Blaze's Servitors

From the shadows they came, slinking slowly, things that crawled which aught to have walked—yet it seemed to Lois as she watched them that they were perfectly fit and comfortable on hands and knees, arching their backs, asses in the air, as though it was their most natural place.

They were women, or so Lois thought she ought to call them. I general outline they were human, if humans had been shaped in wind tunnels and striped black and scarlet. Narrow torsos with breasts that were mere buds flowed smoothly into narrow hips and tight, muscular asses, not an ounce of fat on them, muscles bunching beneath the taut skin as they slunk and stalked forward, heads bowed.

None of them had eyes. The pale expanse of their forehead continued down uninterrupted into their cheeks, and they smelled the air, forked tongues tasting their way along like snakes. Lois stared at them, and quickly perceived that the combination of markings on each one was unique.

On each wrist and ankle was a manacle, black iron inlaid with gold in beautiful, elaborate geometric patterns. On each neck a collar of the same workmanship.

They came sniffing up to Blaze, as dogs might to a master. Lois' lover ignored them, striding toward the bed, carrying the human out of their reach.

"What are they?" Lois whispered.

"Servitors. Souls, bought and paid for. Pay them no mind, sweetmeat." The demon spoke soothingly as she lay Lois down amid the furs on the altar-bed. "They're good girls, eager to help. Perhaps if you'd enjoy it, later we might have one or two of them join us...they're quite skilled, in their small way."

Blaze's hand cupped the reporter's crotch. "But none of them can have what I have—and none of them can give me what you will." Her smile widened as

Lois stretched out on the bread, not resisting the demon's casual handling of her cunny.

"Speaking of which," Lois reached down and laid her hand on Blaze's thigh. "I meant what I said, about being bred all night. Are you up for it?"