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swan song

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If there’s one thing Barbara is certain of, it’s that she shouldn’t be doing this. 

It goes against everything - really, everything - that she’d been taught since she was a little girl. If her father could see her now, he’d be heartbroken. Destroyed, even. Things would never, ever be the same, that much is certain - though, if she’s truthful, change is exactly what Barbara is seeking by doing this in the first place.

And so, here she is, closing up the giant circle of salt on her floor that she’s going to be using to summon a demon. It’s going to be fine, she tells herself, trying her best to lift her mood. At least I don’t live at home anymore. The thought makes her laugh, and she takes a deep breath, sprinkling the salt with a heavy hand. Plus, at the very least, pretending she has even a little bit of faith that this will even work makes her choices a little easier to stomach, and with one last sigh, she steps back to inspect her work.

The lines perhaps aren’t as neat as they could be, but it works. The huge pentagram sits in the centre of her bedroom, spread in thick, broad lines against the wooden floor and surrounded by candles of a deep, dark ruby - a stark difference against the pure white candles she’s so used to seeing at church. Barbara stares at the display for just a moment longer, willing herself to ignore the way her stomach winds itself into knots, then turns to place the huge container of table salt back onto her bedside table.

Compared to pouring out the salt and lighting the candles, the rest should be relatively easy; Barbara has already memorised every word and inflection of the phrase she needs to chant to summon exactly what she wants. Now, all that’s left for Barbara to do is to get over the fact she feels like she’s struggling to choke down a rock. She twists her fingers and takes hesitant, awkward little steps over to the foot of the circle, trying her hardest to ignore the way she’s beginning to feel a little woozy at the sheer thought of what she’s about to get herself into.

But enough is enough. Barbara had decided that long before she’d even begun to consider the realm of summoning demons, and she’s only here through sheer desperation. So, instead of thinking any more about the disappointed look on her fathers face or the way she’d be thrown out of the church if she were ever discovered to have abandoned Barbatos like this, she shakes back her hair, wrings her hands a little tighter, and repeats that odd phrase in the unknown, archaic language she’d learned all those weeks ago from that strange little book she’d bought online.

And, after a moment, nothing happens.

None of the candles even so much as flicker, and Barbara stares long and hard at the pentagram she’d carved out. Maybe the lines were too shaky, or maybe there’d been a gap she’d somehow missed - but the longer she looks, the more obvious it becomes that it simply… hadn’t worked. That it likely wouldn’t work at all, if Barbara was being realistic.

Emotion overwhelms her all at once; suddenly, she finds her hands balling into fists, her eyes stinging with hot, angry tears. Her face feels hot with shame and embarrassment, and it takes everything she has to take deep, shuddering breaths that make her chest ache as she wills herself to remain calm. Still, though, the disappointment is almost too much to bear, and she turns her back on the circle and the lit candles with the sole thought of burying herself into her sheets and never leaving again.

And that’s when it happens - there’s a sudden gust of wind that begins to blow from seemingly nowhere, far hotter than should be possible on such a cool day, and when Barbara turns back around, wide-eyed with surprise, the flames of the candles have begun to burn a bright, brilliant blue. The warm winds whip at Barbara’s hair, the skirt of her dress, the loose fabric of her knitted cardigan, but she pays it no mind - instead, she keeps her eyes on the circle of salt, watching in shock as a dark, gaping, glittering black hole begins to appear in the centre of her bedroom floor.

The hole grows to about the size and shape of the circle Barbara had drawn, and after a moment, a strange, hazy figure begins to manifest in the centre of the circle, seemingly drawing straight from the black nothingness of the space below. It seems to take an infinity and no more than a second all at once for the figure to materialise into something solid and tall, and after another brief gust of wind, Barbara is left blinking, still teary-eyed, at the figure left standing in the ring of salt.

It’s a woman, Barbara realises, her mind moving at a snail’s pace as she tries to figure out what she’s looking at. An astonishingly pale woman at that, with hair almost the same shade as the candles with their flickering blue flames, still dotted around the outside of the circle.

It takes another long moment of staring with wide eyes before Barbara also realises that the woman - the demon, her brain helpfully supplies, several moments too late - is also sporting great black feathered wings, a tail curling from behind her, and curved black horns sprouting from beneath her hair. It’s that which makes Barbara finally startle, her hands coming to her mouth to try and muffle the high sound of surprise she makes.

The demon simply watches her, all raised brows and stony silence. There’s an aura about her that Barbara can’t look away from, nor can she quite describe - she’s as appealing as she is dangerous, and every part of Barbara seems to fight between running and staying, moving closer, reaching out and touching.

Instead of giving in to the strange urge, Barbara takes a few deep breaths, clears her throat, and pulls her hands back down to fist in the skirt of her dress as she begs herself to pull it together, right now.

“Hello,” Barbara says, trying her hardest not to shake as she meets the demon’s eyes. “I - I would like to make a contract.”

There’s another pause - a stretch of silence that has Barbara’s nerves fraying with each second that passes - before the demon finally seems to come to life before Barbara’s eyes. Her wings flutter just the slightest, her tail curling around one bare thigh, and the demon looks away from Barbara and casts her eyes around Barbara’s handiwork at her feet, inspecting Barbara’s terrible summoning skills with a raised brow.

“Hm,” the demon finally says, with a voice as smooth as honey. “This isn’t how I’m usually summoned.” There’s a pause as she looks back to Barbara, and Barbara tries her hardest not to fidget as the demon looks her up and down in one, slow motion of her eyes. “Are you certain you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

Barbara flushes at that, biting her lip against the urge to pout. “Yes, I do,” she says, and the demon watches with quiet amusement as Barbara’s voice shakes. “I want to make a contract with you. A small one. I’m willing to make, um… multiple offers, too, if it’s necessary.”

The demon smiles at this - it’s a sharp curve of the lips that has Barbara shifting from foot to foot, her fingers tangling in the gingham fabric of her dress. “Multiple offers?” the demon repeats, crossing an arm over her chest. She brings a hand to her face, and Barbara watches as she taps long, sharp, silvery clawed rings gently against the pink swell of her mouth. “Well, we’ll see about that. What is it that you want from me?”

Barbara pauses. Now that the time has come to ask for what she wants, it’s almost overwhelming. Her palms sweat, and she presses her hands to the linen of her dress. “I’d like to make a contract for my family. They - we… it’s a struggle at the moment, and… I would like for things to right themselves.” Barbara thinks briefly about the pinched face of her mother, the dark circles beneath her sister’s eyes, and hesitates for a moment before adding, “ quickly and as painlessly as possible.”

The demon watches her with an unreadable expression for a moment before she speaks. “Hm. You’re asking for relatively little, but what is it that you’re willing to offer in exchange?”

Barbara falters, biting at her lower lip as she considers. “I don’t really-” she starts, but quickly cuts herself off before she can begin rambling again. “What… would you be most interested in?”

The demon gives Barbara another one of those knife-edge smiles, dragging her fingers together so Barbara can hear the metal of her rings scraping against one another. “Something you care deeply for, perhaps. A few years from your life. A fraction of your soul.” There’s a pause, and the demon looks Barbara over again, slow and considering. “Your virginity.” Barbara balks, but the demon doesn’t seem to care. “Whatever you’re willing to give is fine, usually.”

At that last offer, Barbara flushes so hard she feels dizzy. “My - my virginity?” She repeats, feeling her palms sweat. “What do-”

The demon sighs, interrupting Barbara easily. “This is why sweet little church girls like yourself shouldn’t begin dabbling in things you’re forbidden to even consider .” She pauses, obviously considering as she scuffs the toe of her heel along the inner edge of the line of salt. She taps her claws against her mouth once more, and Barbara’s eyes flicker down to follow the movement, just for a moment. “I wasn’t planning to share this with you, but the incantation you used is not for summoning your average demon.” Barbara gapes wordlessly, and the demon breathes out a silky laugh. “It’s for summoning succubi. You know what succubi are, yes?”

Barbara almost wishes that the great black hole would reappear, if only so it could swallow her whole and drop her into whatever dark depths the demon in front of her appeared from. “I… yes, I know.” Regardless of the way she’s burning with embarrassment, it’s too late to go back now, she knows. Instead, Barbara makes the fastest decision she’s ever made, rocks back on her heels, and takes another deep breath. “So - in that case, then… would my virginity be the best option? For you, I mean?”

The demon stills at this, and Barbara vaguely thinks about how statuesque she looks; she’s like a figure carved from marble, from the tips of her wings down to the leathery, pointed end of her tail - lovely and terrible all at once. “The best option is whatever you’re willing to give.” Still, though, the interest on the demon’s pretty face is obvious, and Barbara feels her resolve settling. “But, admittedly, we all have our preferences. If that’s what you’re willing to give, then I’m willing to… receive, shall we say.”

Barbara nods, ignoring the way her palms have begun to sweat. “And… you’ll be the one taking it?”

The demon finally laughs properly at that, quiet and pleased. “If you’ll allow it, then certainly.”

Well, that’s it, then, Barbara thinks. She’s still for a moment before she steps forward, doing her best to stop herself from shaking as she reaches out a hand. “Then you’ll take my virginity,” she says, relieved that her voice is at least steady. “And in return, you’ll do as I’ve asked.”

Her hand passes over the circle of salt, and the demon looks at her for a moment before reaching out her hand. The sharp points of the clawed rings on her fingers are the first thing to touch Barbara’s skin, and she jolts at the icy coolness of them against the delicate skin of the inside of her wrist. “I accept your contract,” the demon says, slipping her hand into Barbara’s. 

With a sudden flash, the salt circle surrounding the demon disappears into a haze of acrid smoke, and Barbara struggles to breathe for a moment as she thinks about what exactly it is that she’s just done. She’s allowed little time to really consider it, though, as the succubus takes a step forward, her hand still in Barbara’s.

“I should ask,” she says, taking another step until she’s right before Barbara, looking down at her with a smile that makes Barbara feel hot all over. “Are we to fulfil the contract now?”

Barbara pales as she realises what the demon means. She wants to have sex with me, Barbara thinks faintly, but she finds her head nodding before she can stop herself. “Oh! Yes, that’s okay,” she manages, and the demon’s smile grows wider at the shake in Barbara’s voice. “But, um - may I know your name?”

“Rosaria,” the demon replies, her voice silky as she crowds even further into Barbara’s personal space. Despite the cold prickle of her claws on Barbara’s wrist, she feels distinctly warm as she steps in closer, and Barbara tries her best to stop herself from shivering. “And you’re Barbara, aren’t you? Barbara, the lovely little choir girl who sings for Barbatos each and every Sunday.” Rosaria smiles and brings up one hand to cup Barbara’s chin, her claws dragging faintly over Barbara’s cheeks. “Well. We’ll see if that remains the case after all is said and done.”

Barbara can hardly breathe as Rosaria bends slightly, enveloping Barbara in the shade of the great wings sprouting from her back. She thinks her heart might beat straight through her ribcage when Rosaria leans in closer, close enough that Barbara can see the tourmaline of her eyes and smell the cool, smokey fragrance drifting from her, heady in a way that makes Barbara’s head swirl. She has no idea where to even look - would it be inappropriate to glance up, at the dark little horns sprouting from Rosaria’s forehead, or down, towards the red plushness of her mouth? 

Rosaria stops just before her lips touch Barbara’s, a smile playing at her lips. Barbara can’t help the way she pulls herself back from where she’d been mindlessly leaning in, and Rosaria laughs again, as though she can read Barbara’s mind. 

“Would you lead me to your bed?” Rosaria asks, and the suggestion in her voice is obvious. It makes Barbara’s head spin, and it’s all she can do to nod, Rosaria’s fingers still tilting her head up slightly. The point of contact between them burns , and something hot and heavy begins to furl in the pit of Barbara’s stomach.

There’s a long, heavy moment where Rosaria continues holding Barbara, with her hand beneath Barbara’s chin and her lips just a breath from Barbara’s own. The tension of it weighs on Barbara’s shoulders, pressing down until it feels like she might crack through the earth - and what’s worse is that Barbara can’t stop looking, can’t pull her eyes away from Rosaria’s eyelashes or cheekbones or mouth.

After what feels like an eternity, though, Rosaria lets her go, taking a slight step back. It takes a moment for Barbara to look away from the curve of her lips, and she startles a little when she realises that she’s been staring - blatantly, at that. She turns on her heel, her cheeks flushing hot, and begins to move towards her bed. 

It feels a little like Barbara is wading through syrup as she makes the familiar journey - it’s all but a few steps weaving around her vanity and over the rug that sits at the end of her bed. With Rosaria following her with every step, her heels clicking gently on the wooden floors of Barbara’s bedroom, it feels unfamiliar and strange - dangerous, in a way, which is a thought that makes Barbara’s breath catch in her throat. 

Barbara takes a deep breath as she reaches her bed, and smooths out the sheets before she sits down on them, facing Rosaria in all her glory. She’s tall and magnificent, her wings an oily black even in the watery afternoon sunshine that streams through the windows of Barbara’s bedroom. She watches Barbara with the eyes of a predator, as though she might swoop in and lunge upon her, but it doesn’t scare Barbara in the way it probably should. Instead, it makes the picture of Rosaria before her seem even more picturesque - like a figure straight from an oil painting, or a statue carved from fine marble.

With Rosaria watching her so intently, Barbara finds herself conscious of every little thing she does - the way her bare legs slide smoothly together as she shifts on the bed, and the way her loose hair curls over one shoulder, smelling faintly of the rosemary oil she likes to use. Rosaria seems to notice all of these little details just as Barbara does; her eyes move from her face to her shoulders to the delicate curve of her waist, and her gaze turns hungry as it dips down lower, to the way the skirt of Barbara’s dress sits upon her thighs.

Rosaria doesn’t say anything as she takes one, two steps in, but she doesn’t need to - Barbara finds herself shifting back automatically, her legs spreading just enough for Rosaria to slip into the space between them, and that curl of heat beginning to glow between her thighs only sparks hotter when Rosaria bends once more.

“Cute,” Rosaria says, leaning further into Barbara’s space. “You’re nervous, but so responsive. Who’d have thought that a girl like you would be so prepared to give something so important up so easily?”

Barbara opens her mouth to respond perhaps a little defensively on the importance of such things, but before she can speak, Rosaria’s thumb meets the inside of her knee, stroking over the skin there gently. It makes Barbara shudder , and she watches with bated breath as Rosaria smiles.

“But we’re not here to think about that,” Rosaria continues, and Barbara can’t help the way her eyes flicker down to the plush shape of Rosaria’s mouth, can’t help the way she spreads her legs just a little wider for the succubus between them. “No. Instead, we’re here so I can lay you out on these sheets and make you give up everything to me, aren’t we?”

Barbara is left breathless in an instant, staring up at Rosaria as though she’d hung the stars. Rosaria watches back with obvious amusement, her expression pleased, and it takes a long, long moment for Barbara to realise she’s yet to respond.

“Yes,” she manages, nodding her head just slightly. “Please.”

Rosaria’s expression opens up at that, an eyebrow raising just slightly. “‘Please’?” she repeats, and Barbara doesn’t fail to notice the way her hand begins to trail slowly up the bare skin of her thigh, her fingertips meeting the soft skin beneath the skirt of her dress. “How sweet. I’ll have fun with you, I’m certain.”

Before Barbara can even pull her thoughts together enough to respond with a thank you, Rosaria is leaning in and placing a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. She pushes gently until Barbara goes down, laying flat against the floral bedsheets with only her head tilted enough to peer at Rosaria. Rosaria settles herself more comfortably between Barbara’s legs, looking for all the world like that cat that got the cream.

Barbara feels a little like a deer in headlights just as much as she feels like she’s a piece of finery out on display, ready for Rosaria to look at and touch as much as she likes. The sensation of it is oddly pleasant, even as she feels her heart fluttering madly in her chest. Rosaria only looks all the more pleased for it, and as she places her hands on the insides of Barbara’s knees, she’s wearing a dark expression on her face that makes Barbara want to offer her everything.

Despite the way she’d been goading Barbara when she’d asked to be led to bed, Rosaria is silent now as she drinks in the sight of Barbara laying before her; she looks almost thoughtful as her eyes roam over Barbara’s bare legs, across the shape of her hips and waist and breasts, up to the slight shape of Barbara’s collarbones, just hidden beneath the fabric of her cardigan. It makes Barbara nervous in a way she can’t describe, but she likes it. The feeling only grows as Rosaria leans in further, her hands sliding the slightest amount up Barbara’s bare legs, towards the soft swell of her thighs beneath the fabric of her dress.

“I’m rarely summoned by somebody like you, you know,” Rosaria says conversationally, watching Barbara carefully as she touches her. The sensation of her hands on Barbara’s legs is firm, keeping Barbara exactly where Rosaria wants her, and Barbara feels as though she can barely breathe as Rosaria settles between her legs. “I’m so used to the usual sex pests and the like. It grows tedious, and I grow hungry.”

“Hungry,” Barbara repeats, her voice thin and nervous. “So - does that mean that you’ll feed from me?”

Rosaria gives her another one of those amused looks, as though Barbara should already know the answer. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Barbara squeaks. “Okay.”

Rosaria doesn’t respond, though there’s a slight quirk of her lips; instead, she slides her hands slowly up the inside of Barbara’s thighs, moving in closer and spreading her thighs wider until Barbara can feel the heat of her breath against her skin. It’s so terribly intimate it makes Barbara want to shy away, to close up like a clam, but Rosaria leaves her with little opportunity to do so; instead, she lifts the skirt of Barbara’s dress a little higher, out of the way of her horns, baring her even further to Rosaria.

“Such a sweet girl,” Rosaria murmurs after a moment of silence, the hint of a smile at her lips. Barbara makes an embarrassed sound, clutching at the sheets just for some way to ground herself. “What a treat this will be. You’re already all wrapped up like a present for me.”

Barbara wants to argue, wants to say she would’ve worn her nice panties and perhaps done her hair a little nicer if she’d known that Rosaria would be the one to appear, but her brain feels like it’s moving as slowly as molasses as Rosaria’s fingers graze along her thighs, as ticklish as it is desperately hot. “You can unwrap me,” Barbara finally manages, cringing with embarrassment at her forwardness in the face of a demon.

Rosaria’s reaction is instantaneous; her wings flutter behind her, inky black and shining, and it makes Barbara’s hips shift against Rosaria’s hold, desperately wet and aching. “Oh, I will,” Rosaria promises, and there’s a sharpness in her eyes that makes Barbara feel so small. “I’m going to take everything you’ll give me. I’ll pull this dress from you until you’re bare for me, and I’ll be the first to touch you where you’ve always wanted to be touched.”

Rosaria’s hands trail higher, just the slightest little bit until her fingers are brushing gently against the thin material of Barbara’s panties. It makes Barbara gasp, her hips jolting, and she can hear the smile in Rosaria’s voice as she continues speaking. “I’m going to touch you here, too. I’m going to put my mouth on you until you’re begging me for anything I’ll give to you.”

Barbara squeezes her eyes closed and lets her head fall back against the pillows, embarrassed and desperately turned on. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and the thought of what she’s doing - her, Barbara, a member of St. Barbatos’ choir; the good little church girl; the daughter of a priest, for goodness sake - allowing a succubus to take her virginity, make her cum, have her pleading for more, has Barbara trying to bite back a whimper she can’t quite muffle.

And instead of the cold feeling of panic that had settled deep in the pit of her stomach back when she’d started drawing out the circle and lighting the candles, all Barbara feels is a hot, bright sense of anticipation. It’s thrilling to feel wanted , and when Barbara glances down between her legs once more to where Rosaria is watching her, it’s almost like Rosaria knows all of this just from a look.

Still, though - if Rosaria knows, she makes no sign of it. “What do you want?” Rosaria asks her instead, her breath warm against the soft insides of Barbara’s thighs. It makes her squirm, even as she tries to stop the movement of her hips.

Barbara moves her hand from her mouth to clutch tighter at the bedsheets, trying desperately not to shudder at the gentle scratch of Rosaria’s nails against her skin. “I - this is for the contract,” Barbara manages, warbling a little as she speaks. “You can… take whatever you’d like.”

The familiar, pleased expression Rosaria has been wearing only returns tenfold at that, and she smiles up at Barbara in a way that makes Barbara wonder if she really should’ve given so much away to a demon so quickly. “Whatever I’d like?” Rosaria repeats, her voice low and smooth like honey. “I see. That is what I promised.” There’s another delicate scrape of nails, and Barbara can’t help the way she shivers. She wonders if Rosaria can feel how wet she already is through the thin cotton of her panties, and as embarrassing as it is, the thought only makes her ache further. “But I’m asking you what you’d like me to do. I take from your pleasure.”

If Barbara is being honest, she suspects there’s a little more to it than that - Rosaria is watching her with sharp, careful eyes, as though she’s waiting to savour whatever it is that leaves Barbara’s mouth. It’s as appealing as it is desperately, horribly humiliating, and Barbara can’t help but shift a little on the bed as Rosaria’s fingers stroke up, up, up, until she’s tracing the stretch marks at the sides of Barbara’s hips with a surprisingly gentle touch. 

“I want,” Barbara starts, but it’s hard for the words not to get stuck when Rosaria is watching her so intently. “I want you to… to touch me.”

“To touch you?” Rosaria says, tilting her head a little. “I am touching you, aren’t I?”

Barbara’s face flushes so brightly it burns. Her head tips back against her pillow once more, and she tries not to give in to the urge to hide her face with her hands. “Rosaria!” The fingers around her hips tighten fractionally as she speaks, and Barbara can feel herself burning up with embarrassment. “Please. I want you to…”

She can’t help the way she trails off, too embarrassed to try and word what she’s thinking. There’s no doubt in her mind that Rosaria knows already, though - not when Rosaria is looking perfectly pleased from where she kneels by the bed, inching in closer to where Barbara is laid out for her like a snake ready to strike. The thought of Rosaria spreading her legs further, sliding her panties down her legs and breathing out another one of those laughs, warm and dark and lovely, suddenly blossoms in Barbara’s mind, has her squirming at the picture it creates.

There’s the slightest of pauses before Rosaria finally, blessedly decides to take pity on her. “You want me to touch you where you’re all wet and aching for me, don’t you?” Rosaria asks, and Barbara’s breath stutters at how casually Rosaria says it, her eyes fixed on Barbara’s. “Have you thought about something like this before, hm? In the dark of the night, when you’re supposed to be sleeping, with choir practice waiting for you in the morning? Do you think of someone like me, spreading these lovely thighs and putting their mouth on you?”

Barbara finds herself nodding before Rosaria finishes speaking, even as she flushes hot with shame. Rosaria grins, her eyes flashing, and Barbara feels it when Rosaria’s fingers bite a little harder into Barbara’s thighs, the sensation rushing straight between her legs. “Tell me about these little fantasies, then.”

This time, Rosaria isn’t asking - she’s demanding. Barbara can’t help the way her breath hitches, and Rosaria is still between her thighs, holding her open just enough so that even as she squirms, there’s no sensation of release. “I…” Barbara starts, her cheeks a brilliant pink and her hands clenched so hard her nails are beginning to leave little crescent-shaped moons in the flesh of her palm. “I want to be touched. I want… somebody to - to use their fingers on me, and their mouth, everywhere. And, I want…”

Even with an arm over her face and her legs attempting to clamp tight around where Rosaria is holding her thighs apart, Barbara still doesn’t have the nerve to continue speaking. The embarrassment she’s feeling is hot and bright, and Barbara swallows the urge to turn and roll away. 

Once she realises Barbara has little left to say, though, Rosaria returns to motion - she pets at the insides of Barbara’s thighs, humming low and pleased in her chest, so close that Barbara can feel the way her shoulders shift as she reaches in closer to touch. “You want so little,” Rosaria says, though her voice is warm and amused, as though she can imagine just how much Barbara has left unsaid. “But such little things are fine. If you want my fingers and my mouth, then I’ll happily give them to you, since you asked so nicely.”

Barbara pulls her arm from her face, peering down at Rosaria with flushed cheeks and an open expression, her lashes heavy against her cheeks. She doesn’t know what to say, but Rosaria doesn’t seem to be expecting for her to say anything at all; instead, her eyes flicker down to the bare expense of Barbara’s thighs, and Barbara takes in a deep breath as her hands slide up, higher, until she’s reaching fully under the thin skirt of Barbara’s dress. Her fingers just graze the tops of Barbara’s thighs, gently catching at the delicate lace of Barbara’s panties, and Barbara’s stomach dips so hard she can’t breathe for a moment.

“Are you wet?” Rosaria asks, her eyes still trained between Barbara’s thighs as she slowly, carefully begins to shift the loose skirt of Barbara’s dress further up her thighs, revealing more skin than Barbara has ever shown another person. Barbara nods, hardly able to speak, and another one of those razorblade smiles quirks Rosaria’s lips. “Is it for me?”

She’s teasing, Barbara realises. There’s no way she can’t tell exactly how Barbara is feeling, no way she doesn’t know that the slickness growing between Barbara’s thighs is because of her - for her, even. “Yes,” Barbara says anyway, her voice trembling as Rosaria’s thumbs begin to slowly, gently stroke towards her inner thighs, right where she’s beginning to grow slick. “It is.”

Rosaria makes a lovely noise at that - warm and so pleased. “Is that so,” she says, but it’s less of a question and more of a statement. Barbara’s skirt is still riding further up her thighs, and she can hear it when Rosaria finally pulls it up far enough to see her plain white panties, quickly growing sticky with how wet Barbara is. It’s nothing but a slight inhale, but it has Barbara squirming all the same.

“Oh,” Rosaria breathes after a pause, sounding so pleased that it makes Barbara shiver down her spine. “How cute.”

Barbara opens her mouth to respond - to say thank you, please, anything - but before she can speak, Rosaria is leaning in just a little further and pressing her long, slender fingers against Barbara’s cunt through the thin cotton of her panties. It makes Barbara gasp and jerk, her hips twitching in reflex, and Rosaria grins, wide and slow. “Rosaria!”

“Is it good?” Rosaria asks, as though it isn’t plain to see. Barbara’s cheeks are flushed so hot with embarrassment that it burns, burning ever hotter when Rosaria draws her thumb over her clit. “Yes? Do you want more?”

“Yes,” Barbara gasps, her hips jumping as Rosaria’s thumb finds her clit and begins to work in tiny circles, keeping the pressure constant enough it makes Barbara dizzy. “Oh, Gods, yes -”

Before Barbara has time to pull herself together, Rosaria’s hands leave her suddenly. It leaves Barbara feeling as though a bucket of water has been upended over her, and she blinks up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes for a moment, feeling Rosaria shift between her legs. Then, her legs are lifted, her thighs resting on Rosaria’s shoulders, and all she can make out is the soft feathers of Rosaria’s wings as she says, “What-”

Before she can manage any more, Rosaria is leaning in and pressing a kiss to Barbara’s knee - something soft and barely-there. She tilts her head, careful of her horns, and presses another a little higher, watching Barbara intently as she opens her mouth a little, letting her lips linger for longer on Barbara’s skin. Then another, against the soft swell of Barbara’s thigh - and another, another, another, until her kisses become so biting and dirty that they make Barbara whimper, her lips a breath away from Barbara’s panties.

“Lay back,” Rosaria murmurs, her lips brushing over a tender spot on Barbara’s thighs that are sure to bruise from the way she’d pressed her teeth into the softness of her skin. “Let me ruin you for everybody else.”

Barbara’s head has barely touched the pillow before Rosaria is hiking her legs up a little higher, pressing in a little closer, and pressing her mouth to Barbara’s pussy over the thin cotton of her underwear. It makes Barbara gasp so loud she has to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle it, her hips jerking beneath Rosaria’s hands. “Oh, oh my - my Gods, Rosaria-”

Rosaria pays her little mind; she laves her tongue over Barbara’s underwear, getting her so wet the cotton sticks to her skin. It makes Barbara feel as though she’s alight, and she can’t quite control the noises she’s making, even with a hand over her own mouth to muffle herself. 

It’s the first time she’s ever been touched like this by another person, and it’s nothing like Barbara had imagined; already Barbara’s hips are chasing the heat of Rosaria’s mouth, the movement of her tongue through the thin fabric.

“Please,” Barbara gasps, gripping at the bedsheets so tightly her knuckles turn white. “Oh, Gods, please, Rosaria !”

Barbara can feel the way Rosaria’s mouth tilts into a smile, can feel the way she grips Barbara a little tighter to still the movement of her hips as she tries to ride against the sensation of Rosaria’s mouth on her clit, suckling through her panties. She’s teary-eyed with how much she wants - how much she wants Rosaria to hold her harder against the bed, until her fingers leave mottled colours behind that will leave her remembering for days; how much she wants Rosaria’s mouth against her, all skin on skin.

“Please,” Barbara asks again, a sudden swell of courage convincing her to speak, to tell Rosaria, regardless of the pitchiness of her voice or the way her thighs are already shaking with how much she wants to come. “I want - I want it, I want your mouth, please give it to me, please-

Rosaria pulls away in one sharp motion, staring at Barbara with a vaguely surprised look. “You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you,” she says, but it’s less of a question and more of a statement. It makes Barbara burn with embarrassment because it’s true, she is. “You want my mouth, my darling?”

Barbara nods, her breath coming in short little inhales. Rosaria smiles at that, looking perfectly pleased, and leans away just enough to tangle her fingers in the thin cotton of Barbara’s panties. She glances up at Barbara with eyes as black as night right as she tugs - and with just one sharp jerk, Barbara’s panties tear right along the seams, until Rosaria is pulling her hands away with nothing but little scraps of fabric in each hand.

Barbara makes a scandalised noise, watching as Rosaria dumps the scraps unceremoniously by the bed, and Rosaria grins at her with a smile that makes Barbara feel like she’s about to be eaten. “I’ll make you forget all about it,” she promises, pushing her way between Barbara’s legs once more. Barbara just blinks, her anger fading, and she nods a little dumbly as Rosaria skims her lips over the dimples in her thighs.

That’s all the warning Barbara gets before Rosaria brings her lips up higher and tilts her head until her mouth is pressed to the slickness of Barbara’s cunt. “Oh,” Barbara gasps, her thighs squeezing closed around Rosaria’s head despite her attempts to keep them open. She’s helpless but to watch through half-lidded eyes as Rosaria watches her , licking over her cunt with slow, even strokes of her tongue. “Oh, I - I can’t, I-”

Rosaria starts out gentle, her tongue pressing over Barbara just enough that it serves to make her wetter. With the next few passes of her tongue, though, Rosaria grows a little firmer, until she presses her tongue over Barbara’s clit in a way that makes Barbara shudder, moaning loud and open as her hands scrabble for purchase against anything she can find.

The first thing Barbara’s hands find is the smooth, cool surface of Rosaria’s horns, and she pulls without thinking of it, half-mindless with her pleasure. Rosaria stills suddenly between her thighs, turning just as statuesque as she had been in that circle of salt, and somehow, her eyes turn impossibly darker. Something like fear flutters in the centre of Barbara’s chest, her self-preservation instincts finally kicking in, and she gasps, “I’m - I’m so sorry, Rosaria, I-”

Before Barbara can get another word out, Rosaria shudders against her, her dark eyes fluttering closed. It’s the closest Rosaria has come to losing control this entire time, and Barbara almost doesn’t know what to do with it. Instead of pulling away or pressing her thighs open until Rosaria can push away, she just grasps a little more firmly, right until Rosaria moans against her cunt. 

That’s all the warning Barbara gets; something in Rosaria seems to have come undone, and she feels like an entirely different threat when she draws away from Barbara, her mouth wet and lips pink. She slides her hands beneath the waistline of Barbara’s dress with ease, lifting it up Barbara’s body, and her voice is deadly calm when she says, “take this off or I’ll tear it from you.”

Barbara thinks vaguely of the tattered white panties and scrambles to help before she can even think about what she’s doing; she shucks off her cardigan and grips at the skirt of her dress until she can pull it up and over her head. She hardly has time to shake her hair free before Rosaria is pushing her back down with her hands on Barbara’s hips, her fingers moving to slip over Barbara’s wet cunt.

“I wonder if all of you church girls are this devious,” Rosaria says, and there’s a barely-controlled edge to her voice that makes Barbara’s cunt throb. She can’t help the way her hands find their way straight back to Rosaria’s horns, and she can’t help the way her hips jerk when Rosaria moans through grit teeth. “What a wonderfully evil little thing you are.”

“No,” Barbara manages, her voice shaking. “I didn’t - I don’t-”

“You’re letting a demon eat your pretty pussy and pressing your hips against my face as though your life depends on it,” Rosaria hisses, one hand sliding from Barbara’s hips, up the dip of her waist, until she’s flicking her thumb over Barbara’s soft pink nipples. “You’re just as wicked as I am, aren’t you? Is it that, or are you just a little slut for me ?”

Barbara’s head spins so hard that all she can do is cling to Rosaria. She can feel herself dripping at Rosaria’s words, can feel the way her thighs and ass are wet and sticky with her own slick. “I - I don’t know,” Barbara gasps, her eyes stinging with tears. She’s so desperately embarrassed - embarrassed by how much she loves this, embarrassed by how deeply she wants Rosaria to talk to her, to tell her all of these nasty little things Barbara has always wanted to hear. 

“I think you do,” Rosaria says, her voice silken. The fingers of her free hand come to trace Barbara’s wet cunt, brushing over Barbara’s clit again and again until she’s whining and gasping. “If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have summoned me in the first place. Your desperation allows me to see straight through you.” 

Barbara squeezes her eyes closed, grasping a little tighter at Rosaria’s horns. “If - if you know so much,” she manages, feeling uncharacteristically brave, “then you should just - do it.”

There’s a moment of silence; Rosaria’s hand stills between her thighs. Barbara’s heart begins to thump in her chest, but she only tightens her hands and tries to stop the trembling of her hands. “Well,” Rosaria eventually says, her voice warm and pleased. “A cute little human like you ordering me around. What a first.”

“Sorry,” Barbara squeaks. Rosaria looks up at her, silently amused.

“No, no, you’re right,” Rosaria says, her lips quirking as she watches Barbara. The expression on Rosaria’s face makes her squirm, and Rosaria’s knuckles press into the soft swells of her thighs as she moves. “I should just do it.”

That’s all the warning Barbara gets; before she can react further, Rosaria leans in and presses her mouth back to her cunt with a smirk still playing at her flushed mouth. Barbara gasps before she can help herself, her back arching and her thighs clenching around Rosaria’s head. Rosaria pays her no mind - she just licks at Barbara’s clit in slow pulls, tracing her fingers against Barbara’s cunt as she watches her.

It’s humiliating, almost, how wet Barbara is; the sound of it is loud in the quiet of the room, and it only serves to make Barbara feel hotter, to make that curl of heat between her thighs burn brighter. Rosaria is working Barbara over with languorous presses of her tongue, teasing at Barbara’s entrance with the tips of her fingers.

“Do you want my fingers?” Rosaria asks, her lips sliding against Barbara’s wet cunt. Barbara nods, and Barbara feels Rosaria smile against her. “Ask me nicely.”

“Please give me your fingers,” Barbara says, resisting the urge to pull Rosaria closer by her horns. “I - oh, I want-”

“Want, want, want,” Rosaria murmurs, just edging on cruel in a way that makes Barbara ache. “If you’re so desperate, then let me give it to you.”

Before Barbara can respond, Rosaria shuffles closer, and slowly, gently presses two fingers into the tight, wet heat of Barbara’s cunt. Barbara’s lashes flutter, her back arching at the sensation of it, and she can’t help the drawn-out, breathless little oh she makes when Rosaria fills her up completely.

“Good?” Rosaria asks, her lips brushing Barbara’s clit, and it takes a moment for Barbara to be able to nod in response. Rosaria breathes out a laugh before she begins to move her fingers, sliding them from Barbara’s pussy in one unhurried motion. “Perfect.”

Barbara’s thighs are already shaking as Rosaria picks up the pace of her hand between Barbara’s legs, mouthing over Barbara’s clit with her wet lips as she watches Barbara fall apart. When Rosaria crooks her fingers, scissoring them and crooking them with just enough pressure that it has Barbara crying out, tearing up a little with the mess of sensations that leave her feeling muddled and breathless.

“I’m so close,” Barbara gasps, screwing her eyes closed. “Rosaria, please, I’m - I’m so close, I-”

Rosaria doesn’t reply; instead, she fucks Barbara harder with her fingers, watching her with dark, lovely eyes as she sucks at her clit. Barbara’s fingers are grasping so hard at Rosaria’s horns her knuckles are turning white, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, and the sensation of it all is so overwhelming it makes her head spin.

She’s so close she can’t help the way that she’s whimpering, tears streaking down the curves of her cheeks as she pants for air. When Rosaria pulls away from her clit, Barbara can’t help the way she sobs, trying not to pull her in closer. A moment passes, and Rosaria slips in another finger, easing Barbara through the stretch of it with whispers of good girl, that’s it, taking it so well for me. 

Still, Barbara is so wet that the stretch quickly fades into delicious friction - a sensation hot and so good that sits in the cradle of Barbara’s hips like something molten, and she’s rocking her hips back into the sensation before she can help herself. As soon as Barbara begins to move with her, the fingers of one hand shifting to the sheets to clench tight, Rosaria crooks her fingers up, pressing right against a spot that makes Barbara wail.

“Are you going to come for me?” Rosaria murmurs, her breath hot against Barbara’s cunt. “Are you going to let me make you come like this? You’re so wet for me. Can you give me more?”

Barbara nods, mindless with the sensation of it all, and it doesn’t take long for Barbara to come as Rosaria works her over. Her breath catches in her throat, her back arching, and she can’t help the way she moans, loud and open in the quiet of the room. She can almost feel how pleased Rosaria is between her legs, her fingers working Barbara through her orgasm until she feels warm and loose-limbed, dizzy as she comes down from it.

Somehow, Barbara doesn’t expect Rosaria to stay with her through it - if anything, she anticipates her disappearing in something like a puff of brimstone in one last display of drama. Instead, Rosaria moves up and leans in to cradle her face, wiping away Barbara’s tears as she takes deep, watery gasps of air. Rosaria watches her with such an immensely pleased expression that it’s almost overwhelming, and Barbara blinks with wet lashes, watching Rosaria watch her

“That’s it,” Rosaria murmurs, her hand firm around Barbara’s jaw. “Good girl.”

Barbara’s head spins at the praise, and she just about manages a breathless laugh. “Thank you,” she says, though as her orgasm fades, she can feel herself becoming aware of the way she’s sprawled out beneath Rosaria. “Oh, Gods,” Barbara says after a moment, her voice a mumble. “Did I - did I bleed? Was it bad?”

Rosaria glances at her with an expression that almost looks like surprise before her expression morphs into amusement. “You didn’t bleed,” she says. “Though if you had, it wouldn’t have been an issue.”

“But it’s blood, ” Barbara mumbles. Rosaria breathes out a laugh, petting the inside of Barbara’s thighs. “Isn’t that - bad?”

“I just made you cum on my fingers. Do you think a few drops of blood could change my mind?”

Barbara chokes on an inhale. “I mean - well, when you put it like that-”

“Silly girl,” Rosaria murmurs, interrupting Barbara before she can continue stumbling through a response. Her voice sounds surprisingly fond, and Barbara falls silent easily, watching Rosaria with her words trapped in her throat. Suddenly, Rosaria once more looks like that great, statuesque, otherworldly creature that had appeared in the middle of Barbara’s room, but the sense of trepidation Barbara had felt at first has morphed into something Barbara can’t quite describe with words.

The quiet stretches between the two stretches, and the tension settles around the two of them in a way that makes Barbara feel as though it’s a little hard to breathe. After a moment, though, Rosaria straightens, and she looks just as flawless as she had when she first appeared in that ring of salt in the middle of Barbara’s bedroom. “The contract has been fulfilled, technically,” she says, breaking the tension and smoothing out her hair with a lazy flick of her hand. “But do you think this will be the last time I see you, Barbara?”

Barbara can’t help but giggle, leaning in towards Rosaria, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. “It should be,” she says, watching as Rosaria watches her. “But I’m not sure it will be.”

Rosaria smiles at that - it’s a proper smile that’s just as sharp and as dangerous as before, but it sends a delicious little thrill through Barbara that she finds she rather likes. “I’m happy to hear that,” Rosaria tells her, leaning in just enough to stroke her fingers over Barbara’s cheek, along the line of her jaw, until she’s holding Barbara’s face in her hand. “I’ll see you soon, then, yes? You know how to call me.”

It sounds more like a promise than a question. Barbara smiles despite herself, and with one last caress of Rosaria’s thumb over Barbara’s cheek, Rosaria is gone. 

There’s a moment of silence that stretches like taffy before Barbara laughs, shocked and half-hysterical. “What on earth,” she mumbles, falling back against the mussed bedsheets as she thinks of great black wings and the salt still lining her bedroom floor, the lines smudged and broken.