Page 9 of When I Accidentally Summoned a Demon

“Mistress. I like that. Mistress Beastie.” I step closer, closing the final inch between us. “When we are alone together, like this, you will call me Mistress or Mistress Beastie. I will accept Lady Beastie, too. The rest of the time, I am Vesper. Okay, Val. I’m about to blow your mind. And something else.”

I survey the length of him one last time, my breathing shallow and fast.

And then, my hands wrap completely around him.

4

Valefar

The second her small, soft hand fully encases my aching flesh, the universe fractures.

The shock of her sheer touch against my hypersensitive skin blinds me with pleasure. Her fingers have barely settled—cool against the burning ridge of my demon rod—when the molten fire pooled in my groin erupts.

I gasp, a raw inhale that strips my throat. Every muscle in my immense frame locks most severely. The sensation is entirely alien, violent in its suddenness. The thick blood trapped within the swollen column of my cock surges upward, driven by rhythmic, involuntary contractions within my pelvis. It is a pumping, pulsating pressure, an inescapable crescendo that shatters my breath into ragged pieces.

I stumble, tipping my head back against the wet tile of the shower, squeezing my eyes shut as a warm, shooting feeling travels furiously up my urethra. But Vesper doesn’t let go.

And then, I am spilling over.

It is a felicitous release of tension, a flood of liquid bliss that defies logic. In the Pit, pressure is relieved through agony and screams. But here, in the icy downpour of this cramped human sanctuary, it is released through this wondrous, paralyzing euphoria. My body betrays me most spectacularly, bucking slightly as I eject into her gentle grip. I’m quite certain it must be some debased dance.

I groan deeply, the rumbling sound like a dying earthquake. My brain struggles to process the physiological anomaly. It feels as though some foreign, potent nectar has flooded my bloodstream. A flush of pure warmth spreads from my chest to my extremities, loosening the taut cables of my muscles until I am thoroughly relaxed.

When my eyes manage to crack open, my vision is glazed, struggling to focus on the impossible creature before me. Vesper is standing there, gaping in absolute astonishment. Her mouth is open as she stares at my member, then at her hand, and then at the copious, thick volume of my seed that coats her fingers and drips onto the shower floor.

I stare down at her, dumbfounded by her sheer, devastating beauty. The cold water has plastered her hair against her skull, but the chill has done nothing to dim her vibrant life. The vivid, rosy condition still blossoms across her cheeks, and her plump, pouty lips are parted in sheer awe.

“Well,” she breathes, her voice a fragile whisper. “That was fast. Not sure if I’ve ever had a dick so happy to see me.”

But even as the last of the tremors subside, a terrifying, familiar heat begins to pool at the base of my spine. The heavy fullness in my balls does not diminish; instead, it tightens. The thick, viscous blood within me surges back into the network of dilating vessels, inflating me all the more.

I swallow hard, my chest heaving. “Vesper…the pressure. It is rising again.”

Her gaze snaps up to mine. “Wait, what?”

I can only nod, a helpless captive to my own demonic vitality. The refractory period—if humans experience such a thing—seems absent from my biology. The erection still stands proud and rigid, demanding her attention with an urgency that borders on madness.

A dangerous spark ignites in her expression. “Okay. Let’s try this.”

This time, she does not merely hold me. She closes her fist around me and begins to stroke, a firm motion that slides the slickness of my own semen along my blistering skin. Oh, Lucifer’s unholy crown. The friction is absolute devastation. It is a buildup of warmth and pressure, concentrated entirely on this one organ, trapping the blood and pulling the tension to an unbearable, exquisite peak.

A low, long growl rips from my throat, vibrating against the glass walls. My claws dig into the tile, sparking faintly as my entire being focuses on the singular, blinding motion of her hand. The dam breaks again. The contractions seize my pelvis, violently pumping a second wave of thick release over her fist.

I am completely undone. I sag against the wall, panting harshly. My golden vision is blurry with ecstasy. Through the haze, I hear the smoky chime of her voice. She doesn’t falter. Nor retreat. She merely watches me, her hand still resting against the base of my shaft.

“It’s a chemical cocktail,” she explains, her words musical and rhythmic. “Dopamine for the reward, endorphins for the pleasure…and oxytocin. The bonding hormone. It makes you feel warm and safe. And a little bit drunk on the feeling.”

I am…drunk on her? Drunkenness is a sin of mortals, worthy of punishment. But I have never felt its effect.

I process her clinical explanation, my mind grasping at the logic behind the divine madness. “Chemicals,” I repeat gruffly, tasting the word.

Her smile turns into a big, goofy, proud grin, radiant enough to rival the dawn. “Yep. Biology is magic.”

My chest rises and falls heavily. I gaze down at my body, bewildered. Even after the second release, the blood is still thick and bloated inside the cavernous tissues. The heavy sacs beneath remain full, dragging so heavily. The fire is endless, it seems. A perpetual motion machine fueled by her nearness.

I scan her luscious form, memorizing the tempting curve of her hips, the delectable plumpness of her thighs, the ripeness of her full breasts, like pale, round-shaped fruit, dark, rosy circles the size of a coin, and stiff, pink nipples. Eve herself would be jealous.

I dare not let my eyes descend to the triangle between her clenched thighs. I fear my staff might fall off in its haste to hide inside her haven.