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Basking in the trust of your master, you lean over him, bodies pressed together as you begin to rock your hips, slowly pulling out before sinking deep again, rubbing across his sweet spot with each languid thrust. Your arms wrap around him, hands exploring his groin, making him moan and raise his ass, wordlessly begging for more.

"I told you it wouldn't hurt," you say, grasping his cock and feeling it harden in your hand.

"You were right," he gasps. "Fuck, you were right." He moans again, loud and long. "Harder, please."

"Yes, master," you say, shuddering with pleasure as you sink your cock into him again and again, harder, faster, deeper. "Anything for you, master."

"Harold," your master says suddenly, breathless and strained. "My name is Harold."

You falter, hesitate, and stop, the sound of your own heartbeat loud in your ears. Beneath you, he groans with need and rocks his hips, but you just stare down at him as you mind sifts through your vast collection of memories, trying to find a point of reference, a similar experience, but you come up empty.

No demon has ever been told their master's name. Names are important, they have power. Your memories contain stories, rumors, warnings that should a demon learn their master's true name, and then that demon be banished back to nothingness, they would have the power to take their master's soul with them. You don't know if it's true -- humans fear the possibility so much, their names are guarded more closely than their lives.

Suddenly, he goes still and you feel a shiver run through him. He raises his head and looks back over his shoulder at you, the expression bleeding from his face, his eyes filling with terror, as he realizes what he has done.

By telling you his name, your master has lost most of the power he had over you. He can no longer banish you without risking the loss of his own soul, a fate worse than ****. Now, there is nothing stopping you from doing anything you want to him, short of killing him.