SEX WITH THE DEVIL

 

That night, as tears blurred her vision, she looked up and saw him—a figure both enigmatic and formidable. His face held a rugged, masculine allure, every feature carved with a strength that echoed the legends of fierce warriors. His long, intricately braided hair cascaded over broad shoulders, each braid reminiscent of ancient traditions from the tribe she was supposed to belong to. His body was a testament to raw power, sculpted with muscular definition, and as her gaze traveled downward, she marveled at the sheer, commanding presence of him- thick, veined, and throbbing with power. Yet, in a startling twist of nature, his legs ended not in human form but as powerful hooves, like those of a mighty goat. Though the white men labeled him the devil, in her heart she understood him as something far older—a skinwalker, an ancient creature shrouded in mystery. Ashes from the pyre that had consumed her mother still floated in the cool night air, mingling with the dry tears that traced her face.

With slow, deliberate steps, the sound of his hooves, the heat radiating from him as he advanced and enveloped her in a warm, reassuring embrace. In that solitary moment, her loneliness melted away under the comfort of his nearness. As she pressed against him, a subtle yet electrifying warmth ignited between her legs—the brush of his hardened presence awakening a deep, carnal desire within. Her breath became shallow and heavy, her heart a wild drumbeat as her body responded in a symphony of pleasure: nipples hardening, her core pulsating with need, every sense attuned to the intimacy of the moment. Words abandoned her as a singular, overwhelming longing took over, an urgent craving to merge with him completely.

In a passionate, instinctual motion, she wrapped her legs around him as he effortlessly lifted her, their bodies moving in a rhythmic dance. Her wetness met him in a heated embrace as every thrust sent shivers of ecstasy through her body; his impressive manhood brushed against her most sensitive parts with each movement, heightening her arousal. Their lips met in a searing kiss as they made love with wild abandon. At one moment, he gathered her hair, pulling her head back to expose her delicate neck, which he then kissed and sucked with a fervor that set her nerves alight. Overwhelmed by this dance of passion, she climaxed in an explosive wave of pleasure, leaving him marked by the evidence of her ecstasy as he slowly withdrew.

Gently, he laid her down upon the heated ground and departed, leaving her to linger in the afterglow of their fiery encounter, floating in an almost otherworldly bliss.

A vision of long, dark hair, full crimson lips, and skin pale like moonlight. From the tower of her old Victorian residence in the heart of the city, she gazed out at a sky drenched in moonlight, her mind returning to the day of her transformation. A day born of searing anger—a day when the tribe had killed her beloved mother, a revered medicine woman, for daring to summon a skinwalker. It was that same mysterious being, the one who had appeared amidst the fury of flames, who introduced himself with a passion so consuming that it defied all norms. With each embrace and every lingering bite upon her neck, he had cursed her with the cruel fate of immortality, condemning her to endless solitude.Yet, despite the curse, she remained inexplicably drawn to him. Every thought of him stirred a profound, almost painful arousal—sending her pulses racing, her womanhood throbbing with desire, and her heart pounding with a longing that promised both bliss and torment in equal measure.

For decades, she’s drifted through the shadowy veins of New Orleans—its alleys damp with secrets and sin—hunting under the hush of midnight. Her heels echo on cobblestones, a rhythmic warning to those who follow, unaware they are already prey. She lures them easily, these men, with her exotic beauty—ageless eyes that promise pleasure and oblivion, a voice like silk wrapping around their desires. They never resist. She feeds slowly, intimately… her bite an act of worship, a moment of blissful surrender they mistake for love.

And with every night that passes, she waits. For him. The skinwalker with eyes like obsidian flame. The beast cloaked in man's form who took her, claimed her, made her burn with unholy hunger…and left her aching.

She feels him stirring again—somewhere in the heavy Louisiana air, in the way the moon bends just so, in the way her body throbs with ancient memory.

It won’t be long now.
She knows it in her blood.

The day will come. The moment when the Devil will make love to her again and their bodies burn through eternity once more.