[Exclusive] TIS 1328.2 R18 Beach Episode (5). Priestess and The Demon II
[Exclusive] TIS 1328.2 R18 Beach Episode (5). Priestess and The Demon II
Her blush deepened.
I arched a brow. “And are those lace garters under your holy robes?”
She covered her thighs. “N-No!”
I laughed. “I can see the straps.”
She looked down and screamed softly into her hands.
I twisted slightly in the ropes. I could break them. Easy. But why ruin the fun?
Instead, I sighed, voice deep and honey-laced. “So what’s next, little priestess? You gonna banish me with a chant or ride me until I beg for forgiveness?”
“I—!” she stuttered. “It’s a purification ritual! I have to weaken your will!”
I tilted my head, biting my lip. “By tying me to a bed while wearing lingerie under your robes? You might be purifying something, but it’s definitely not my soul.”
She looked like she wanted to vanish.
But she didn’t run.
Her hands shook slightly as she placed them over my chest, the warm glow of fake-ritual magic spreading through her palms. I could feel her heartbeat. Fast. Loud.
I grinned wider. “You’re trembling.”
“I am not!”
I leaned my head closer, whispering now. “You can’t even look at me without turning red… how do you plan to break me, priestess?”
Her lips parted. No answer.
So I kept going.
“I’m already bound. Helpless.” I smiled slow. Dangerous. “Isn’t this what a righteous little girl like you dreamed of? Taming the monster with your purity?”
Her thighs twitched.
I saw it.
She looked down, trying to hide her face.
But it was too late.
I’d found the crack.
And now?
Now I was going to enjoy breaking her apart. Rope or not. Altar or not.
I let my voice soften. Not weaker, never weaker, but warmer. Silk wrapped around steel.
“You know,” I murmured, wrists still bound, wings faintly flaring against the altar’s glow, “you picked the worst demon to play righteous with.”
Celia swallowed. I could hear it. The room was quiet enough that every breath, every rustle of fabric, sounded louder than it should.
“I said shut it,” she snapped, lifting her staff like it would protect her from the way my eyes followed her every move.
But her hand betrayed her.
It hovered over my chest. Then touched. Just for a second. Just a brush of fingers over skin still warm from magic and sin.
There it was.
I smiled.
“Ride me,” I said gently, like it was a promise instead of a command. “I’ll bring you to heaven.”
Her face went nuclear red. “Y-you’re disgusting!”
Yet she didn’t step back.
Her fingers pressed harder this time. As if testing. As if confirming I was real. Dangerous. Tempting.
“I will—” she said, flustered, turning away to grab a silver bowl from the altar. Water shimmered inside it, glowing with faint holy light. “I will purify you!”
She raised it, hand shaking, ready to splash it over my face like some dramatic ritual climax.
I sighed.
Snapped my wrists once.
The celestial ropes shattered with a sharp crack of light, fragments dissolving into harmless sparks before they hit the floor.
Celia gasped.
Before she could even react, I was moving.
I caught her wrist midair, twisted gently but firmly, and pulled her toward me. The bowl clattered to the floor, water spilling across the runes with a hiss of fading light.
In one smooth motion, I rolled us over and pinned her to the altar.
Her back hit the soft cloth. My hands trapped her wrists above her head. My wings arched, casting shadow and heat over her trembling body.
She stared up at me, wide-eyed. Breathless.
I leaned down until our noses almost touched.
“That’s not how purification works, priestess,” I whispered.
Her lips parted. No words came out.
“I’ll teach you.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Y-you can’t…”
I smiled wider. Darker.
“My method is… intimate,” I continued, my voice low, almost reverent. “It’s about release. About surrender. About letting go of fear and rising above it.”
I brushed my thumb along her cheek. She shivered.
“It uses a very special kind of water,” I added, eyes never leaving hers. “And it’s meant to be received… fully. Into your body… Your womb.”
Her thighs tensed. I felt it.
She tried to turn her head away. Failed.
“But don’t worry,” I said softly, lowering my forehead to hers. “I’ll make sure you ascend.”
For a heartbeat, she just lay there. Trapped. Flushed. Breathing my air.
Then, in the smallest voice imaginable, she whispered, “You’re evil…”
I chuckled. Warm. Almost affectionate.
“And you’re already touching me.”
Her fingers curled reflexively against my wrists.
I gave her my twisted smile.
She stared up at me like she couldn’t decide whether to pray or moan. The ropes were already gone, but I stayed above her. My hands braced on either side of her head, wings curved around us like shadows made flesh. I could feel the heat rolling off her body now, the way her breath skipped every few seconds like her lungs forgot what they were doing.
She didn’t push me away.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
So I lowered my head.
Soft.
Close.
Letting the tips of my horns almost brush hers.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered. My voice was low, breath warm against her cheek. “I’m not that kind of demon.”
Her eyes flicked to mine. Wide. Still cautious. Still flushed. But listening.
“I’m not here to steal your soul or corrupt your light,” I said slowly, every word dripping with truth wrapped in velvet. “I’m here to make you feel something holy… something no temple ever gave you.”
Her throat bobbed.
She didn’t speak, but her fingers twitched at her sides.
I leaned closer, close enough that our noses almost touched. My voice dropped to a secret only she could hear.
“Let me show you.”
Then I took her hand.
Gently. Slowly.
I brought it to my chest first, let her feel the steady rhythm of my heartbeat.
“See?” I whispered. “Not a monster. Just a man who burns for you.”
Then I lowered her hand. Down my chest, past my stomach, over the firm lines of muscle still buzzing from earlier release. I guided her until her palm rested just above the bulge in my pants, still restrained, still aching.
Her fingers twitched again.
I didn’t push. Just breathed.
“I want you to touch me,” I said, watching every flicker of her reaction.
She bit her lip.
Then slowly, so slowly, her hand moved on its own. Palmed me through the fabric. Just once. Then again, slower. Her breath hitched. Her eyes never left mine.
I let out a soft, deliberate groan.
That sound, that one raw, guttural note, made her shiver.
“See what you do to me?” I whispered, tilting my head. “How can you call yourself pure when you make a demon feel like this?”
She gasped. Her cheeks glowed red, and still, her hand didn’t stop.
I bucked into her palm ever so slightly, groaning again, head tipping back, tongue brushing my lower lip, eyes fluttering half-shut as I let her see me come undone beneath her touch. I wanted her to watch what she did to me.
And she did.
Her lips parted. Her pupils dilated. Her thighs squeezed together.
That’s when I smiled again. Soft. Intoxicating.
“Still want to purify me… or do you want to taste sin a little longer, priestess?”
Her breath hitched.
And this time, she didn’t say no.