Hermes returned with a new, dark wood bedroom set, his movements a blur of efficiency as he swiftly removed the old bed frame and mattresses. His head remained bowed, eyes resolutely refusing to meet Princess Daniella's. He was acutely aware of the perilous hold she had captured over his master's heart—a dangerous obsession. He knew he would have to warn the reigning King and Queen of the unsettling grip she seemed to have on their Prince.
Jasper still refused to part with his fallen trophies; the corpses remained. Daniella felt a rising unease as the various servants backed out of the room, leaving her alone, surrounded by a macabre, soon-to-be-rotted pile of bodies.
Jasper set her gently on her feet, then walked over to his morbid collection. His demeanor shifted; he began to arrange the corpses like dolls, his large hands surprisingly meticulous. He lined them up neatly. Missing arms were placed beside the torsos; decapitated heads rested in the laps of the dead. They were all positioned to face the new bed, an audience of porcelain-pale dolls set up on gruesome display.
Daniella had always held a certain image of what constituted true gruesomeness—a profound lack of decorum, a complete absence of sanity. Watching Jasper play with his 'little dead dolls' felt like peering into the abyss of absolute depravity. She wasn't sure what was more disturbing: his serene engagement in the act or her own unnerving calm as she watched. The question of who was more messed up hung thick in the air.
Once satisfied with his arrangement, he stalked back to Daniella, positioning himself behind her. He wrapped his powerful arms around her shoulders, his cheek pressing against her head as he stared at his dead artwork.
Daniella was determined to be open-minded, but even for her tastes, this was undeniably fucked up. She could stomach death and gore, but this felt inherently creepy.
"You are creative," she said, her voice sounding awkward and strangely bright to her own ears. This 'decor' made her mind wander, picturing the Demon Kingdom—how did they decorate their halls? Instead of marble statues, were bodies strung up with rope, posed in different positions? A headless corpse bowing in welcome to visitors? With this display, the horrifying possibilities were endless.
Jasper's mouth stretched into a satisfied, razor-thin smile. He was pleased she liked his work. The death before him, the potent stench of it, only reinvigorated his need: the urgent desire to show off, to let these lifeless figurines watch as he ravenously devoured his Princess.
His hands, which had been resting on her shoulders, gripped the thin silk of her nightgown sleeves. He pulled with barely any effort, the flimsy material shrieking as it ripped into nothingness, the shredded fabric pooling at her feet.
Daniella felt a headache clawing at the back of her eyes. As much as Jasper was her choice, he could be an infuriating hassle sometimes. Her body shivered; his room was not particularly warm, and her nipples instantly hardened in the cool air. His large, clawed fingers descended, gripping her nipples, pinching and pulling hard enough to wrench a sharp hiss from her, a mixture of pain and building pleasure.
"You're only torturing yourself!" Daniella Moaned, her head falling back onto his chest, her vivid green eyes locking with the predatory black of his.
They both understood the unspoken, iron-clad rule: sex was forbidden until they were married. At least, not between the two of them. If anyone discovered she had been defiled by Jasper, it would instantly pull her out of the royal marriage market. It was a risk Daniella was absolutely unwilling to take. The crown was too close; hormones would not be her undoing.
Jasper, however, didn't care that he couldn't 'complete the deed.' Every inch of her was his. His to touch, his to take, his to lick, his to fuck in every way but insertion. He listened to no one, especially when it came to how he was going to gorge on his little Princess.
Releasing one of her heavy breasts, his large palm drifted down her flat stomach. It met the familiar ridge again, the obvious scar. His fingers paused on the raised, puckered skin. Turning her to face him, he narrowed his eyes and lowered himself until he was level with her abdomen.
It wasn't just one simple scar. There were at least three, all looking distinctly like old stab wounds. Her skin was a pale, flawless canvas, save for these three distinct, brutal markings.
"Don't ask, because I won't tell!" Her voice was a low, stirring, unyielding command. She would never tell him about her scars—what they meant, how she got them. They were private, personal relics; they were not something she discussed.
Getting off his knees, Jasper lifted her by her waist and slammed her onto the bed's edge. He spread her thighs wide, then dropped back to his knees in front of her. His eyes, two black holes of lust, zeroed in on his target. Her pink labia was red and brutally swollen from his earlier attention, glistening beautifully with her wet juices. It was an intoxicating sight for his tongue, which peaked and flickered through his lips, still craving the last, dizzying taste of her. It was never, ever enough.
His body was a low, desperate snarl of need, the overwhelming urge to shred her defenses and take her. He would have to settle for simply devouring her instead.
"They will watch us," he grunted, the sound guttural as he nodded to his macabre audience. Her presence had only calmed the hunger that attacked his mind, leaving the raging beast of his lust fully untamed.
With her legs splayed wide and her arms braced behind her, she had a perfect, inescapable view of the dead little dolls. She focused on the nearest corpse: the glazed-over, sightless eye of a decapitated head resting in a lap. The faint, metallic scent of stale, copper blood mixed thickly with the heavy, sweet musk of her arousal, a potent, disgusting perfume.
"Jasper! I don't begrudge anybody a hobby, but why do I have to stare at them?"
She wanted to tear her gaze away, but the horror had become a magnet. Her body convulsed as his thick digit, slick with her essence, plunged through her moisture. The slick trail of liquid ran down her thigh. She felt her back arch violently, her hips rocking forward in a sickening mixture of disgust and desperate anticipation. She was still aroused, uncontrollably, while staring into the face of death.
His finger traced slow, tormenting circles around her apex, swirling at the entrance but refusing to ram past the barrier. The sensation was exquisite, agonizing torture.
"Keep your eyes open!" he ordered, his voice a raw, sandpaper rasp. His long finger finally battered past her barrier, entering her core. He felt her inner muscles seize and lock down on him. He watched her: with every slow, deliberate shove of his finger, her breath hitched and shredded, and her lashes fluttered. She stared at the sightless corpse, her focus tunneling into the grotesque detail. His Princess wanted to shatter at all costs, and he loved her ruthless dedication.
He shoved two more fingers in, feeling her slickness completely coat them. The wet, rhythmic slapping sound coursed in the stifling air. His fingers picked up a frenzied pace, pistoning harder and faster. He felt her inner walls clamp down, her thighs trying to throttle his arm, fighting the pleasure that was building to a horrifying crescendo.
When he felt her body grow tight, on the verge of total release, he ripped his fingers out completely. He let out a harsh, guttural chuckle as her dark eyes flared with a look of murderous desperation. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, dragging her closer to the edge of the mattress. His nose crushed into her clitoris, his hot breath scorching her sensitive cunt.
His tongue stabbed into her wet cavern, lapping greedily at the juices. He devoured her center. He sucked and bit and mauled her whole again and again until all she could do was shriek, cry, and call out his name, a sound so utterly broken and delightful he knew he'd never tire of it.
His relentless tongue slammed against her entrance. He felt his nostrils flare and his clawed fingers dig savagely into her thighs, drawing thin lines of blood. Her sharp cries of pleasure seemed to completely drown out the assault. He sucked until she shrieked, her stomach muscles convulsing and her toes curling as she violently released into his mouth. He kept sucking, licking, and tasting her until her nectar had slid down his throat and her cunt was bone-dry, utterly ravaged of everything it was willing to give.
Her sensitive body still shivered as she rode out the ecstasy of her orgasm. He couldn't help the overwhelming, possessive need to mark her body, to leave undeniable evidence on every inch of her. His sharpened teeth tore into her thigh. Even through the pain, she cried out again, and her perfect little cunt seemed to squirt a little more of her nectar, lost entirely in the throes of sensation.
Collapsing onto her back, Daniella panted, desperately trying to reorient herself. Jasper crawled up her body, licking a slow, hot path up her stomach until he reached her breast. He latched onto her nipple, biting the sensitive flesh. The aggressive action made her body convulse once more. It felt as if her entire nervous system was completely exposed, and every tiny touch made her want to climax all over again. She felt dazed and drunk—not the drunk she had been earlier at the banquet—but drunk off of lust and ecstasy, a potent mix that was hopelessly muddying her mind.
"They loved the show," he smirked, hovering over her face, his lips mere inches from her own.
Daniella had to admit, it seemed she could overlook any weird creepiness if Jasper's tongue was buried between her legs. His potent deviancy was a drug unto itself.
"Did they tell you that?" she asked back, a clear, obvious condescension laced in her voice.
"It is always easy to tell when you've won the audience." One of his large arms was braced beside her head, used to keep his oppressive weight off of her. His other hand started to trail down to her entrance once again, only for her to grip his wrist tightly, immediately halting the movement.
"Are you actually hungry still? Or just horny?" she asked, still not fully recovered from her last orgasm. She was exhausted and in no way was she returning the favor. She knew that unbridled lust was ultimately what fueled him.
"I am not hungry. But I could eat." His tone dropped to a seductive, low purr as his hardened, throbbing length pressed against her slick entrance.
"Gluttony's a sin, Jasper." She smiled, pressing him off of her. Thankfully, he obeyed. His large, magnificent wings folded back into his skin as his back hit the mattress.
"I'm already damned. I don't have much to lose." He noticed that since Daniella had been with him in his room, he didn't feel the overwhelming hunger, the crazed sensation taking over his mind. The unquenchable thirst had dissipated to nothing. He felt more of himself.
"Fair!" She let her eyes flutter closed. She knew she needed to get up, to go back to the Princess's chambers, but her body refused to move. Every inch of her was deliciously sore and utterly satisfied. She felt as if she was permanently rooted to the spot.
Jasper's imposing demon body began to fade as if it had never existed. His horns pulled back under his skin, his sharp, angular features softening and disappearing. His fully black eyes slowly regained their whites. His clawed fingernails were replaced by his large, pale human hands.
In the quiet of the room, he laid on his side, observing her as she slept. Her light snores, the way her mouth wasn't fully closed—it was interesting. He had never really slept beside someone before. All his previous bed companions always died. This was an interesting difference.
Author's note:
Jasper is an artist! But I don't believe anyone wishes to be his muse!