Mistresses of Hell

Prologue II
4 Years Earlier
Razielle

“We!” A brunette 14-year-old shrieked like a 5-year-old child.

“Don’t!” Her fraternal twin sister, a girl with thick, jet-black hair roared.

“Want,” the brunette yelled.

“To!” Her sister was bright red in the face.

“GO!” They both screamed this last word at the top of their lungs.

It was amazing, Satan marveled, that two girls just on the cusp of womanhood could command so much attention simply by sitting on two towering thrones of scarlet-veined black marble and shrieking at the top of their lungs. His two oldest daughters were slight, petite girls, although they were so thin because they’d been starving themselves so they wouldn’t have to go to a human high school.

What spawn of the most unclean fallen angel would wish to leave the warm embrace of Hell, after all?

“Razielle! Lillitha! Both of you calm down, right this moment, before I slip into something more brimstonish and horny!” That quieted both girls, and they stared at him for a second, in his form of Harvey Kaitel He even wore the tuxedo and shades the actor wore in Reservoir Dogs. But all they were paying attention to was the “horny” statement. They both started to giggle, and suddenly they were convulsing with laughter as they tumbled from their thrones to the coal-black Persian rugs on the floor.

“You’re going to high school and that is final!” Razielle immediately stopped laughing and pushed herself upright, glaring at the Devil. She hissed, “I would rather be in Heaven for eternity than go to Earth for even a moment!”

“Maybe I can arrange that with Him, then, huh? See what your big mouth gets you!” Her brilliant hazel eyes blinked in surprise, suddenly shimmering with tears. She leapt to her feet and ran from the Throne Room, despite the thunderous voice of her father calling her back.

The Princess was suffering. The Princess was in pain. He, the Lord of the Cenobites, could feel her anguish in the dead marrow of his skull, in the grid of scar tissue across his face and the gaping wounds in his chest and belly, in the bleeding splits in his fingertips where thin fishhooks protruded from his flesh. Every wound he bore throbbed in an uncomfortable rhythm to the pounding of young Razielle’s breaking heart.

The Princess was in pain.

He loved pain, reveled in it. He was the face and voice of pain. Hell, he was pain. But this pain was not from the source that he wanted. He did not want pain from the Princess. She did not like pain, and he was not happy when she was not happy. She was his Princess, his dark Lady, and he would bring down the very wrath of Hell itself to make her happy once more.

He found her bedroom door, and without knocking, pushed it open. She didn’t shriek in outrage and surprise as she turned slowly to face him. He was surprised. Most fourteen-year-old girls would squeal with embarrassment to be found looking at their selves, naked, in the mirror.

The Prince of Pain drank in the sight of her, curious. He had seen naked women before, of course, but this was the Princess. The Princess was different.

Her curtain of mahogany curls fell down her back to her firm, round buttocks. Her skin was so pale, but not deathly so, like his. Her feet were large for a girl her age, but slender and elegant, the feet of a dancer. Her ankles were thin, the bones seemingly weak. Her legs were long and lean. The tight, dark triangle of soft, silken curls at the apex of her thighs was... intriguing to him. Her hips were wide and shapely, her hip bones sharp, and her waist slender. Her torso was thin enough that he could span the width of it with one hand. Her arms were like her legs, long and lean, and her shoulders were narrow. She had a long, lovely swan neck. Her head was nicely shaped, almost perfectly symmetrical. Her face was remarkably beautiful.

“Why do you stare so, Prince?”

“Do I stare, my lady?” He was mesmerized by the lift of her full, luscious breasts as she breathed and spoke. Her birthmark, a design resembling thorny roses whose petals dripped with blood, winked at him as she folded her arms across her chest.

“If you were human, you’d be drooling,” she said dryly, then became very solemn for a moment, though her eyes were cruel and angry, and very, very cold. “Do you want to mate with this body, Prince? Is that why you’re staring?”

“Princess-” he began, but then she was on him, and he was against the door, staring down at her as she slid her hands up to his shoulders, as she rubbed the length of her naked body against him like a sex kitten. He realized he’d made a mistake: Razielle may look fourteen, but she was much, much older.

Against his will, he felt the thick, sluggish blood in his body surge into his aching sex, and the cold, viscous blood began to grow hot as hell fire.

“Do you want to fuck this body, Prince? Do you like my cunt? Is that why you’re staring?” She grabbed his hands and filled them with her budding breasts, her hazel eyes locked with his. “Earth boys do. They like it.”

He froze, his black gaze locked with hers.

“Do they?” His voice was soft, cavernous, and filled with damnation.

“Oh, yes. But I don’t like them.”

“They are merely human animals. They have no right to touch you, Princess.”

“But they don’t care.” She threw herself away from him and scurried to hide herself behind the black silk curtains of her gargantuan, four-poster canopied bed. He followed, and crawled onto the bed through the curtains. She was lying on top of the black comforter, still gloriously naked, crying.

“No tears, my lady, please.”

“Is it a waste of good suffering, Prince?”

“No, my Princess. I do not wish for you to suffer.” She rolled over and stared at him for a moment, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“I don’t want to go to Earth. I don’t want to leave Hell. I want to stay here with you, Prince, with you and the legions and everyone. I don’t want to live with humans right now. They’re scary.”

He slid one hand under her back and lifted her up and against him, cradling her like the child she so resembled. She locked her fierce gaze with his, brilliant hazel and piercing obsidian. Her face had a hard, blazing look in it, and she was unusually quiet until she shattered the silence with her eternally damned confession.

“I love you, Prince.”

He didn’t speak, merely closed his eyes slowly, as if savoring her words. She grew impatient and murmured, “Well? Don’t you love me, as well?”

“By my nature, my Lady, I cannot love. But I am a devoted servant, to your family and, most especially, to you. You are my Princess, Razielle. If ever you have need of me, call my true name, my human name, and I will come to you.”

“Your human name... Prince.” To know a demon’s human name- if it had ever been human- was to have complete control over it. And the Prince of Pain would speak it to her... Even as a Princess, this was a high honor. He whispered his true name into her ear, and she giggled.

“It is cruel of you to laugh, Princess,” he murmured, feigning indignation. She merely smiled, and he noticed her rather charming dimples.

“I think... I think I should like to kiss you, Prince.” He blinked, surprised. A kiss in Hell was rarer than a polar bear in Antarctica (they really only live in the Arctic). Not to mention his pins would get in her way. Ah, but she already had a solution to that problem.

She lifted a hand, her expression timid but curious, and when he nodded permission, she yanked a nail out of his head. It was thin and pointed, the tip dripping his almost-black blood onto the satin of her comforter. She bent her head and licked the tip of it, then put it in her mouth to suck the taste of it.

“I love the taste of bloody metal,” Raze murmured. She then yanked out several more nails before he grasped her wrists and made her hold still. His maleness, already aroused to the point of sheer torment, couldn’t take the agonizing ecstasy of it as the cold iron slid from the soft gray matter of his brain. Raze could feel his hard, thick length against her butt.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“You’re doing this out of anger, not desire.”

“I have a right to be angry, Prince.”

“Princess, this is for the best.”

“I do not wish to go, Prince. I will not go!” She flung herself away from him, from his embrace, and up from the bed, the fire sputtering out and the ashes turning to gray and black ice as she focused her blazing green eyes upon it. Her body turned the color of marble in the sudden coldness of the room.

“I won’t do it, demon.” She rarely called any of the Cenobites “demon” unless her fury was choking her strange humanity and bizarre affection for them. “I refuse to be banished from my own home, my own realm. I won’t go. I refuse to go. I’d rather die than go!” With that, she snatched up one of her blades from her black wood table and prepared to pierce her own heart. Before she could even begin to bring her arm down, a cold hand grabbed her wrist and another pulled her against the cold, aroused body of the Prince.

“You will not do this thing, my lady! You can not! You can’t leave m-” He stopped and blinked, focused his onyx eyes on her. He seemed to be struggling with himself, with what he wished to say. After a few moments, where his midnight eyes glittered as if with fever, he felt her relax just a little and whispered, “My Lady, you cannot do this thing.”

He felt her trembling begin and was ready when she dropped the blade to the carpet and flung herself against him, sobbing so hard she nearly choked.

“Oh, Prince! Oh, Prince, I can’t leave you, I can’t leave my brothers and sisters, I’ll have no one! I’m afraid. I know how stupid that sounds, but it’s true. It’s true!” As she cried, her icy tears dropping onto the black leather of his robes, he scooped her up and carried her back to her bed, where he set her down. He lied down next to her, stroking the bend of a cold, steel fishhook against her smooth, warm, tear stained cheek.

It comforted her, and the fact that such a cold, inhuman caress would bring her such comfort made him wish that he were capable of weeping.

“If you do not go, your father will send you to Him, the Chaotic One.” She caught at his hand, holding the stroking hook still, and touched her own fingertips to his flesh. His mouth was free for her to taste if she so wished, and her look said she knew it.

“Yes,” she said, stroking his bloodless lips with one finger.

“I would rather you were only gone a few years, than forever.” She blinked and stared up at him, then slid her arms around his neck, whispering, “You really don’t want me to go, do you?” He shook his head.

“Sorrow is sweeter than a rare red wine, but not if the sorrow is brought on by your absence from these dark halls.”

“Oh, Prince... well. Lily and I have to leave tomorrow, and I am exhausted. Will you lie with me until tomorrow? Just to sleep.”

“If I lie with you, it will not be to sleep, my lady.”

“Oh? You would enjoy ‘not sleeping’ with me, then?”

“How am I to answer? Your body is so young, just on the cusp of maturity. But you are enough of a woman that I would enjoy such pleasure.”

“I’m a garden, Prince, in need of seeding.”

“You are exhausted.”

“I’m ready to be fucked, Prince. Can’t you feel it? And you’re ready to fuck, aren’t you? Don’t you want me?”

“I want you to sleep if you need it.”

“Pound me into exhaustion, sweet Prince.”

He smiled and shook his head. The Lady was not one to be deterred. A solid no would be his only recourse, or perhaps simple avoidance. Then again, did he truly want to turn down such a rare and tempting offer?

“I will need help to strip off my robe. The wires-” A wave of Raze’s blankly glowing hand cut him off as his robes disappeared, leaving him naked, his gaping wounds oozing blood, his penis huge, hard, and white, like marble. He was like a beautiful marble statue, as divinely handsome as the gods.

“Come to my bed, Prince.” At her words, spoken with the knowledge of her many aeons, he felt his spear grow sharp, grow hungry for a woman’s quivering, lust-slick flesh. His lady’s word was the only thing that held his appetites at bay.

“Do we go to sleep, Lady?”

“Only if you wish it.”

If you wish it...

She would surely be his undoing one of these days.

He came into her bed, his desire warring with his judgement. His judgement would’ve won out if she hadn’t rose up onto her knees and embraced him, her head against his chest, listening to the slow throbbing of his demonic heart. Her hands, splayed wide across his back, slid up and down the tense muscles of his shoulders, his back, the curve of his buttocks. He sucked in a sweetly agonized breath and put his arms around her, holding her close.

“Oh, Prince, I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you.”

“I know, Princess.”

“I wish you could feel love.”

“If I could, I am certain I would most certainly feel it for you, my Lady.” She lifted her head to look him in the eyes, saw the truth. She had known him since his creation, almost a century ago. He had never spoken to her such words as these. If he could have loved her, he would have. That was almost as good as his love, and almost as bad as his hate. It was a bittersweet thing to hear those words.

“My sweet, dark, fallen angel of a prince,” she whispered. “Make me your Princess. Please, just for tonight, before I lose you, my true Prince, for so long. Make me believe I’m yours.”

“You’re not mine, Lady. You’re too far above me. But I am yours, if you’ll have me. And now, Princess, I will give you a final night to remember.”

They descended together into a haze of dreams and fantasies, silk and pale flesh, kisses and caresses, orgasmic pain and excruciating pleasure. The whirlwind of darkness and hell and heaven didn’t die down until the dawn crept into the sky as sleep crept into the heart, mind, body, and soul of the Crown Princess.

Xipe Totec gazed down at the sleeping form of the Princess, and caressed her cheek. She didn’t wake, but turned her face into his hand in her sleep. Soon she would be gone, and he would be depressingly alone once more. For once, the thought of being alone made his heart cease its beating. Sometimes, that happened when he thought of the Princess and her leaving of him.

“I leave this with you, my Lady, as my farewell. Until I find my way to you once more, I am still your devoted slave. Heed my message, and your stay on Earth will not be such a living Hell.”

He lifted one of his missing pins- the others were no longer missing, but safely put back in his skull- and watched it grow to the length of a small knife. He pinned the thing with his elongated pin to the Princess’s pillow and tucked the message under the thing’s arm. He stroked her cheek once more, pushed back her hair from her face. He lifted her hand in his, kissed her fingertips. He then gently tucked her hand against the warmth of her sleep be-spelled body, grabbed the one thing from her bed that he desperately wanted, and left.

When he found himself back in his chambers, he clutched the scarlet, silk pillow he’d snagged from her bed and inhaled the sweet scent of the Princess. He would keep this for a long time, to remind him of her scent. He would need it, especially if she never called for him. And if she were hurt by his manner of departure, she would not call for him in her times of need.

He didn’t want to be there when she left Hell, left him, her loyal servant, but if she needed him, he would be there to bid her farewell.


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