I Don't Bring It Home with Me

It's my spirit job. I don't take it home with me. If I have to whip you for what you've done wrong so you can get back up to Heaven, I've accepted that. I, in my daily life, however, do not want that.

No, I am not a madame or a dom. I don't even want to be a sub. It's my job to know what those are. I don't have to like them. I don't even want your floodgates as a girlfriend, so why would I want your kink floodgates? Those are even worse because there's more of your heavy behind them.

I want what so many women are offered by you men, especially in their twenties. I wish I'd feel the heat of your gazes on the small of my back to my butt, but you want me to cater to your kink instead. Like I asked to be a kinky kind of beauty anyway.

I want my looks to get me offers of normal sex from men.

I am disgusted and disappointed when a man wants to pay me to let him watch me pee. I am revolted when a man wants to pay me to sissify him. These are not dom put-ons; these are my reactions. Those two need therapists, possibly medication.

There is only one man who is an exception: Sam himself. When he fell and I tortured him, his inner self I sensed through his whip wounds appealed to me. I found him enthralling. He's the only one whose romantic and kink floodgates I want. No, I don't want an army of Nephilim. I don't think children are to be had for an army. I think they're to be had when a man makes you envision having his by how he is.

I can safely say it's Sam's fault I love him (let's face it, he's the one who defines falling for someone) and it's his fault I want his children.

That blue around him right after he fell; his entire form, particularly his wings, morphing and adapting to the heat in his fall spot, all of it struck me, spoke to me.

That's why I'm his in my heart I'm reputed not to have.

My proper spirit name is Lilitu (Lee-lee-too). His is Samael (Sah-mah-ehl). There's no Yud or Y in it. The children we are purported to have are called Nephilim (Neh-fee-leem). My spirit name is Babylonian. His is Hebrew. Nephilim is also in Hebrew.

I fell just as in love with him as he did with me. So much for being heartless and soulless.

What I get out of whipping men into moral shape is the satisfaction of knowing they're Heaven-worthy, that the torture led them to decide to stop whatever wrongs they were doing. They stopped blaming others and the situation and owned what they did. When I get a wink from Dad or Sam, it means I qualified another one. That's why I do it.

I still don't ever want to take it home with me, not into the life I'm living.

I've met many redheads and cats that are very loving and soulful. Some cats will go up to you for affection when you're sad. That purring cheers me up. So does baby smell. I know I'm reputed to have stolen unborn children, but think about it. They are sinless. Didn't even kill themselves. Where would they go?

Besides, I prefer my own children. Tasty little morsels, those. In all seriousness, I feel more bonded with them. Probably to do with those nine months I spent getting to know them in utero. But where would a demoness ever get the maternal instinct for a child?