Demoness Read online

  “Oh!” It took Cassandra a second to realize that he was responding to her question about Paris. She looked down at his velvet and jeweled getup. “So, what year is it, here in Paris?” she asked in suspicion.

  He rattled off something that she was pretty sure was a date but it didn’t really make any sense. As she frowned, trying to figure out what he had just said, her slithery inner occupant shifted slightly in her head and filled in the blanks. She was somewhere in the twelve hundreds, in January.

  Holy fuck! I’m in the Middle Ages! Cassandra thought, stunned.

  Something like a sneer skittered through her thoughts. The Magister apparently didn’t follow the newly introduced Julian calendar.

  Cassandra frowned. That comment did not come from me!

  “Give me your name, Demoness.”

  “All right…” She could feel a name surfacing that was something she’d never heard before and she wasn’t sure she could pronounce. Hmm, must be my inner roommate’s name, she thought. “I’m—” she began but her body’s occupant took that moment to slither around under her skin in warning. There was something she couldn’t quite get, something about souls and power exchange.

  Better keep my roommate’s name to myself. Her roommate settled down and she thought it felt pleased with her decision.

  “Your name?” The Magister pressed. “And I will have the truth.”

  She felt the shove of compulsion that let her know in no uncertain terms that she would not be allowed to lie. “You can call me Malora.” She smiled. She was telling the truth, it really was her name. Her stripper name, anyway.

  “Lady Malora,” he smiled. Taking great care, the Magister loosened his black robe, then offered it to Cassandra.

  She eyed his very medieval outfit as she took the heavy robe from his hand. Wow, she thought, impressed.

  She had thought the robe was fancy, but the outfit he wore beneath it made the robe look plain in comparison. He was wearing a beautiful rich brown velvet tunic encrusted with hundreds of tiny golden topaz jewels, over a full-sleeved, cloth of gold shirt and brown velvet tights. Weird-looking square-toed slippers covered his feet.

  She bit back a smile as she shrugged into the robe. Although the robe swept the ground on the short guy, the hem was more than a foot too short for her. She wiggled her carmine-painted toes.

  The Magister turned on his heel and strode past her. “This way,” he said over his shoulder.

  Cassandra followed the Magister to a small, open doorway then up a narrow, stone staircase that climbed in a tight spiral. The staircase was unnervingly dark with small sputtering lights in niches set into the staircase walls. A quick peek into one of the niches showed a tiny flame on string wick propped over the edge of a shallow dish, serving as a foul-smelling oil lamp.

  She wrinkled her nose. I can’t tell what smells worse, the oil burning in the dishes or being down-wind of the Magister’s body odor.

  Cassandra was led through the doorway at the top of the staircase into a long hall hung with massive, heavily embroidered wall hangings, then into a broad pillared gallery.

  “Holy fuck!” Cassandra whispered. “And I thought Marco had a cool house!” She craned her neck around to get a look at everything. This is an honest-to-Satan palace, she thought in awe. Does this guy think he’s a vampire or something? Cassandra thought as she gazed about. It’s so dark in here.

  The whole place was lit up with thousands of candles in wall sconces and massive standing silver candelabras, but deep shadows pooled in all the corners. If there were any windows, they were well hidden.

  The floors were white veined black marble with lofty gilded ceilings and paintings on every exposed surface no matter how tiny. The furniture was all covered with ruby velvet over dark wood and huge. Enormous tapestries swathed the oak paneled walls and covered the doorways. There were fur throw rugs on the floors and solid gold plates on mantles crowning the hundreds of fireplaces that seemed to be in every room.

  Hundreds of people scurried everywhere. Compared to the Magister in his jeweled chocolate velvets, everyone else was dressed in drab muddy colors. The women all wore kerchiefs over their hair and long skirts. The men wore shapeless caps and really long baggy shirts belted at the waist. Every single one of them was shorter than the Magister. Cassandra felt positively gigantic.

  The Magister didn’t notice them as they nodded, touching their caps or kerchiefs as they hurriedly passed.

  The Magister led her through a long dark gallery to a large tapestry portraying a colorful hunt scene, then pulled it aside to reveal a pair of immense, black oak doors. Throwing them open, he ushered her into a huge room with two fireplaces and a gigantic canopied bed curtained in heavy black velvet. Her bare feet sank into a thick silk velvet carpet that glowed with vibrant colors in a middle-eastern design.

  Cassandra walked around the room staring at everything. She was intensely fascinated by the marble sculptures of leering goat guys, satyrs that supported the heavy mantle over one of the huge fireplaces. She sighed in envy. The artist had been particularly creative with the size of the cocks they sported.

  “Whoa, I have to get me one of these.” Cassandra turned to ask the Magister about the sculptures, only to find him standing by the velvet-draped bed, completely naked.

  “Service me,” he commanded. In his palm, he caressed his huge and very rigid dick.

  “Impressive,” she commented, then got a better look. While she rather enjoyed giving head, and he looked like he had a very nice uncircumcised specimen of manliness, Cassandra eyed his naked body with grim reservations. He was not anywhere near clean. In fact, he was funky, with a serious body odor that she could smell from where she stood across the room from him.

  Obviously Cassandra couldn’t disobey his command. The ‘something else’ that was cohabitating her body wasn’t going to let her avoid a direct order, but perhaps she could find a way around this little filth problem. Then she was struck with inspiration. All the really good romance novels described hot baths in tubs by the fire.

  “I would love to serve you,” Cassandra said quickly, before he could order her to put that nasty, filthy thing in her mouth. “Why don’t I bathe you first, Master?”

  “It is far too cold for a bath,” he said, looking a little doubtful.

  “Not if we heat the water really hot and set the tub right here in front of the fire. I could wash you with my own hands,” she purred seductively. “I’ll rub you and lather your entire body with soap.” Cassandra offered temptingly. “Have you ever had sex in a tub full of soapy water?”

  “Actually, I haven’t had that pleasure.” There was an interested look in his black eyes. “I believe we have the time,” he said with a small nod.

  Cassandra felt like jumping up and down with glee, but settled for a small bow and a sultry smile. The Magister took two steps to the wall and yanked on a long blue ribbon. Cassandra didn’t hear anything, but a knock came at the door in less than a minute. Completely naked and unconcerned, he told the woman at the door what he wanted, and the servants began delivering buckets of hot water.

  The romance novels apparently forgot to mention how long it actually took to fill a huge wooden tub. Servant after servant after servant carried bucket after bucket after bucket of rapidly cooling water, all the way from the kitchens to the Master’s room.

  After fidgeting for a good ten minutes, Cassandra bit her lip and slanted a covert glance at the Magister. He was standing by the fire reading a scroll. Completely ignoring her.

  Damn it! Cassandra thought. This looks like it’s going to take a while. She eyed the mere inches of water in the bottom. I’d better distract this guy before he gets bored watching the servants filling the tub and asks me to give him head again. Once again, inspiration came to the rescue.

  “Master?”

  The Magister looked up with interest.

  “If we had some music, I could dance for you,” Cassandra opened the robe she still wore to show off her ful
l breasts and smooth body, then rolled her hips from side to side seductively. Cassandra was pleased to see the Magister’s eyes about bug out of his head.

  He grabbed one of the servants and asked them to bring him some gypsy guy whose name she couldn’t begin to pronounce.

  “You called, Magister?” inquired a young guy only minutes later. He was dressed in brilliantly colored rags that were festooned with gold and silver coins. He strolled through the door carrying a strange looking, round-bellied guitar and bowed.

  He was motioned to a corner of the room. The young musician sat himself on a huge cushion in the corner. He tuned his instrument, then strummed a cord and looked up at Cassandra expectantly.

  “What would you have the Gypsy play?” asked the Magister.

  Cassandra had no idea what to ask for. Suddenly that warm ‘other’ feeling flowed out from under her skin to wrap her in a shimmering wave of heat, making her hair float up on waves of power. As though in a dream, she glided over to the musician. With a shrug, the robe dropped to the floor at her feet, revealing her glorious body. The musician’s mouth fell open in complete astonishment.

  Gently Cassandra leaned over the seated musician, her long red hair brushing his shoulder. Cupping his chin with her hand, she delicately touched her lips to his. His mouth opened and his tongue darted in to touch hers. A current of otherworldly heat rushed from her mouth into his.

  The musician jerked back sharply with a small cry as though struck. His eyes snapped closed as though in pain. He took a deep breath then his eyes slowly opened and met hers. A gleam of hellfire danced in the depths of his black eyes and he smiled in a way, Cassandra was sure, the musician had never, ever smiled before. He nodded once and began to play.

  Still riding a wave of ‘otherness’, she glided to the center of the carpet. The musician strummed an opening chord that sounded strangely like ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ Cassandra felt a wave of power enveloping her skin and she leapt.

  The music stopped, and Cassandra snapped awake. Her arms were raised above her head in a sinuous arc, her body arched in a sensuous curve and her legs poised for a leap. Slowly she relaxed her posture. There was a lovely sweat gleaming on her skin, but Cassandra didn’t feel the least bit tired. The musician was passed out on his cushion. She couldn’t remember a damned thing.

  Chapter Two:

  Bath

  "Okay…” Cassandra muttered. “That’s spooky.” Glancing over at the waiting Magister, she saw that his mouth was hanging open in reaction to her dance. From the looks of his cum-spattered hand, he had apparently enjoyed the show. Well, I guess that’s a good sign, Cassandra thought, but she couldn’t remember a moment of it.

  She glanced around at the tub. Wonder of wonders! The tub was finally full and steaming before the fire.

  About damned time too! Let’s get this show on the road. Smiling, she stepped over to the stunned ceremonial magician. Taking his chilled hand in hers, she led him naked to the tub.

  Cassandra plunged her hand into the bath water and frowned. The water was barely tepid. So how come it’s steaming? Her brow creased in thought. It must be really cold in here, and I’m still radiating heat from the tanning bed so I don’t feel it. Okay, but this is still far too cold for him to bathe in.

  “Wait, Master,” she said, keeping him from getting in the chilly tub. “Water this cold will give you a chill and make you sick. Let me see what I can do.” She raised a brow. Better yet, let’s see what my roommate can do. She focused hard. Hello in there. How about heating this water?

  There was a shift of movement and heat under the skin of her hands, then a ferocious rush of power down to her palm. She plunged her whole arm into the tepid water and the water began to bubble. Cassandra plunged her other arm into the bath, bending way over to submerge as much of her arms as possible. In an amazingly short while, the water was hot, just the way she liked it. Then it was a little too hot. Then it was way, way too hot.

  Hey, hey! Ease up! We don’t want to roast him! Cassandra thought as loudly as she could at the power swimming in her body.

  Do we not? the power whispered back at her with a brief flash of the Magister screaming. Cassandra startled, then got a grip on herself and the power. Apparently her power literally had a mind of its own, and a nasty one at that.

  No, we do not want to roast him, at least not yet, she insisted. The temperature backed down to a more tolerable level. “Much better,” she sighed, “Your bath is ready, Master.”

  The Magister looked at Cassandra with some doubt, then dunked his hand into the bath water. His black brows shot up and he smiled with pleasant surprise. Cassandra got out of the way as he practically leapt into the wooden tub. Sinking under the hot water to his neck, the Magister gave a long satisfied sigh.

  That was graceful, Cassandra thought sarcastically as she eyed the water splashing on to the expensive carpet.

  “This is most pleasant,” the Magister practically purred. “I haven’t been this warm since the summer. Out of gratitude, you may bathe after me.” He smiled broadly. His teeth gleamed clean and white.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Cassandra smirked as she reached for a washcloth. “But, um,” she began, getting a good look at the greasy filth starting to rise to the water’s surface. “I’ve already had my bath today, so I think I’ll pass.”

  Gritting her teeth, she grabbed a gray ball of waxy stuff that the servants had assured her was indeed soap. With a will, she lathered up a knobby cloth, then attacked the Magister’s broad back. Thinking in terms of her five-year-old nephew, she scrubbed with a vengeance. If I have to touch it - it’s going to be clean...

  “Out of curiosity, how come your teeth are clean, while the rest of you is, um, not?”

  “Washing the body in cool water in winter is unhealthful, judicious use of a peppermint twig harms nothing.”

  “A twig?”

  He shrugged. “The splintered end of the twig scrubs; peppermint for flavor. That’s how my father did it. His father lost his teeth early to rot. My father was determined to keep his, as I am determined to keep mine.”

  Cassandra sighed in relief. Thank the Infernal Master for small favors! I have to kiss that mouth, sooner or later.

  Lathering her rag and rinsing repeatedly, she was pleased to discover that his shoulders were very broad and his arms were heavily roped with muscle. His chest was actually quite breathtaking, and only lightly furred. His stomach was flat, with well-formed ridges with a tapering waist. As she swiped the rag over his legs, Cassandra noticed that they were quite muscular and rather fine.

  This boy exercises for real, She thought in admiration. This body wasn’t made in any gym.

  Cassandra scraped what appeared to be months of accumulated dirt from his body. Even his face improved with a judicious use of soap. She thought about asking him when his last bath was, then decided she really didn’t want to know.

  Underwater, she ran her hands over his more manly parts. His cock swelled and lengthened under her expert ministrations. She took great care to wash under, around and between, exploring every nook and cranny as well as the weight, heft and solidity of his privates. The Magister moaned as she stroked and caressed him clean.

  It took a lot of convincing, but she finally got him to let her wash his shoulder-length hair. It was so filthy she had assumed it was dark. After some expert soaping and rinsing, she was astonished to see that it was actually a sandy blond.

  “Okay, time to rinse, stand up.” He stood in the tub with his back to her, water sluicing off of his muscular form. Mmm, nice ass too!

  Grabbing a bucket sitting by the fire, Cassandra dunked in a hand and used just a little power to heat the water. Cheerfully, she stepped behind him and dumped it over his head. The Magister howled in surprise. As he swept the water from his eyes, Cassandra was able to grab and heat the second bucket.

  “Look out below!” she called and upended the second bucket over his head.

  “Damned bitch!” he
swore then shook his wet head, spraying water everywhere.

  “You did conjure a damned demon, remember?” she said with a cheeky smile. “Now, are you ready for me to dry you off?” Cassandra held up a huge towel.

  “I thought you were going to join me?” he asked. Proudly presenting Cassandra with a very fine view of his firm and very clean erection, he stepped from the wooden tub.

  Cassandra wrapped him in the towel and glanced at the oily scum floating in the tub as she rubbed the towel across his back. That water is nasty, she thought with a shudder.

  “How about taking me on the fur rug in front of the fire instead?” she whispered invitingly into his ear.

  He turned in her arms and nuzzled into her neck. “That sounds like a very fine idea.”

  “You know, you clean up real nice,” Cassandra purred in admiration. She ran a hand across his sleek, clean chest, then slid her palm lower, her ruby nails scoring lightly. She bit her bottom lip as she followed the yummy trail of golden curls that darkened as they arrowed down his muscular belly.

  “You say the strangest things,” the Magister grinned. With sudden ferocity, he wrapped his muscular arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet. Cassandra squealed as she was slung over his damp shoulder. He strode toward the opposite fireplace where the satyrs leered, then knelt. Gently cradling her body, he laid her out on a white fur throw rug. Kneeling above her, the flames lit the fine curls glinting gold across his clean muscular form.

  “Come over here, big boy,” Cassandra grinned as she wrapped a hand around his silky firm erection, tugging him closer. “Have I got a surprise for you!” Positioning him with his knees straddling her full breasts, she gently slid his foreskin back with her palms, exposing the swollen purple head, damp with pre-cum.

  “There you are, my sweet!” she purred then licked her lips. With a pointed tongue, she stroked the revealed knob then swiped it, circling with the flat of her tongue with slow licks. He fell forward over her body, his hands clenching in the fur as he moaned in sheer appreciation.