Satan's Affair

To my left and through pink double doors is the living room. More colorful smoke fills the room, but the open concept of the bottom floor thins it out, making it easier to see. On the bright robin’s egg blue couch lays a mechanical pregnant woman giving birth to a demon. It feels like looking into the past, watching the birth of the current demon running rampant in my dollhouse.

The entire house is decorated in whites and pinks, with splashes of bright colors. The white stone fireplace in the corner of the living room is lined with dolls, all their faces melted or dirty, with patches of hair ripped from their skulls. The sight always makes me happy.

Excited once more, I head down the hallway leading back to the kitchen. His blood trail leads back there. Based off the handprint smudges and streaks of blood, he must’ve fell in there. Probably when he ran into Cronus.

After all, Cronus is the size of a Mac truck. He must be a body builder in his free time. His neck is the size of a tree trunk, his arms even bigger. Bulging veins cover the entirety of his body, especially his cock. It looks as if he has no mouth and eyes at all, convincing prosthetics covering them, so it looks as if his face is blank. I never bothered to ask how he sees—he’s a mute. I figured the eye prosthetics are see-through, as he never seems to have any problems seeing.

I walk through the kitchen and see the demon with an axe in his hands, struggling to raise the heavy axe. He’s losing blood quickly, the adrenaline the only thing keeping his body functioning.

Pulsing rage has my eyes

widening and lighting my insides on fire when he manages to swing the axe into the wall.

How dare he!

He can’t get through my henchmen, so he’s going to desecrate my pretty dollhouse and try to breakout through the walls.

“You’re really hurting my feelings, demon,” I say, announcing my arrival. He freezes at my voice. He’s as pale as a ghost, the color bleached from his skin. When he turns to see me and the angry scowl on my face, he turns and attempts to swing the axe more vigorously. Desperately. But he only manages to lodge the blade into the wall once more.

He’s too weak now.

“Cronus!” I screech, stomping my foot. “He’s making my dollhouse ugly!”

Cronus comes walking in the room, but the demon doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s too focused on his escape.

I point my finger. “Get him to stop,” I whine.

Cronus walks over to the man. Feeling my henchman coming for him, the guy swings his axe around wildly, a crazed gleam in his one eye. He releases a battle cry, but Cronus easily swipes the sharp weapon from the man’s grip. He grabs either end of the axe and cracks it over his knee, snapping it in two like a twig.

The man’s eye widens. It used to be a pretty blue, but his pupil has completely taken over, morphing it into a nearly black eye—just like a true demon. His eye darts around the room, sliding past me as if I’m not there to find an escape route, but there is none.

You can’t hide from fate. That’s the funny thing about destiny, even if you try to escape it, it will always find you.

Cronus’s arm snaps out faster than a whip and grabs the man by his throat. He brings him close to his face. The man thrashes in his hold, and screams in his face, a mix of fear and frustration. I join Cronus’s side, but he doesn’t even pay me attention. Not when there’s a behemoth of a man holding you into his missing face.

“Bring him back to my room,” I order, turning around without another glance. Cronus drags him behind me, ignoring the punches and kicks to his limbs. I enter my cute, pink bedroom, Mortis still waiting in the corner of the room. He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest with a bored look on his face. He almost looks frozen.

I don’t pay him any mind yet, my attention too focused on the demon being carted in the room behind me. Adrenaline surges, and my hands nearly tremble with the desire beginning to course through my system.

Cronus throws the demon on the floor and exits the room, trusting me to finish my life’s work. Even with several stab wounds and a missing eye, the demon still has fight in him. It’s disgusting.

I climb back on top of his body, resuming my original position. He wriggles under me, trying his best to buck me off of him. The feel of his body squirming beneath me repulses me, but the blood coating his body makes me shiver. I love the sight, but it’s not enough.

I bring my knife down with all my strength, plunging it deep into his torso. I lift up and stab a few more times. He’s screaming again, his eye widening from the pain. I revel in the sound, it’s like music to my ears.

He lifts up out of instinct, still screaming. Using the distraction to my advantage, I bring the knife directly down on top of his head. His body goes slack, and his nerves misfire. His body convulses as his eye rolls to the back of his head.

I rip the knife from his head and start stabbing frantically, the feeling of my pretty knife cutting through flesh and bone is making my clit pulse. I sing Freddy’s song aloud again, each word punctuated by another stab. The smell of rotten egg intensifies, filling my nose and becoming stronger until it fills the room as densely as the smoke in the hallway.

At some point my eyes roll and my tired arm slackens as pure bliss shudders through my body. I grind my body against the empty vessel, high off the kill. Euphoria wracks through my spine and within seconds, I’m coming hard. I continue to grind my hips against the man, drawing out my orgasm and wringing every last drop from my pussy. I’m flooding him, my juices mixing with his blood.

I come down, shuddering and groaning as I do.

When I go to lift my knife again, a soft voice interrupts me.

“I think he’s dead,” Mortis comments dryly from behind me. I smile at his tone and glance over my shoulder, noting he’s adorned in his costume. I smile wider. He’s always in costume. All of my henchmen are. Always playing their part because this is what we do. This is how we eradicate evil from the world, one town at a time.

Mortis’s face is painted blood red, dark black circles around his eyes, spikes glued down the middle of his bald head, and red contacts in his eyes. He wears gloves with talons for fingers. And they’re really fucking sharp. I’ve watched those sharp little blades sink into flesh and cut bone. I’ve licked the blood clean from them, cutting my tongue in the process and reveling in the euphoria of doing this world real justice.