The scent of dream-moth silk and male skin clung to me like a second ghost as I slipped from the castle at dawn. Diavolo had been asleep, one arm thrown possessively over my waist. Barbatos had already vanished, likely to begin the day’s meticulous orchestrations. Their care had been a balm, a sanctuary, but in the clear, cruel light of the Devildom’s twin moons setting, it felt like a transaction. I was now a living piece in a silent power struggle I hadn’t agreed to join.

I needed to move, to think somewhere that wasn’t perfumed with political affection. The RAD library’s public sections were too exposed. My feet, acting on a half-remembered hint from Leviathan, carried me deeper, past wards that shimmered and parted with a grudging familiarity they seemed to grant all exchange students. Into the Forbidden Stacks.

Here, the air was dead. The hum of magic was a sub-audible thrum in the teeth. Light came from sickly-green bioluminescent fungi growing on the shelves, casting long, grasping shadows. The books weren’t titled; they whispered, their leather bindings pulsing softly like dormant hearts. It was a place to get lost. Perfect.

I trailed my fingers along a row of spines that felt like cooled embers, not seeing them. My body still throbbed with a pleasant, used ache. My mind churned.

“Well, look what the Hell-Cat dragged in.”

The voice, smooth as aged venom, came from above. I jerked my head up. Satan lounged on a rolling ladder propped against a high shelf, a massive tome open in his lap. He peered down at me, his green eyes sharp with intellectual curiosity and something darker. “Or should I say, look what finally escaped the gilded cage.”

“I’m not in a cage,” I said, too quickly.

“Aren’t you?” He descended with unnatural grace, the ladder not making a sound. “Diavolo’s personal gardens, his personal pavilion, his personal bed. It’s a very luxurious enclosure, I’m sure. But an enclosure nonetheless.” He snapped the book shut. The sound was like a bone breaking in the silence. “Lucifer is a fool. But replacing his toxic control with Diavolo’s smothering protection isn’t freedom, Nikki. It’s just changing jailers.”

His words hit a nerve he’d expertly located. “What do you want, Satan?”

“Wrath, remember?” He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m furious on your behalf. It’s energizing. And I’m bored. And you look like you could use someone who isn’t trying to own you, but simply… enjoy you.” He stepped closer. The scent of him was different—old paper, ink, and a sharp, ozone-like spark of pure anger. “Let me distract you. Let’s get into some trouble.”

Before I could answer, another voice coiled through the stacks, sweet as poisoned syrup. “Darling, there you are! I’ve been looking everywhere. Your aura is practically screaming ‘need a spa day and several hours of adoration,’ and who better to provide that than me?”

Asmodeus materialized from behind a bookcase, looking utterly out of place in the gloom. He glowed. He wore a lavender silk shirt that was practically painted on, and his pout was a work of art. “Ugh, this place is dreadful for the complexion. All this… knowledge-dust.” He flicked a mote from his shoulder, then his violet eyes zeroed in on me, widening. “Oh, sweetie. You’ve been consorting. I can smell Diavolo’s pompous sunshine and Barbatos’s creepy-clean precision all over you.” He didn’t sound jealous. He sounded fascinated. “Naughty girl. Playing with the big boys. But did they make you feel precious? Did they worship you properly?”

Satan snorted. “They probably consulted a treatise on optimal pleasuring techniques first.”

“Stop it,” I muttered, heat rising to my cheeks. They were circling me, a predator and a peacock, both with the same hungry glint in their eyes.

“Why?” Asmo purred, closing in on my left. He ran a manicured finger down my arm. “You’re clearly a mess. We’re your lovers. We’re here to help.”

“By cornering me in a forbidden library?”

“The best therapy is often unorthodox,” Satan said from my right. His hand came to rest on my hip, his thumb pressing into the bone. “And we’re not cornering you. We’re… engaging you.”

Asmo’s hand slid around to my lower back, dipping under the waistband of my skirt. “Mm, you’re tense right here. All knotted up with other demons’ dramas.” His other hand came up to cup my breast through my shirt, his thumb brushing my nipple to an immediate, traitorous peak. “Let us give you something that’s just about you. About this.”

His mouth found mine. Asmo’s kisses were an experience—all-consuming, expert, flavored with illusion-berry gloss and vanity. He kissed like he was devouring a delicious secret. I gasped, and Satan used the opportunity to bury his face in my neck, his teeth scraping the tendon. Not a bite, a promise.

“See? No politics here,” Satan murmured against my skin, his breath hot. “Just you. And two demons who are very, very interested in you.”

Asmo’s hand, which had been stroking my back, now slid around front, dipping under my skirt. His fingers, slick with some magic or his own inherent wetness, found my bare cleft. I jolted. “No panties?” he giggled against my mouth. “Already broken in for the day? How convenient.”

Satan’s hand joined his brother’s, pushing my skirt up around my waist. The dead air of the stacks was cold on my exposed skin. “Look at that,” Satan breathed, his voice dropping, turning rough. “All pink and used and still so fucking pretty.”

Asmo peeled my shirt up, pulling it over my head before I could protest, then unhooked my bra with a practiced flick. Still unsure on how the hell he does that. He bent his head, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers below began a relentless, circling torture on my clit.

My head fell back against Satan’s shoulder. Logic, consequence, politics—it all dissolved under the dual assault. This was different from Diavolo’s worship. This was raw, hungry, and laced with a rebellious kind of sympathy. They were angry for me, and they were turning that anger into a fuck.

“Hold her,” Asmo commanded, pulling his mouth away with a wet pop.

Satan’s arms became iron bands around my upper body, pinning my arms to my sides. He bent me forward slightly, over a reading stand made of petrified wood. The ancient text on it seemed to leer.

Asmo knelt behind me. I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of his zipper. Then his hands were on my ass, spreading me open. “Absolutely pristine back here,” he observed, his tone clinical and lustful all at once. “Diavolo didn’t think to claim this? A missed opportunity.”

He leaned in. His tongue, wicked and agile, didn’t go where I expected. It licked a firm, wet stripe from my clit up over my entrance, and then pressed insistently against the tight, forbidden pucker behind.

I cried out, the sound muffled by Satan’s hand clamping over my mouth. “Quiet, little scholar,” he hissed in my ear. “These books absorb sound. They’ll drink your screams and keep them forever.”

Asmo’s tongue worked me open, a persistent, profane intrusion. He spit, the wetness cool, and pushed his tongue in deeper. The sensation was shocking, overwhelming, a bolt of illicit pleasure mixed with sheer vulnerability. I bucked, but Satan held me fast.

“She’s twitching like a little rabbit,” Asmo laughed, standing. I heard the slick sound of him stroking himself. “Ready for me, darling?”

He didn’t wait. He positioned the broad, smooth head of his cock against that spit-slicked entrance and pushed.

The burn was exquisite, a searing stretch that stole my breath. He wasn’t gentle. He filed in with a single, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt with a groan of supreme satisfaction. “Oh, fuck. That’s a first. So tight. Clenching around me like a little fist.”

He began to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. Each thrust jolted me forward against the stand. Satan’s hand left my mouth and wrapped in my hair, pulling my head back to watch Asmo pound into me.

“Look at him,” Satan growled, his own erection a hard line against my back. “Look at the Avatar of Lust taking what he wants. Because he wants you. Not to protect you. Not to own you. Just to fuck you senseless.”

Asmo’s pace was merciless, a celebration of carnality. His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, his perfect composure shattered into breathless grunts. “Take it, you gorgeous thing. Take all of me. Forget his name. Forget all their names. Just feel this.”

The pain melted, transfigured into a deep, blinding fullness. The shame of it, the raw filth of being taken this way in this place, ignited something in me. A reckless anger to match theirs. My inner muscles clenched around him, milking his cock.

Asmo shrieked, a high, beautiful sound. “Yes! That’s it! Come on, make me come inside this perfect little ass!”

His rhythm broke, became frantic. With a final, deep plunge, he froze, pulsing, his release flooding me with shocking heat. He collapsed over my back, kissing my shoulder messily. “Perfect. You were perfect.”

He slipped out, and the sensation of emptiness was immediate. I was dripping, throbbing, utterly debauched.

Satan spun me around before I could sink to the floor. My back hit the shelves; a book whimpered. His eyes were pure, undiluted wrath—for Lucifer, for the world, now channeled into a terrifying need.

“My turn,” he said, his voice guttural. He didn’t bother with preliminaries. He hiked my leg up around his hip, aligned himself with my dripping, well-used front, and slammed home.

I screamed. He was bigger, thicker, and he filled the aching space Asmo had left with a brutal completeness. He fucked with a focused, intellectual fury, each thrust precise and devastating, as if solving a complex problem of anatomy and anguish.

“This is what you needed,” he grunted, his forehead against mine, his glasses askew. “Not tea and sympathy. Not political asylum. To be used. To be reminded you’re alive. To be so thoroughly fucked, you can’t think about him.”

He was right. My mind was white noise, static, filled only with the slap of skin, the smell of sex and old magic, the sight of his enraptured, angry face. The coil in my belly tightened, drawn taut by his ruthless, perfect strokes.

“Come for me, Nikki,” he demanded, his hand snaking between us to rub my swollen clit. “Come on, your Avatar of Wrath. Let me feel you shatter.”

The command, the friction, the overwhelming fullness broke me. My orgasm tore through me, violent and silent, my mouth open in a soundless cry. My cunt clamped down on him in rhythmic, vicious pulses.

He followed with a roar, slamming into me one last time, his body arching as he emptied himself deep inside. He stayed there, pressed against me, breathing raggedly, his weight pinning me to the forbidden knowledge.

Slowly, the world seeped back in. The whisper of the books. The green gloom. The sticky, cooling mess between my legs.

Asmo, now impeccably re-dressed, fluffed his hair. “Feeling better, darling? You look thoroughly distracted.”

enrico bet

Ch.3: Seven Demons, One Darling

By: Inkmouse

The scent of dream-moth silk and male skin clung to me like a second ghost as I slipped from the castle at dawn. Diavolo had been asleep, one arm thrown possessively over my waist. Barbatos had already vanished, likely to begin the day’s meticulous orchestrations. Their care had been a balm, a sanctuary, but in the clear, cruel light of the Devildom’s twin moons setting, it felt like a transaction. I was now a living piece in a silent power struggle I hadn’t agreed to join.



Ch.3: Seven Demons, One Darling

By: Inkmouse

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Ch. 2: Seven Demons, One Darling

Ch.3: Seven Demons, One Darling

By: Inkmouse

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Ch. 2: Seven Demons, One Darling

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