"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.

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Isabella

Our Father, who art in Heaven. I beg of you to save my soul. Give me the courage to choose between agonizing death and sin. Father, I know what I must choose. You have given me purpose—to save my husband from the claws of the devil. I will endure this hellish sin, Lord, so that I may bring my husband with me to the kingdom of Heaven.

Sodomy, adultery, beastiality. Cassius was working his way through each lustful sin. Methodical, almost. Man was not meant to enter woman, like he had done. It was unnatural, the pain of the act itself was proof of that. God’s warning to sinners. And yet, his touch, when he had sent pleasure coursing through me, I could not help but sin. Forgive me, Father. Through pathetic sobs, I began to speak. Voice shaking, soul broken,

“My soul is for God alone. No beast shall dine on my flesh tonight. If your hound requires carnal pleasures, then I will not deny him.” My womanhood, my soul, lay bare on our marriage bed. The bed I was sodomised and raped on.

“A wise choice, Lady Whittock. You appear to be a creature of great intelligence.”

Each compliment took me aback. To hear words of praise uttered from Jasper’s mouth, to be held in high regard—dare I say respected—it astonished me. Feet hung over the bed, I forced myself to keep them spread, like I had done for Jasper on our wedding night. A sadistic chuckle crawled into my ear. “I do hope you enjoy the evening’s entertainment, Lady Whittock. It certainly has been splendid so far, would you not agree?”

Many things were above me. Jasper frequently reminded me of that. Agreeing with my rapist, a demon who had sodomised me, that was beneath me. And now,  I would be forced to give my body to an actual demon. A hound of hell. Would the beast sodomise me, or impregnate me? Either would be a sin. I will not beg for either. Whatever they decided to force upon me next, I would just have to accept.

Cassius tutted, shaking his head. “Dear, dear, Lady Whittock. Your manners appear to have forsaken you. It was terribly impolite of you to not respond.” He drew himself up from the bed, slow and menacing. He stood above me, in every sense of the word. A single, cool thumb traced my jaw, pulling down my lower lip. There was no way on God’s good earth that I could sever myself from his cold and calculated stare.

“I would punish you, but you already have Roth to deal with. Just remember, it is always polite to thank someone after they have given you a gift.” Firm hand fixing my jaw in place, he looked down on me, like a father’s chastisement. “Lady Whittock, I gave you the most glorious gift: my seed. To say I am insulted by your lack of gratitude would be an understatement.”

Was this man possessed? I stopped myself in thought, remembering the ordeal in the basement. He already had my husband’s body, ripping mine to pieces was his prerogative. But demanding thanks, gratitude for his sin, that was incomprehensible. Sickening, sadistic. It was madness. It was what he wanted. In one night, this man, this monster, had taken me more primally than Jasper had in two years of marriage. I cannot afford to displease him.

“Mr. Sullivan. Please, forgive the tardy nature of my gratitude. My own clumsy words cannot express my thanks.” I swallowed. Poised myself to utter a lie. It should not be too difficult, for every time I told Jasper I loved him had never rung true in my heart. My voice shook, betrayed me. “The evening’s entertainment has, indeed, been splendid. I can assure you I have had the most marvelous time. I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Sullivan, for the gift you have so generously bestowed upon me. I only hope you will take my meagre thanks as an expression of my fondness for your seed.”

My own thanks sickened me to my core. His grip on my jaw softened, earning me a soft stroke of the lips. Unsure whether the care or sadism coming from Jasper’s body was more unnerving, all I could do was whimper softly against his finger.

“I will forgive this small indiscretion this time. I must warn you, however, my hound may not be as… forgiving.” His words were followed by another tender stroke of my cheek, unnerving affection. He wandered to the darkest corner, that which housed my paintings. I took a deep breath in, preparing to be humiliated once more. He’d probably burn them. “An insult to the manor!”, he would decry. But no words were uttered. His silent disappointment, immeasurable.

Another shriek of a whistle rang through my ears. A signal for both the hound and I to prepare. I just had to close my eyes, present myself, and pray until it was over. Just another night with Jasper. Huff of hot breath, padding of heavy paws, growing hellish heat; the demon drew closer.

It sniffed at the hole Cassius had entered. It growled, displeased at the iron post firmly lodged inside me. Teeth dripping with boiling saliva, the hound snapped a few times, trying to latch onto the iron, instead catching skin. Blood began to trickle softly down my thighs. Each cut stung, burnt. The brute’s teeth finally clasped around Cassius’ creation, not my skin. Tugging and pulling, his rear paws digging into the floor.

Each tug caused a flood of pain to course through my womanhood, radiating into my abdomen. My shrieks seemed to encourage it to pull from every different angle. Was it possible for beasts like these to revel in such pleasure?

With one great final effort, Cassius’ iron rod was wrenched from me, evoking a guttural screech. It tossed the iron to the floor, it clattered and rolled towards Cassius, who surveyed each brush stroke carefully. The beast wasted no time in approaching me.

The beast lapped every inch of me, outside and in. Hot tongue and sulphurous breath replaced the bedpost. Horrifying and revolting as it was, I began to feel surges of pleasure. Each one fulfilling dark desires. Desires I never knew existed. It revolted me. It thrilled me. I couldn’t help but succumb to this devilish lust. My fingers clung to bloodied sheets. Each crevice of me that had been caressed by it’s lustful tongue began to shiver with regretful pleasure, desire building.

I couldn’t fight it. Some small, dark, lustful crevice of my soul did not want me to fight it. Each flick of the tongue, abrasive as it was, sent tantalizing shivers of bliss through my pelvis. A shameful sigh of lustful indulgence fought its way through my lips. Instinctively, my hands rushed to my face. Cassius chuckled.

“Do not be ashamed of reveling in your wanton desires. Roth’s saliva has certain… properties. Each small pleasure is intensified beyond normal bounds. A pebble becomes a mountain. Usually, this would be the same for pain. But I’m feeling generous tonight, Lady Whittock” He turned to Roth, “Be gentle to the good lady.” Then, he turned to me, as if to teach a lesson, looking sternly across the room to me.

“Your former husband’s body is reasonably well endowed. If you would now direct your gorgeous gaze to Roth’s cock.” Pale and cold as a corpse,  his hand gestured to the beast’s nether regions. Easily the size of my forearm, if not bigger, it glowed golden—a hot poker. Blood red veins, liquid fire, ran up it’s length, finishing at the bulging head - a menacing deep orange. It looked hard, unforgiving. Jasper had always been soft, relenting, even when he took me. And then Cassius came, harder than a marble column.

The hound would destroy me.

“If you would be so kind as to stroke his cock, Lady Whittock? Just the once, if you please.” I forced myself upright to look the beast in the eye. Hand shivering, I reached out to the base, having to stretch forward. Just one finger. The first thing I smelt was the sizzle of blistering flesh. I looked to my own finger, redder than the beast’s eyes. “Stroke it, please, Lady Whittock,” prompted Cassius. “I would prefer for you to use your whole hand.”

There was no use in pleading. I had learnt that lesson already. Painting was for my right hand. I would have to sacrifice my left to sate the hound’s lust. For fear of getting stuck, I moved quickly. My hand unable to get halfway around the beast’s member, I pulled it towards me. From base to head. Screeches of pain rang through the room. However quick I was, it wasn’t quick enough. My entire palm began to flake away, skin peeling to the floor. Blistering, red, agonizing. And that was going inside me.

“Cassius, please,” I sobbed, unable to contain myself. Hand shaking, all I could do was stare at the damage and imagine it inside of me. Wrecking me. Blistering every inch of my insides. Ruining each and every chance I had of giving birth.

“Roth. Lick the good Lady better.” And, at Cassius’ command, the beast tilted it’s head and tenderly licked each inch of my hand. Against every expectation I had, when it withdrew, my left hand was soft as the right, completely healed. Before I could question that miracle, the beast’s teeth snapped around my ankle, dragging me to the floor. Scalp splitting on oak floors, I instantaneously sobbed and pulled away. A simple growl was all it took for me to cower, curl into a ball.

“Lady Whittock. Wise as you are, I would like to offer you some advice.” He waited for my nod to continue. “I suggest that you get into position, before Roth puts you there.” What in God’s good heaven could he mean? I was already on the floor, ready for use. On my back, wide open for the hound. The beast burrowed it’s head under the nape of my back. Without hesitation, it flipped me to my stomach. It wanted to mount me. Like a bull. This was how sinners fornicated, like animals.

Panic overcame me. I clambered onto all fours, desperate to escape the beast, even if for a second.

“Cassius, please! Stop this madness,” I shrieked at him, wailing and sobbing, my body aching, the pain a memory of him. He simply turned. In his hands, Jasper’s portrait. The one I had painted as a marriage gift. It had been all I could do to prevent its destruction.

“I simply adore this painting, Lady Whittock. You captured your former husband’s pomp and arrogance so well. And the lighting is simply exquisite.” The wind had been knocked out of me. It felt like I had taken a genuine blow. Jasper’s body, voice ringing with sincerity, had just complimented my work.

In my shock, I had forgotten about the hound. It’s hot flesh pressed against mine. In terror, I crawled away. One paw knocked my knees apart, as a blast of flame rushed into my rear. Scorching, burning every inch of skin. The room reeked of burnt hair. Hand clutching my mouth, I wailed. A single growl kept me in my place. Cassius chuckled and muttered guttural sounds at the demon.

Like skin that had spent too long in the sun, every inch below my waist felt hot, angry and red. Abrasive tongue licked each inch of me, soothing away the pain. I hated how good it felt. How it’s hot tongue cooled my skin, healed me. Dare I say it , completed me? It’s tongue withdrew from me, each of us dripping. Another guttural series of sounds came from Cassius’ mouth.

The hellhound’s claw pierces my hand and back, tearing at flesh. As it mounted me, like I was some bitch in heat, it wrenched a deep, primal cry from my throat. Hot as a branding iron, the beast forced its way inside. Agony ripped through me, the stench of burnt flesh assaulting my senses.

Cassius turned, nonchalant. “Was that pleasure I detected in your sweet scream, Lady Whittock?”

It had been a cry of pain, nothing more. Women could not feel pleasures of the flesh. Especially not when taken by a hound of hell.

The beast must have reached the tip of my womb, yet still, it pushed further. Each thrust caused flesh to blister inside of me.

“I simply adore the detail in this painting, the one of your old home, I presume?” He must have turned, saw Roth’s efforts, my pain. And he simply tutted. “Not even halfway in yet, Lady Whittock. You must endure. Intense extremes are the authentic source of aesthetic experiences. Agony. Bliss. Terror. Anguish. Ecstasy. From these wellsprings masterpieces are created. For your art, I will guide you through the depths of depravity and carry you to the heights of rapture.”

“Mr… Mr. Sullivan. Please.” Begging would not help. But I was barely rational. “It will destroy me. Shred my organs. I am sure it is about to puncture my womb.” I endeavored to crawl away, pull myself off the beast’s rod. Jaws clamped around my neck, breathing fire upon me. I froze in place.

“Roth will cause you immense pain, but will not damage you. Much. Well, nothing I cannot heal. Now, if you would, get back into position and enjoy Roth’s cock inside your divine pussy.” Such vulgar language, I suppose it was to be expected from a servant of hell. I had no choice but to resume my position as the beast’s toy of fornication.

With one swift thrust, the beast plunged it’s remaining length into me. I would swear on my soul that the tip of it, the cock, burnt the bottom of my heart. It began to thrust, hump me manically, desperate. Each thrust brought upon a new wave of agony and ecstasy. I could not enjoy this. I should not enjoy this. But somehow, lustful pleasures consumed me, filling me with fantastic delectation. Moans, cries of agony and bliss rushed from my mouth, the room brimming with my voice.

Lustful pressure built inside of me, just as before. Whimpering, gasping in desire, I looked up to see Cassius in front of me. In his hands, our family portrait. Every thrust rocking me forward, mouth agape, my watering eyes were forced to stare at my family.

“Lady Whittock, this is simply superb. Just how did you make your mother’s eyes so beautiful?”

My whole body spasmed, pleasure erupting inside me. Head thrown back in euphoria, exaltation, moans of pleasure flowing freely from my lips. Cassius grinned down at me as his hound, unrelenting, continued to shove into me, assaulting each of my senses. Mindless, it humped. A neverending torment. In desperation and desire, the hound thrust itself into me. At some point, I believe his claw pierced my breast, dragged through the flesh like it was paper. Claw in my breast, as leverage, the beast humped me in furious passion. Eternity passed, each thrust a tantalizing combination of bliss and agony.

The hellhound howled as it’s seed erupted inside me. Somehow, it grew inside me, twice its length and girth. The beast locked us in a wicked embrace, seed burned inside of me. Flooding, like molten gold, into my womb, which eagerly drank it up.  I tried, desperately, to scream in pain. Cry to the world and heavens, I had been raped by a hellhound and his Master. My Master. But my brain sank into a fog of blasphemous pleasure, shameful sensations, and diabolic suffering. All that escaped my mouth was a groan, tongue lolled out of my mouth and eyes rolled back into my head. I had reached the height of sin. And with it, achieved the pleasure like I had never imagined possible.

Father forgive me for what I have done. Forgive me for enjoying the sin forced upon me. Eternity passed once more. It was locked inside of me. Refused to move. It swelled, lodged inside me.

“C-Cassius. It-it will not come out. It is stuck. P-please.”

“Patience is a virtue, Lady Whittock. I am sure he shall release you probably well before sunrise.” So, I lay, sobbing in shame. A slave to sin.

Finally, the brute withdrew from me. It’s member charred what little pale flesh remained. My arms gave out, crippled underneath me. Laid on the floor, breasts and cheek pressed to polished wood, all I could hear was the dripping of his seed, the sizzle as it hit the floor. My soul wrenched,  stomach turned. My womb, womanhood, burnt, still scorched in pain, I cried softly into my hands. Small whimpers of pleasure, reminders of the ecstasy, escaped spasmodically from my mouth, through a veil of tears.

Hot nose plunged inside me, took a sharp sniff, and then withdrew, satisfied. The beast turned. It’s hunger for my womanhood, my innocence, sated. All I could hear were it’s heavy paws, padding back to his Master, leaving me, hell’s own whore, to weep.

“You are simply radiant, Lady Whittock. Truly, Aphrodite herself was in the room with me tonight. And I could never forget that picture, your head thrown back in wanton desire, mounted and raped by a hound of hell.” I sobbed at his cruel reminder of reality. Collapsed on the floor, a broken shell of a woman, each memory of the rape paining me as much as the blistering agony rippling across my body.

“Each one of these paintings is a masterpiece. Your former husband was a blind fool. You are truly a skilled artist.” And, to my surprise, he offered me his hand. I took it, aching, and he helped me into bed. Wiping the tears from my eyes, stray hair from my brow, he cared for me. “My golems shall take care of the manor. Other than seeing to our needs, your only duty is to paint. All day, every day.”

He could not be serious. A life of art and lust. My heaven and hell would coexist in this manor. Eyes tight shut in disbelief,  I shook my head. I opened them to his caress. Only to see two large images - photographs of life itself, immense detail and colour, right before my eyes. In the first, my tongue lolled out, eyes rolled in my head as the demonic hellhound’s glowing seed filled my belly. The second depicted my face, crying out in pleasure, Cassius sodomising me. Shudders of breath escaped my mouth, eyes wide in horror.

“Lady Whittock, you may begin by painting these…”