Chapter 07 - The Cabal
Samael smirked at the reflected image in the full wall mirror. His body was immaculate, every muscle sculpted by an artist. His tanned skin glistened lightly with the sweat of exertion. His longish brown hair was swept back, revealing piercing, intelligent blue eyes. A close shave outlined his sharp aquiline features.
Lying on her back before him, Sylla was not in a comparable state. Exhaustion had stolen the taut firmness from her body. Sweat covered every inch of her skin, running in rivulets down her neck and sides. Her long, auburn hair was a disheveled mess and her hazel eyes, half-closed, lacked focus. Her lips were parted, but not in the sensual manner she so carefully cultivated. Samael grinned down at her as he slid his long, perfect cock in and out of her pussy.
With lazy casualness, he ran his thumb in small circles against her clit. Sylla moaned and closed her eyes. Her head shook from side to side, as though to refuse the orgasm he could feel building inside of her. He increased the pace of his thrusts. "Look at me, Sylla," he ordered. Her eyes fluttered open and locked onto his with helpless obedience. "Good girl," he teased. "Now cum."
She fought it. Her breath hitched as she attempted to gain control of her passion. Clutching the sheets of the bed as though they could save her, she feebly attempted to meet his thrusts. Samael laughed down at her with undisguised disdain. Now she knew how lucky she had been to defeat him at their last meeting. Now she understood the futility of resistance.
When they first met, Samael had dominated every aspect of their sexual encounter until Sylla had managed to trick him with a cunning ploy. She had gained control over him and used that control to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Tonight, Samael had taken care to reconstruct every nuance of their previous battle. He fucked her in every position he had last time. He made her cum whenever called for by the script in his mind. This time, however, when they reached that crucial moment at which Sylla could hope to turn the tables, Samael had swatted aside her attempt with ease.
Her confidence thus shattered, Samael had his way with her. He took her in position after position, watching as her last reserves of energy and hope drained away. An air of desperation hung over Sylla as he plowed through the very last of her defenses. He could taste imminent victory in the sweat between her breasts.
He slammed his cock into her with brutal force. "I told you to cum!" he shouted. Sylla obliged, not only with cries of pleasure as her final orgasm shot through her, but with the abandonment of all thoughts of victory. She looked up at him with pleading eyes, unable to even beg him to stop as she climaxed endlessly.
Samael loosed a wordless bellow of triumph and pounded his hips against Sylla with renewed vigor. Sylla's body fell limp and she whimpered pathetically. The force of his thrusts caused her head to bang against the bed's headboard with each collision of their bodies. Knock knock knock.
He had done it. He had defeated Sylla. And she was only the first. He was so much stronger now. More sexually potent than ever before. With this victory, he gained access to the next tier in The Club. "Please," Sylla moaned. "Please. You win." Samael ignored her. His cock was harder than it had ever been before. He was not nearly done. He pumped his cock into her. Knock knock knock.
He wouldn't stop with Sylla. He was going to be the first of The Club's Angels to defeat every single Member. He would take his revenge against Nikki for her unspeakable torture and then he would take down Donna. The Club would be his and they would all serve him. And service him.
Knock knock knock.
Samael startled awake and stumbled awkwardly out of bed, swaying unsteadily. The fantasy was already fading.
Weeks had passed since his endless torture at the hands of Nikki. Well, at the hands and mouth of Nikki. Her legendary, incredible, terrible mouth. After losing a wager with Donna, the leader of The Club, he had spent hours chained to a wall with Nikki kneeling before him. The first orgasm she had brought him to had come in mere seconds. He had never felt a tongue like hers. She never even allowed him to go soft. His next climax followed less than a minute later. That was the last pleasure he took from the experience.
Each subsequent orgasm had taken longer to achieve and had been increasingly uncomfortable until discomfort gave way to pain. And then to panic. He had shouted and threatened. Begged and pleaded. Nikki had only taunted and teased him all the more ruthlessly as tears began to stream down his face.
By the fifth or sixth orgasm, he no longer actually ejaculated. Each orgasm was completely dry. But Nikki's mouth was hot and wet and she forced him to remain hard long after he was sure his body was no longer capable of sustaining an erection. Samael had stopped counting, had lost the ability to count, by the twelfth orgasm, but she had not stopped for many more hours and many more orgasms. Not until long after he had felt something snap in his mind like a dry stick.
Since that day, Samael had not had an orgasm. He was not even capable of gaining an erection without pharmaceutical assistance. He had tried everything. Entertained every fantasy. Nothing worked. He was broken. Destroyed. His life was over. Nikki had ruined him. On Donna's orders. But it was all Sylla's fault, really.
Knock knock knock.
Samael staggered slowly out of his bedroom and stumbled down the long hallway, bracing against the wall for support. He could not remember the last time he had eaten and was weak as a kitten from lack of nourishment. As he passed one of the many mirrors lining the hall, he caught a glimpse of himself and did not recognize the emaciated, unshaven man staring back at him with haunted eyes. All at once he became aware of the stench of his own body. He could not remember his last shower, either.
The murmur of voices startled him out of his reflection and he turned to stare dumbly at the front door of his home. Someone was out there. Knocking. But, who? And why?
He didn't care. The door was locked. They would go away and leave him alone with his misery.
A wave of lightheadedness washed over Samael and he leaned against a wall as his vision blurred. He heard a faint click and as his sight cleared, he stared open-mouthed at the door swinging open to reveal a swarm of beautiful women. The most exotically attractive of them stepped forward and Samael fell to his knees before her. "Mistress Claire!" he attempted, but all that emitted from his dry throat was a gravelly croak.
Claire, the leader of the Cabal, was ranked 11th in The Club, one step away from reaching the top most of the exclusive tiers. As she had climbed the ranks, she had busily recruited weaker Members to her cause. The witchcraft Claire wielded was rumored to enhance the sexual abilities of herself and her minions. And it was undeniable that each had been climbing steadily through the rankings since becoming her thrall.
