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My First Satanic Anal from Obscura's blog

He kisses my brow like he is placing a Shinto seal of good luck on my soul, then we walk arm and arm onto the expansive grassy lawn fronting the rose gardens.  “Would you like to fly, Shaylen?  Have you ever ridden aback a dragon?  Because in the end, princesses and dragons, why, they pair like brie with Chardonnay.  At the end of the fairytale and End of Days, it always comes back to a maiden and a dragon, burnt crisps of knights or Saviors be damned.  Women are wild and magic, and so are wyverns and wyrms.  We are traveling far from Pandemonium, and to do it as the Beast is the most economical and ergonomic way.”  He fiddles with my earlobe, then leans down to whisper in my ear.  “Tell me, my dearest, do you still harbor those childhood fears, or have your communions with my inner demon, the truth of me, made you acquaintances, nay, bedfellows, with the dragon?”


His breath is fire on my skin.  “Let’s live fiercely, I say,” I declare with ironclad teeth.  I clasp his shoulders and squeeze.  “Oh monster under my bed, there is nothing you could do anymore that could terrify me.  All that’s left is excitement and temptation.”


He lifts me up and twirls me around, spreading his wing in the falling rain, and my dress is damp and wild, billowing out like a flamenco dancer.  His feathers shed, leaving behind scales, his eyes burn acid red, and shadows engulf his body.  Breaking and reforming limbs, wicked teeth meant to eat little girls that stray to the forest at night, fire in his gullet, burning majestic horns and a rich black mane that smells like sulfur.  He is gigantic, the size of his mansion, his back ridged like a dinosaur, and his scales are black with a bloody iridescent sheen.  I sit atop his neck behind his ear frills, and with a great roar he pounds his wings and lifts up into the air, and I laugh in glee.


We are a bullet shooting through the sky of Hell, leaving a patchwork of small toy Pandemonium far behind as we sail past the skyscrapers and bordering forest of nymphs and to the Mountains of Gehennom.  The land outside the outskirts of Pandemonium is rivers of lava and ash and black volcanic rock and spires of sharp canyons and eroded spindrift mountains, with only the toughest black saguaros and Joshua trees growing.


There are wild sour grapes thriving in mountain crags that the harpies eat, and the wilder beasts of Hell roam here, horny goat Seirim and reptilian Shedim.  This is the place where Satanic witches gather for Black Sabbats.  This is the place where hellebore and henbane grows, gardens of poisons tended by crones and hermits in huts at the bottom of the Mountains of Gehennom.  The mountains themselves are afire calderas at their peaks, ever-melting the snow that falls onto the volcanic mountains.  Lava and water flows into caverns below, feeding the hot springs of Pandemonium’s pleasure houses.


The Beast roars and breathes fire, illuminating the rainstorm, and we are riding thunder as rain is a whiplash on me.  His skin is hot, scales like an insulated summer car, and the rain steams as it falls on his scales, forming a thick mist.  No longer capable of human speech, just guttural demonic intonations, Samael flaps his great wings and comes to the far side of the Mountains of Gehennom, to Widower’s Peak, the tallest mountain in Hell, named for the day the Shekinah went into exile and left God’s side.  It’s said Widower’s Peak stabbed God through the heart when his wife of Wisdom, Sophia, left a hole in his manifold body of ineffable mysteries.  I have never been here before, and I gaze in awe at a simmering hot spring ringed by dragons, their huge eggs bubbling in the aqua green waters, golden sheens of eggshells the size of houses.  The dragons are lax and all colors of the rainbow, sleeping as night draws near.


“So that’s how dragons incubate their eggs.  Amazing!” I cry as Samael lands on an island in the middle of the massive hot spring.  Koi fish the size of whales swim in the waters.  Samael decreases in size and folds his wings until he is but an angel again, eyes still red as roses like the Beast. The irises pulse with his heartbeats, and he looks at me like I am Circe about to enchant him into a swine: erotic, enticing, and altogether dangerous.  He towers over me, and I look down to the grassy island and swales to see a beach where pearls and jewels line the sand dunes.  The dragons’ hoards litter the shores, like treasures from a sunken Holy Roman Empire ship, great marble statues the likes Michelangelo could only dream of, golden thrones, emerald necklaces – all awash in pink sands and a hot spring tide that laps the shore like a faithful lover.  We are standing on an island of treasure and lost dreams.


“Shalom,” Samael says in reverence.  Without a word, he draws from his suit behind his vest an alabaster jar that smells of lavender. He undoes the lid and kneels at my feet, his hair spilling out on my feet in tendrils of darkness that hunger for giving flesh, writhing like asps.  He pours the oil – spikenard, I know my Bible enough from endless Sunday school to be shocked at the blasphemy – and washes it with his long locks, like Samson before Delilah struck his hair off with her knife.  My feet tingle with the nard and his hair knots around my feet as he undoes my gladiator sandals and shucks them aside.  He begins to cry, to heave, singing a lullaby at my feet as he clutches at my ankles.  The words are in Hebrew, and I faintly recognize the names of the archangels.  This is an enchantment, a repentance, a blessing, and my lungs are egg beaters in my rib cage as a holy presence fills me.


“B’sheim Hashem elohei yisrael, mimini Michael umismoli Gavriel, Umilfanai Uriel umeachorai Rafael, v’al roshi shechinat el.” He kisses my feet, nuzzles my left ankle, then suddenly to my horror bites softly like the vampire he is.  Blood flows, and he drinks it, and as a kneejerk reaction I kick his head away, blood still flowing, and cry out in surprise, falling to the ground.


“With the best of serpents, crush its head,” he intones and heals me swiftly.  “And I will put enmity between thee and the woman, my Father said, and between thy seed and her seed; she shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise her heel.”  He looks at me with dark eyes, the color of rust and old scabs.  “Drive my head into the dirt like dear Michael, Chavah.  Mother of Life.  I have done nothing but drunk from your well greedily and robbed you of all that was holy.  I would have us finally be on equal footing, but first, the serpent must be put in his place.”


There are tears in my eyes, and I smell like holy oil and the iron of an open wound.  Trembling, I stand, and place my left foot on Samael’s head.  I apply pressure, then my whole weight, and then a great vortex of wind lifts us up into the air, sashaying the skirt of my ruby dress, and I cry out as I am swept into his arms.


“What was that!” I cry, weeping in his arms.


“An anointment for the Bride,” he says quietly, twirling me in the thermal as he outstretches his wings and pumps them up so we are flying over the hot springs waters.  “And now, the Baptism.”


He drops me gently above the water, and I flail, only to find I do not sink.  Instead, the hot spring is like a layer of spider web in a sauna, keeping me as a droplet of water suspended over the heat.  I walk on the water on uneven footing, jaw dropped open.  There is a scar in the shape of a taw, the Mark of Cain of old, also the sign of the Paschal Lamb in blood over Egyptian doorways to protect firstborns, and the symbol old Melchizedekian temple priest blessed on prophet’s foreheads, below the bend of my ankle where Samael inflicted the prophesied wound, and he is bleeding from his brow where I kicked him.


There is a feral, hungry smile on his face as he stands on the shores, his onyx wings spread, his arms wide open, and his eyes glow alizarin crimson.  I gain confidence on the waters as giant bioluminescent axolotl and koi the size of elephants swim below among the golden eggs, and I walk one foot in front of the other, on the poppy path, the primrose road, into the unholiest of unions.


It’s a nice day for a black wedding.


My ankles finally sink on the shore, and there is blood, my blood, on Samael’s lip, and he licks it with a forked tongue, then enfolds me in his wings.  “In every making, a breaking.  For every pleasure, punishment.  To pledge your troth to me is not the easy path, Shaylen.  Do you still claim me as your Tam Lin?”


I look up, defiant, and prod at the necrotic wound on his chest, under that expensive suit of his.  The laceration reopens as I wedge my finger in, under his necktie, and filthy black blood comes up.  I wrap my hand around his rotten heart, squeeze hard, and he screams.  “You are Death, and I am the Maiden.  Our pact is the danse macabre, Sam.  Stop it with the tests, you’ve proven yourself to me and I to you a million times over.”  Without warning, I jump up and straddle him, wrapping my arms around his pale neck, then bite his lip hard.  He groans, and in a tumbling of wild limbs and unspent desires we fall into a pool of roving hands and lusting mouths.


“Wait, wait!” Samael rasps, reaching into his slacks pocket to withdraw a rose gold engagement ring with a ruby in the shape of an apple, or a heart, up to artistic interpretation and the fragile glint of sunlight on a red sea.  He bites his lip and slides it on my finger, not even bothering to ask, for demons do not ask, simply take.  They are cruel, selfish creatures, but I will be the death of all cruelty in Hell.


Samael just doesn’t know that yet.


“I’m taking my heart back,” I say like a hymn, and I undress him with ravaging hands, me still clad in that red dress of the Scarlet Woman like Mary Magdalene’s veil.  He is naked before me, muscled and perfect and yet rotten to the core.  He lays his head in my lap and cries.  I take the spikenard and anoint his head, washing out his sorrows, and it mixes with his tears and flows into the hot springs of Hell.


“Come with me to the water, Samael,” I whisper into his ear, kissing his earlobe.  He shudders at my breath on his skin.  I delicately strip of my dress and undergarments and press his body to mine as I lift him up.  Black blood weeps from his wound where I applied pressure.  We are half-standing, half-kneeling like Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss,” a shower of gold and flowers my bridal veil.  I lead my devil from a rocky hard place to the deep blue sea, and he follows, rapt, his mind in another place where bane apples and cursed figs grow.  Like a robot, his eyes are mechanical, his limbs metal.  This time, we sink in the water, and soon I am standing waist deep, Samael leaning in my arms.


I lean him back into the waters and baptize him like John the Baptist, washing the nard from his hair.  Then, using my wet locks and tears, I wash the rot from his wound, getting into the gritty necrosis and massaging his heart.  He is shuddering and shaking like an earthquake.  I seal my workings with a kiss.


He heaves, then vomits up the sickness that has plagued him since the Fall, and my blonde hair is black and shining as if covered in grease.  I dive under the water and massage the stain from my tangles.  When I surface, he is a new man.


Samael’s red eyes become blue, purity sinks into his adamant bones, and his once rotten heart is now pure, now that we share it in holy matrimony.


“I do,” I say to Samael, and he is suddenly restored to life, and he embraces me with heady passion, hands scrounging for any hold on my curves, massaging eternity into the swell of my belly and hips.  My sex ripens with need, and the heady waters bubble with mythical warmth.


“You’ve cured me?” he says in awe, fingering where now on his chest, all that remains of God’s curse is a white taw, the same shape as my ankle’s mark.  He looks at me in reverence.  “Shaylen, you are a miracle.  The only miracle I have ever seen since the Creation of the Light.  Bless me with your lips, o qadesh.”


We exchange a simmering kiss, then tongues rove and teeth mark and his turgid cock presses against my chest.  Smiling naughtily, I take my full breasts and secure his manhood in the middle of my tits, massaging his rod with my bosom as I take the head of his cock into my mouth and suck, lick, and pleasure him to perdition.  He moans, threading his hands through my hair as he grinds into my chest, his tip wet with precum.  I lick up the clear sweet substance then deep throat him, taking his engorged, enormously thick and long member down to the depths.  I bob my head up and down, then pause to breathe hot breath on the tip.  He lets out a cry, then withdraws and lifts me up by my hips so that I am floating in the pure waters, their buoyancy mythical like the Dead Sea from some strange quirk of underworld geology.


I lay down on what feels like a luxurious waterbed meets a spa sea salt scrub and Samael parts my legs, tracing his fangs along my inner thigh until he reaches the diamond of my womanhood, peeking out from its hood pink as passionfruit.  He kisses my sex, makes love with tongue and lips and hands, sucking and licking my clit then down to the folds, then spears his long, forked tongue into my channel and swirls.  I gasp, overwhelmed as juices flow from the heavens to my canal as I see all of heaven unfolding and orgasm so intensely I roll over in the waters and am belly-down in the silky waters.


Samael laughs, gathering me into his arms with my legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders.  I laugh too, and he stifles my giggles with a burning, passionate kiss, his hands rolling my nipples and playing with my breasts.  Positioning his intimidating manhood, he strokes the head of his cock against the pearl of my sex and tantalizes me in a deliciously wicked manner.  I gasp and moan as his rhythm grows, and with elegance he slides his proud, rigid member into my sheath.  The tides pull us in a sliding gyration and thrust, and I hold onto him for dear life, meeting his thrusts with my hips in delicious friction.  Oh, how angels fell out of carnal lust for women, and how the women craved to feel the stars pressing against their womb.


He bends down and kisses my brow, and then falls onto his back, floating so I am astride him like an infernal throne, and I ride him as the moments spill out like a pearl necklace, each minute gleaming and full of temptation.  I grind down on him as he fingers my clit with one hand and guides my hips with his other.  His wings act as sails and catch the breeze, carrying us out to the middle of the hot spring lagoon.  Golden dragon eggs simmer beneath us like Japanese hot spring eggs, and the scent of lavender still coats us from the nard.  I close my eyes, feeling lifted to the edge of the universe as his cock pierces me lovingly, over and over as he thrusts with varying tempo, direction, and rhythm, driving me to the heights of ecstasy and pleasure as only a master lovemaker is capable of.  I lean down against his chest and he cradles me, his manhood still romancing my womanhood, and with a great thrust of his sail wings we are aloft, flying, which drives his cock deep into me in a glorious, delicious pain.  With each thrust of his wings, a thrust of his hips, and I hold on for dear life to his neck and wrap my legs around him once more.  He levels himself planar so I am seated atop, then twirls me around so I am reverse cowgirl, with a vista of the Gehennom Mountains and sleeping majestic dragons on par with none.


I cry out as I grow tender and ride the waves of another orgasm, fingering my clit as he grasps my breasts and guides us in flight over the waters.  Finally, gently landing in the sand, he is leaning over me doggy style and grabs hold of my hair, then tugs.  I moan as he smacks my ass, growing in rhythm as he pounds into me, and I let out a cry of a manic high.  Oh, to be ridden by the Devil, speared by his love.  He is like a piston, varying in speed and friction, then pulls out quickly to rub his cock on my clit again from behind.  He spits onto his hand and massages it onto his cock as lube, already coated in the waters and my juices, then strokes himself and asks entry to my ass.


“Take me, all of me,” I beg, head against my arms as I perk my ass up in the air.  He fingers the rosebud of my anus with spit, lubricating me, then eases into my ass, gently at first, wet with pre-cum and everything we have moistened ourselves with.  It has stopped raining, and the clouds part to reveal the splendor of Hell’s sun.  I have never been taken in this way, and there is a prick of pain, then forbidden pleasures as he gently makes love to my ass.  He gains a tad of speed, not enough for pain, just enough for pleasure, and the pearl necklace of minutes breaks, and he comes with a roar, jerking my head back by my hair.  I cry out as his hot seed fills my tight ass, then roll over onto my back exhausted as my vaginal walls convulse in orgasm.  He wipes himself clean then cradles me against him as little spoon.


“That was amazing,” I moan, threading his fingers through mine.


“You feel like Heaven, you are the closest to Heaven I will ever get,” he rasps, spent.  He buries his head in my wet and lavender hair and inhales deeply.  “Oh Shay, you have redeemed me with magic old as the Covenant.  These Flood waters will not break the seal upon my arm, upon my chest, with God’s jealousy as cold as the grave.  You are the closest to death I, the Angel of Death, will ever taste, yet united with you, I am finally alive.  The purification of our heart is proof of that.”


I roll so I am on my side, leaning in to him.  “All it took was love,” I murmur, kissing the pure mark on his chest.  “Matching tattoos, eh?  What a hipster wedding couple we’ll be.”


Samael snorts.  “You just broke God’s curse on the first woman and serpent and all you can do is tease me!”  He tickles my stomach, and I laugh, and then he nuzzles my neck.


We fall asleep to the tune of dragon mating calls, hot springs of our matrimony bubbling.


It is almost so perfect I don’t want to betray him, but I know to fully heal Samael, he must be reunited with Heaven, and Judas, messenger of trickster angels, is the only way.


I sleep, but I do not sleep easily, back turned to the only one I have ever professed undying devotion to.


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By Obscura
Added Sep 2 '18

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