The Hellhound's Unwilling Bitch - 03

"If in doubt," her mother explained, "you must lie still and think pleasant thoughts." Proper Victorian women could endure anything for their husbands, or so she believed.

Until her husband was possessed.

As a ghost, Cassius cared little for sex, but his new body changed everything.

Sweet screams will not stop her brutal rape, nor will begging prevent his hellhound from mounting her.

Cassius

As raw agony faded into a distant memory, my spirit stretched one last time, settling into this new physical form. Truly mine at last. Sensations rushed through me, even stronger than before. This body was alive in a way my old one had never been. I smiled down at the woman kneeling before me. Now that I was wholly of this body, the sight of her… Well, claiming this prize would be a pleasure.

“Lady....?” my question hung in the air while she regained control.

“Wh-wh-whittock. H-how can you not know your own name?” Isabella asked.

She’s rebuilding herself, trying to pretend she hadn’t just witnessed my very soul infusing this body. A common reaction when exposed to real power for the first time. Some minds try to protect themselves from harsh truths by ignoring them. Let her deal with her new reality in whatever manner she chooses. It changes nothing.

“Lady Whittock, please escort me to your bedroom, unless you would prefer being taken here on the floor?”

Isabella’s gaze dropped down, staring at a spot on the floor between us as though her life depended on it. A shuddering breath. Her dry tongue licked across her lips.

“Y-yes, husband. My wifely du-du-duties. O-our bedroom. Yes, our bedroom.”

Without further conversation, we walked back to the master bedroom. My bedroom, whatever she thought. Isabella stumbled when the door came into sight. Every step she took suddenly smaller than the last. A steady hand at the small of her back helps Isabella to keep moving.

“Please remove your clothing Lady Whittock,” I said when the door closed behind us.

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape. Any escape. Isabella’s mouth opened and closed several times, desperately trying to come up with something to say.

“I can countenance no further delays, Lady Whittock,” I said.

Trembling fingers come up to her neck, and she unhooks her white nightgown one button at a time. Breathing heavily, Isabella stares at the floor the entire time. When she finishes, she hesitates, her body still completely covered.

Enough kindness.

Isabella’s skin is soft under my fingers, her neck so fragile when gripped in my hands. She gulps once, her throat moving against my palm. I constricted my fingers with carefully measured precision. At first, she doesn’t seem to believe what’s happening. As her fingers attempted to pry mine loose, disbelief turned into outright panic.

Isabella struggled against me, her forgotten nightgown gaping. A flash of pale white skin. Brown areolae. Soft nipples. A narrow waist that flared, just a little, at her hips. Every inch of her belonged to me, as she would soon learn. I licked my lips and met her eyes.

Comprehension dawned, even as her strength faded.

Her hands stopped their useless struggling and flew to her nightgown. Isabella opened it wide and shrugged it off her shoulders. Her cheeks flushed bright red as it pooled around her feet. After five slow heartbeats, I eased the pressure. Isabella took a deep breath. Breasts rising and falling beautifully.

“Lady Whittock, you are quite beautiful. You should be proud of your beauty. It’s already saved your life once today.”

Isabella paled.

I cupped her breast again. This time without fabric between us. Lovely and soft. Sensitive. Easily hurt. My fingers tightened slowly into a white-knuckled grip.

Isabella screamed.

Genuine wails of pain. Sweet tears dripped down her cheeks. She struggled, but I gave no relief. Never had anything felt so amazing. Isabella’s breast. Isabella’s screams. Isabella’s tears. They all belong to me. Slowly, I relaxed my grip. Isabelle stood there panting, not daring to cover herself. Stroking the curve of her bosom gently, I traced the red marks my fingers left behind. Bruises to be.

Leaning close, I inspected her nipples. Soft, but vague memories stir. They would harden when she was aroused. What would that look like? I sucked one into my mouth. Teasing it with my tongue. My lips and just a hint of teeth. After a few moments, it hardened. Inspecting my handiwork, I teased it between my fingers. At first gently, but as I increased pressure, she soon whimpered. Then sobbed.

“Please, Jasper. It hurts.”

“Lady Whittock, my name is Cassius Sullivan. You may call me Cassius.”

Isabella’s gasped, this time in a raw form of fear. Something primal. Tasty.

“But you’re… d-d-dead… Cassius.”

“My body was weak, but I am a true warlock. I am not such a fragile thing. I merely needed a replacement, which your husband conveniently provided. Now I have you to sate my hunger. To fulfill my desires.”

“But you’re not my husband. Y-you can’t sleep with me. It would be ra-ra-rape.”

“Lady Whittock, you are correct on two accounts.”

A moment of confusion, but she wasn’t stupid. Rage blazed, but only for a moment, almost immediately, her expression changed to fearful resignation.

“At least it will not take long,” Isabella muttered under her breath.

“Lady Whittock, do not mistake me for your husband. I will take my time and savor every moment.”

“I-I see.”

Roth snorted his amusement, and her eyes locked on his. The demon she had been trying to ignore. Comprehension dawns.

“A hellhound!” she screamed, her voice tight with absolute terror.

“My hound,” I reminded her, “the demon is mine to command for as long as I see to it that his needs are fulfilled.”

With a rumbling like an avalanche of boulders, Roth spoke in the demon tongue. Isabella covered her ears to block out the pain caused by the demon language.
“Master Warlock, you are contracted to see that my needs are fulfilled. I will mount her tonight. That’s the price I demand.”

“By the contract that binds us together, we have an agreement, Roth’tarith.”

Is that what his bargain had been about? My ready agreement seemed to surprise him. Why? She’s not my wife. Merely a plaything. Watching my hellhound fuck Isabella would be entertaining, at the very least.

“What did it say?” Isabella asked.

I turned my attention back to her breasts. Her nipple was no longer hard. A shame, but I would soon correct that. Learning how her body reacted to pleasure and pain would be a great deal of fun. How many kinds of screams would she voice before the sun rose?

Drawing my hand back, I slap her right breast with my open palm. Before Isabella could curl up to protect herself, I shoved her back violently. She staggered back and tripped, falling onto my bed. A moment later, I straddled her waist. Isabella tried to cover her breasts. Hide them from my sight.

Unacceptable.

With a thought, the poker flew from its stand next to the fireplace. On the far side of the room. Behind her back. Three feet of cold steel. With a handful of Isabella’s long wavy brown hair, I pulled her head towards me. Exposed her neck. She screamed when cold iron coiled like a snake. Reforming to my will as though it was fresh clay. A collar of solid metal, with neither hinge nor clasp. Only I could remove it.

“Lady Whittock, you are not simply beautiful. You are also an intelligent woman. Formidable and brave. Consider the following demonstration very carefully.”

A small shovel flew from the fireplace, and coiled around a bedpost. She watched it warily. I made a small gesture, infusing it with a trickle of power, and it glowed cherry red. Wood smoked. Smoldered. The bedpost suddenly burst into flame. I cut off the flow of energy, and everything returned to normal. I meet her gaze. Smoldering anger. Barely contained terror. I can’t help but smile. She shuddered but stopped struggling. After a moment, her hands moved away from the breasts she once tried to cover.

Roth’s rumbling chuckle joins mine.

Why are breasts so fascinating? I slapped them back and forth, watching how they moved. Soft nipples, so easy to harden, just roll them between my thumbs and forefingers. I tightened down, twisting each nipple in the opposite direction. Isabella’s back arched. She whimpered. Tighter, I grind my fingernails into her sweet flesh calling forth another sweet scream. Her hands flew to my wrists. She trembled with the need to pull me away. To free herself from the pain I caused.

“Please, Cassius, they are quite sensitive. You’re hurting me.”

As though her screams hadn’t already told me as much.

“Of course, Lady Whittock, that’s why this is such a pleasure.”

My teeth sunk into her left breast. Above her heart. Hard enough to break the skin. To taste her blood. To mark her. Claim her. She trembled against me. Panting. I grinned, my lips twisted against her skin. Releasing her breast, I sat up and pulled my nightshirt off. Silly thing. Why would anyone wear one?

My penis rested on her stomach. I looked down with a smile. I was certainly well endowed now. But I could sense a problem. Something wasn’t quite right with this body’s manhood. Infertile? Yes, but there is something more. Time to make a few little modifications. Her blood, already pooling in the marks my teeth left behind, would power this spell.

Isabella hissed with pain when I scraped my index finger along the marks my teeth left in her flesh. A little blood. Not much, but it would be enough. I drew a sigel on my stomach and pushed power into it. Directing the flow. First, some healing. Not this body’s infertility. That could wait. The other problem, whatever caused him to orgasm so quickly. That wouldn’t do.

In my secret library was a book I hadn’t thought of in years. Dark Perversions and Sexual Magic. In my old body, I had found the subject tedious. Hardly worth my time. Distant memories of the perversions described within were suddenly fascinating.

Sliding down, I spread her legs. Forced them all the way up behind her neck. The steel collar flowed around her ankles, locking them in place. Bending her body in fascinating ways. Her rear forced to arch up from the bed, exposing the most intimate of places. Her… pussy, I believe the book called it. A much more fun name than genitalia. Below that was her asshole. Right there for me to see. To touch. Isabella whimpered when my fingers began to explore. Her eyes fly open wide, then slam closed as though rejecting the world around her. The world she now lived in.

My world.

Positioning myself is a little awkward. A little experimentation is required, but soon I settled into a comfortable position. This body may have fucked her before, but for all my past analysis of human anatomy, I was a virgin in the only way that mattered. This will be my first time.

The first of many.

“Lady Whittock, eyes on me, please.”

Flushing with embarrassment, she met my eyes. I forced a finger into her mouth, coating it with her saliva. Back to her asshole, I swirled my finger around it. It flexed, almost winking at me. This perversion had been explained in loving detail, but I only had one thought.

In this hole, Isabella is virginal.

Let the hellhound have her pussy, I’ll claim this hole for myself. The book explained the importance of lubrication so that the act didn’t cause her pain. Causing pain was a pleasure all on its own. We needed no further lubrication because servicing my needs should cost her dearly. One slight shift moves the head of my cock from her entrance to this new hole.

Isabella sobs, “Wrong spot! That’s the wrong place!” as I forced my way inside.

Warm flesh spasmed around my cock. Another fun word. Much better than penis. I pulled back several inches then slammed into her as hard as I could. Isabella’s complaining about which hole I am using disintegrates into a shriek. I don’t slow. Unlike him, I don’t finish in a couple thrusts.

“A-are you al-almo-s-st d-done?” Isabella asks, words forced out between cries of pain.

“Lady Whittock, I have barely begun.”

My left-hand reached towards the blackened bedpost. The steel twisted around it flows like water, forming a new shape. An unusually large artificial cock. With unrelenting force, I push the massive cock into her pussy. I can feel it slide inside Isabella through pressure sliding along my shaft.

Everything is so much tighter.

Methodically, I tested Isabella with subtle shifts in the steel I ground between her legs. How much would fit? How long? How thick? Isabella’s body is surprisingly flexible. She whimpered so beautifully. Earnestly. Using my fingers, I searched for the nub of sensitive flesh mentioned in the book. It’s right where I remembered.

She squeaked in shock when I flicked my fingertip back and forth across it. A new whimper, neither of pain nor pleasure. Just raw need. Isabella’s eyes are windows straight to her soul. Her every thought is plain as day. This bewildered her. Pleasure she didn’t understand.

Leaning down, I trapped the steel buried in her sex between our bodies. I stole a kiss. My tongue met her closed lips and they parted. I could almost taste Isabella’s fear and confusion. A delight. Kissing my way down her neck, I took a nipple into my mouth, and gently sucked. She moaned and moved beneath me. A sudden nip, hard nipple between teeth, brought another gasp.

Slowly grinding against her, I brought us both closer to the edge. Pleasure. Pain. All under my control. Forcing Isabella’s body to dance to the tune I played was a delight. Isabella convulsed, crying out in pleasure. I continue playing with her sensitive flesh. After a few moments, her ecstasy turned into an overwhelming sensation that was indistinguishable from agony. She tried to squirm away. Anything to free herself from my insistent touch.

“Too sensitive! Please! It’s too sensitive!” Isabella begged, as though she had any choice.

She tried to pry my hands away. Her body spasmed around my thrusting cock, and I cum explosively, my seed filling her body. Collapsing on top of her, I spend several long minutes just enjoying the feel of my cock inside her ass.

The sound of Isabella’s sobbing and the way her body shudders beneath mine. Once I gathered my strength, I laid down on our bed and freed her ankles.

“Lady Whittock, that was exquisite, and I enjoyed every blissful moment. But, now it’s someone else’s turn.”

I forced her to look at my hellhound.

“Roth’tarith, I have finished with Lady Whittock, at least for now. You may enjoy her at your leisure.”

“If you don’t mind some advice, Lady Whittock, he isn’t as kind as I am. I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were in your shoes.”

“Wait. What? I don’t understand,” Isabella said. Eyes wide with horror as she begins to hyperventilate.

“Lady Whittock, a hellhound has simple appetites. Meat, souls, and sex. Which will you choose to fulfill?”

Isabella’s frozen disbelief caused me to grin in delight.