To the Victor goes the Spoils

Authors note: I still own nothing!!! But that’s okay, I’m learning to cope.
P.S. doing the review dance!!! Oh yeah!!!

The halls in hell are always dark, as are the rooms. In the shadows two forms crushed against each other, pushed up, down. One head lay back submissively, the other loomed above it, almost close enough to bite. The hips rocked, slowly, quietly, for now. Elactrice watched the shadows quietly. She had been in hell since the time of Behemoth, she had seen the demons claw themselves to pieces over her, her sisters, she had laughed and placed bets on who would be dominant, or dominated. The shadows moved faster, a sense of urgency having set in, the one below had draped herself over the side of the cushions, the one above had moved to cover her with himself, a living demanding blanket. Something touched the back of her neck. She turned swiftly, perhaps too swiftly. Topec watched her quietly, his eyes blacker than the shadows around them. He said nothing, but turned his eyes to look where she had been looking. The male demon in the room paused his ministrations, sensing a threat. The soul beneath him sobbed. Elactrice smiled, (timid little demon, sampling wears he had not been admitted to.) A soft sound was her only indication that the one who had claimed her had moved away, off and further down his passages. She followed, six steps behind was safe. More and she would offend him, less and he would dominate her without mercy, a punishment for having intruded on his space.

The passage was getting wider. They passed by rooms without seeming number, in a silence both strange and worrisome. Topec paused, looked about him quietly. A cenobite was very territorial about his private quarters, it was forbidden for others to enter it. If he caught scent or sign of another he would fight again. However there was nothing, so undisturbed, they continued on. The quarters in question were large, a hall of six sides and no ceiling save at the far end. Furniture was scarce. A bed under the overhang, a table, cluttered with things she had not seen before, and did not understand. A chair, with no seat cushion or armrests, it seemed the most uncomfortable thing in the room. And in the corner a bench, with only three pillows.
A large beast raised its head from the floor and made a low growling sound. Its skinless jaws widened a moment, then the creature, recognizing Topec’s scent, it rose and ambled over, brushing its master lightly before going out the door. Topec watched it go, then pushed her down, making her kneel before him.

Elactrice rubbed her cheek once more against his hand, now healed by Leviathan. The fingers brushed her cheek, caressed her skin lightly, and pushed her slightly to the left. She complied, moving over and rubbing against his thigh through the robe. She felt the skin shiver, smiled, when no further instruction was made she continued to rub. a longer caress now, straying to the left and back again, teasing gently, promising everything, if he wished it. Still no indication to stop, she took a liberty and traced her hand down his thigh, delighting in the shudder that accompanied it. Her fingers stroking there, up and down, she let her cheek move further still, rubbed it where she knew his desire lay, gently, up and down, until she felt it stirring beneath the leather. His fingers flexed again, running along her jaw, sliding under her bottom lip now, around her mouth, feeling her smile. She rubbed a little harder, was rewarded when his other hand moved down, ran over her shoulder, promising further exploration once he could reach her.

She mover her other hand up, still keeping one on his thigh, cupped the weight if him as best she could, and rubber her cheek along the tip. He hissed, fingers clenching on her collar bone, making her wince. Finally he shifted enough to give her permission, and she pulled his robe up and touched him. He moaned, let her rub his weeping head, run her fingers up and down him, her soft tongue slipped out and lapped his tip. He closed his eyes as that touch, running along his underside, tracing the veins. Her fingers squeezed his base and he arched, releasing some of his essence onto her cheek. The tongue left him and tasted it, her catlike eyes glowed duskily. She tasted his tip again, lapped it consistently. Her fingers now followed where her tongue had been, he moaned, his hands urged her closer. Again she lapped his underside, worrying the skin before her mouth crept forward to cover him. Her fingers returned to his base, she moved her head. His knees buckled, his hips pressed forward as he began to move against her, forcing himself further down her throat. She hissed, lapped as best she could, sucked, clenched her throat muscles around him, tasted him faintly as he leaked into her. Her own need growing she rubbed herself against his ankle, trying to relieve the tension.

In a moment she lay sprawled on the floor, stunned from the impact, hissing up at him as he glared down at her.

She knew the rules of Hells courtship, he took care of her release, and she took care of his. She was not allowed hers until he had mounted her. She had overstepped her bounds. This may seem cruel, but there was a reason for it. Demons, by their nature, are infertile. Only for a little time after a Female is pleasured can she conceive. Thus it had to be, or demons could not perform their functions in hell. Again he seized her, tossing her spitting and snarling from the floor onto his bed. He forced her legs apart when she tried to kick him, hitched up her skirt, rubbed against her wet entrance, and thrust forward, hard.

She wailed, tried to push him from within her, cried out as he only pushed deeper, stretching her, rubbing into her channel until he hit her cervix. Again she feebly tried to force him out. She did not want this, pleasure, yes, and glad to give him the same, but not this. But he thrust again, almost pushing into her womb as she shrieked and shuddered on him. Despite her will her wet walls milked him, her clenching only speeding up the process. He made short thrusts, sating himself against her innermost core. The slosh of his forced entrance tickled her nerves, until a low moan crept unbidden from her throat, until her walls clenched about him responsively. He pulled out.

She groaned in frustration, raised her hips subconsciously for him, opened her eyes and
implored him silently, asking forgiveness. She lifted her head from the mattress, and laid it against his arm, giving him her submission.

That was what he wanted. He let out a low rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, rubbed a hand against her stomach soothingly, his fingers strayed downward and she moaned again. They rubbed her thigh, traced around her wet sex, teasing her. Two fingers, one covered in leather, rubbed her cunt. She sighed, spread her legs further, hissed as he slipped two other fingers into her, and began rubbing on the inside as well. She licked his wrist, all she could reach of him now; stretched out her hands to run over his chest, feel the skin and leather in her desperation for contact. He moaned, still in need, he ran his length against her thigh, smiled when she tried to wrap her legs around him. Teasingly, just barely able to touch her, his tongue lapped her three times.
She shuddered, called out, her walls around his fingers trembled, and his control snapped, he could wait no longer, there was not time.

He moved up and thrust back into her, she wrapped around him, her legs about his waist, her arms about his shoulders. She pushed to meet him, stroke for desperate stroke, panting and groaning and cursing softly in the deep language of hell. They moved as the shadows had, up and down, one head arched forward, the other hanging, faster and faster, their hips grinding. His fingers strayed back down to her clit almost the same moment her fingers closed on his sacks.

They jerked, bucked and shouted, the bed shook and the sound echoed off the walls. Their shadows moved weakly now, a stalled thrusting as the arms of the dominant shook from the strain, and collapsed upon the other. Topec hissed softly as he breathed, now flaccid within her he covered her, she still trembling with aftershocks panted beneath him. Quietly, tiredly, she opened her eyes and gave him her word she would not destroy it. He nodded, rolled them so that he lay beside her, his immortality once again secured.

Perhaps he would fight for her again in the future, there was no way to be sure. But one thing was for certain, without even a glimmer of a doubt. To the Victor go the Spoils.

(Continue it? I am unsure. Suggestions?)