced. She knew exactly how to knead the pad of her thumb into his flesh, how to touch her fingers over the ponderous head. With every beat of the demon's bestial heart, he grew.

'You hold no fear for us,' said the demon, defiant. 'Nothing you do can change your fate. We will sweep into your world and conquer you all. You hold no power over us. None.'

'If that is true, Thorgulian the Butcher,' said Saretha softly, 'then why are you so hard?'

The demon's cock was firm in her hand. It was almost burning now. She worked the foreskin over the crown, watching the demon shudder as it tried to control the lust. But it as lust that drove every demon – lust for conquest, lust for destruction. It was their strength, and to Saretha, it was their weakness.

The demon lurched again, suddenly, and the golden chains around its wrists strained. But the magic held them. Saretha knew the demon would literally tear her apart if it could. The thought made her heart beat faster. She glanced up into its eyes and she could see the hate there – hate, just waiting to turn into bestial rage.

She undid the clasp of her cloak. It slid down over her shoulders and she dropped it on the ground at her feet. Underneath the black cloak she wore the simple white monk's habit of the Opening Eye. Her hair fell free of the cloak's hood – it was dark and straight, so long it hung almost down to her waist.

Saretha kneeled down on the cloak, her hand still working on the demon's cock. She could hear the growl from inside it as it tried to force down the passion, to deny everything it was.

Saretha knew what real magic was. Sex was magic. That was why people did such extraordinary things to get it, why it was at the centre of so much joy and horror alike. It was the same reason that gold was magic – people would kill for it.

Saretha shook her hair back over her shoulders and leaned forward to take the demon in her mouth. Her lips glided over the crown, and it was almost too hot to take. She slid both hands up and down its shaft now, bobbing her head back and forth so her lips began to coax the very tip of its cock. The demon's spicy smell was stronger now – it was the hot, ashy smell of a burning city. He tasted of something exotic, spices and fire.

Thorgulian groaned, and twitched in her hands. She reached one hand down between his legs and felt the velvety sack that hung there, squeezing it gently until she felt the demon shudder.

She pulled him deeper into her mouth, her tongue sliding round the head of his cock. She tasted the oily drops that oozed from his tip, all but boiling. The demon was unable to mask his short breaths now – his head was tipped back and his lips were parted. Just a little more, thought Saretha. A little more and he would lose control.

Her hands were moving faster now. She drew all the length that she could into her mouth, faster and faster, her tongue pressed hard against the sensitive cowl of flesh. She heard the golden chains jingling as the demon strained against them. If he broke free now, he wouldn't kill her straight away – he would pin her down and ravish her, break her with the force of his lust before she died. She saw herself splayed on the floor, the demon's weight on top of her, pounding away inside her until he had taken her and destroyed her hold on him.

She pulled her head back and let him slide out of her mouth. His cock glistened with her saliva and his sweat. Every time her hand slid the length of his shaft, a drop seeped from the eye at the tip of his crown. He was nearly ready. Saretha looked up at him – his anger fought with his lust so strongly that his every muscle was straining with the conflict.

He was ready. He was fairly buzzing with the opposed passions, ready to explode. She let go of his cock and stood up again. The demon was breathing in short, broken gasps, his eyes closed.

'Down,' she said. In response the golden chains slid down the standing stones, forcing the demon down. He fought them, but their magic was strong. His hooves scraped on the floor but inch by inch he was forced down onto his knees. His cock stood between his splayed thighs, straight and hard as an arrow. He roared in anger and defiance, every muscle standing out.

'Good,' said Saretha. She had to stay calm and in control but in truth she was shuddering inside, too. It was the power that excited her. Power over something like Thorgulian. Thousands had worshipped the demon as a god, sacrificed their own to appease him, died by his rage and arrogance. But to Saretha, he kneeled.

Saretha undid the belt of her monk's habit. She shrugged it off and let it fall over her cloak. She was naked underneath. The demon's eyes opened and it looked up at her.

Saretha wondered what it must see. Was she a monster to him, like he was to her? If he saw her by human standards, she knew she wasn't unattractive. She was pale and slender, with a haughty, slightly superior face that could humble men with glance as much as it made them want her. She wished her breasts were larger, and her hips wider. But perhaps the demon saw her as she saw it – something from another world, bestial and hateful.

'You... you vermin... you nothing...' the demon said. Its eyes settled on the crisp dark curls between Saretha's legs, and she knew it was afraid.


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