She seems dressed in all the rings
Of past fatalities
-

She looked good in red, but she looked even better when he was fucking her against red satin sheets or  when her blood would flow slowly over her brown skin as he fucked her hard against black silk sheets. She memorized him with the way the vermillion sheets draped over her body, her blood splayed over her flesh.

Glancing over at his query that laid helpless and broken in her bed, he brought his left hand over to her bruised shoulder, over the large bite marks placed there. Ignoring her shiver, he trailed his hand over the ragged flesh, and then on down her back where it rested upon the left cheek of her full bottom. Squeezing lightly, he let go of her, eying her once more as he vanished into the darkness.

-

She always loved this time of year; the lights, sounds, colors and smells of the holidays always seemed to lift her spirits. She felt at peace. But this year it seemed as if the sanctity of that happiness would be ruined. For nearly a year he had been on a relentless pursuit of her body, mind, and soul.

Like an apparition, he came to her and haunted her every night. His form had changed from the hot rocker to a more suave gentleman, but those hot, burning hands that assaulted her never did. And neither did his vivid golden eyes. He would take her to the brink, push her body as far as he could, to find his ecstasy though her pleasure and pain. He claimed her every night and littered her body with his marks, and bathing her in his scent.

She remembered after the first few times she would vomit violently at the smell and spend hours in the tub trying to be rid of it. But she could never escape his scent, just like she could never escape him.

He wouldn’t allow it.

-

The phone rang, it’s shrill tone the only sound that could be heard in the apartment. At first she didn’t hear it for the noise had yet to break into her into consciousness. But as it continued, she slowly came around, her leaden body protesting movement. Just as she was about to move a weak arm towards her nightstand to retrieve the phone, the answering machine sounded causing her arm to drop.

“Layla! Hey girl, I was just calling to see if you were coming home for Christmas; Mama misses you somethin’ fierce. Anyway girl, I’ll talk to you later.” She smiled as her sisters voice rang out into the room. Then the smile turned to a grimace as the pain in her body caught up to her. She carefully rolled to her side before she gingerly sat up.

It had the sort of oil in water effect, for she felt a rush go through her body and her eyes felt droopy, her body faint. She quickly shot a hand out, grabbing her head board as she closed her eyes and counted to ten.

After the last number she reached for the water and medicine she knew would be placed on her nightstand. It had become a habit, a ritual, a necessity. She took the red ones for the pain, the white one for anxiety and panic attacks, and the blue one to keep her sane and free from depression.

She had become somewhat of a loner ever since she began receiving her nightly caller. Her friends one by one ditched her claiming she was crazy and her dates all ended up fearful of a second venture with her and would promptly act as if she never existed. She had been in and out of the doctor’s office and had been prescribed enough meds to make her bled the shit.

Yet none of it helped much; he still came for her every night and she was still alone.

-

Once she had taken her meds and had gotten cleaned up and dressed, she left her home for work, her boring nine to five that paid the bills and placed food on her table. The office was decorated in tacky green and red garnishes, with happy holiday signs to keep everything P.C.

She sat at her desk, fully prepared to get started with the day’s tasks when Marcy, Her boss, shuffled over to her desk quickly. “Layla dear,” The woman started saccharinely, her nasally voice slightly grating on Layla’s already frayed nerves. “Corporate is hosting a Christmas party and we are being asked to attend; it’s a masquerade. Here is your invitation, hope to see you there.” The woman prattled, placing an envelope in Layla’s hands before leaving to bother some other soul.

Layla eyed the envelope curiously, her hands running over the expensive paper. Opening it, she took out the invitation, her eyes running over the neatly typed cursive letters on the expensive and elegant cardstock.

She read over the invite, snorting to herself at the thought of a “plus one”. She could see it now, she and her violator dancing and smoozing it up with all the higher ups. And they would be the picture of elegance, as he would lead her through the waltz, and show everyone that she wasn’t some crazy spinster.

And after the party was over, they would go back to her place where he would fuck her yet again, once hard and rough against her door, and another time in her bed. And before her fantasy could take hold of her, her boss squawked at some poor soul, knocking her from her daydreams and forcing her to push down the heat and arousal she felt.

She pressed her thighs together and squirmed in her seat.

-

Climatic hands that press her temples and my chest
-

That night, when he came to her, the blue eyes of his container caught the sight of her splayed out on her bed, sleep upon pristine white sheets. His eyes then burned to their demonic golden hue as he snapped his finger. The white sheets turned red and they were both divested of her clothing.

In her sleep she shivered, her body feeling the coolness in the room. He smirked as he walked toward her sleeping form. With a flick of his wrist she was on her back, and with one more her form was restrained, invisible ropes pulling her arms and legs taunt presenting her body to his hungry eyes.

He watched raptly as he placed his cool rough palm against her warm cheek. She moaned lightly and pushed her face into the hand causing his smirk to deepen. The hand trailed down her cheek and towards her breasts. She arched into the hand that cupped her and whimpered lightly. He slipped into her thoughts, pleased by the fact that her dreams were of him and the sweet torture he sowed on her body.

His hand left her breast and curious fingers ran down her abdomen and cupped her sex. She cried out for him as two thick fingers ran up and down her slit, pausing to play with her clit. And when the fingers where roughly shoved inside her, her eyes flew open, as she gasped and cried and screamed for him.

“My sweet Layla” He murmured, his golden eyes staring into her brown ones with unadulterated desire.

-

Hard to say what caught my attention
Fixed and crazy... Aphid attraction
-

I'm a slave and I am a master

-

Thinking of the past was a very tedious addiction; that’s one of the first things he learned. That was the first lesson he taught his consort. The past is where it belongs and it is your job to move on from it. To dwell on things that can’t be changed, was pointless and insane; things still wouldn’t change for you would still be staring at the pile of shit wishing it were gold.

His consort.

His little piece of heaven on the hell that was Earth. A god whose main source of entertainment came from the pussy of a mere mortal. Oh how the mighty had fallen. He could hear his eldest sister cackle in delight at his situation.

His fingers tightened around the glass of bourbon he was holding. He vaguely wondered why he found her so enticing. He had seen and had better looking women, had broken and destroyed stronger and more innocent women. He had had some of the purest of hearts and some of the darkest.

And yet he had never stayed with them as long as he stayed with his Layla. She was spirited, bold and brazen before he broke her. And while he was breaking her she put up quite the fight. He remembered when she would go out other men with thoughts of dispelling him. He made sure that not another man would approach her while his claim was upon her.

He wanted to let go of her but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She was his obsession; while he was her master, he was still slave to her body. She was his home just like soon he would be hers.

-

She is everything and more... The solemn hypnotic
My Dahlia, bathed in possesion
She is home to me

-

After finishing his nightly duties, he turned to watch her sleep once more. Her chocolate skin had long since lost the sickly pallor that it had adapted in the early stages of their relationship. His golden eyes trailed over her lithe, voluptuous body pausing when they caught sight of the hand shaped bruised on her hips.

That night had been a softer night for the sheets were red. He watched as she sighed and snored lightly, her breathing light and her dreams heavy. He slipped back into her mind to watch her dreams. From the shadows, the voyeur watched her dream of a family, of things that she thought he couldn’t give her, things that he wouldn’t give her.

From the shadows he watched in jealousy, rage, and disgust as a man with no face, held and loved his dear Layla. 

Slipping out of her dreams once more, he sneered in disgust at the sight before him. He lowered his hand back to her body, grabbing the same bruise hip that he used for leverage during sex, and poured all the pain and anger her could into his grip.

Layla’s eyes snapped open with a whimper, her fearful brown eyes gazing into his blazing gold ones. She tried to move from his grasp, but only succeeded in making the pain worse and his grasp tighter.

“I will have you Layla, make no mistake about it.” He whispered coldly before he vanished into the shadows. A sob broke from Layla’s lips, leaving her to cry bitterly to sleep.

-

She always dreamed of him at night, of his calloused heavy hands that would scorch hot paths on her flesh. She dreamed of him making love to her body slowly and softly, as if he was in love with her. He would whisper her name into her ear, and speak in the languages of the world. He would whisper about how wet she was in Italian, how much he loved fucking her in Russian, how tight she was in French.

He would even whisper how he loved her in English.

His breath would heat her skin, and as he bit her neck once more, claiming her with his mark and spilling her blood on to white sheets, she would explode into a thousand pieces. And he would be there, holding her as she rode it out, his golden eyes staring into hers.

How she dreamed of him.

-

She hadn’t given the office Christmas party much thought; ever since that fateful night when she met him, she had been turned off by the aspect of partying. But when Martin Draper asked her for her company as his date for the night, Layla was honestly shocked.  Months of being treated as a leper by the opposite sex left her unprepared to accept a date properly.

But after a few sputtered and stuttered sentences, Martin finally got an answer, and Layla had a date for the Christmas party. She vaguely wondered if he was finally finished with her. She ignored the part of her that pained at the thought.

-
I exist through my needs... to self-oblige
She is something in me that I despise

-

She avoided him; somehow she had managed to avoid him. It seemed his beloved Layla had grown her backbone and took her faith back up vehemently, having her apartment blessed and exorcised.  He cursed as tried to force his way back to his home, only to be thwarted each time.

His golden eyes bled into onyx as his form shifted. He grew taller than his container’s original height of six feet, and his features became more angular and regal. His nails grew longer, his teeth sharper, and his hair longer. The muscles in his body grew more sinewy and the air began to crackle with dark ancient magicks. The stench of death began to fill the hall.

In a flash, He appeared outside her window, the portal that blocked him from her. He watched as she tossed and turned in her sleep, her brow creased in a frown. He placed a power laced hand on the glass and pressed his body as close as he could to it.

“Layla” a demonic voice, neither man nor woman whispered to the wind, calling out to her. Her head snapped in his direction, her eyes still shut, her body still asleep. A dark, unisex chuckle sounded from his new form. “I shall be home soon.”

Onyx eyes rested on the girls form, settling on her stomach for a brief moment, before he disappeared into thin air.

-

I won't let this build up inside of me

-

Layla woke up feeling more like herself; she hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Calling Father Abernathy from St. Vincent’s had been the right thing to do, and Layla didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before. For the first time it felt like she could breathe again, that she didn’t have to take her meds.

She got out of bed, and went about her normal routine, only pausing when she became slightly queasy. After her brief sickness passed, she set out to complete her tasks before taking off for the day.

Her vehement denial kept her from dwelling on the fact that she missed him.

-

She got through the day easy enough: she and Martin made plans for the Christmas party, and she did her job as usual. During her lunch break she stopped by a quaint boutique three blocks down from her office and bought a gown and some shoes.

After lunch, she went back to work to finish her shift. When she arrived to her desk a bouquet of the darkest, red roses she had ever seen were set on her desk with a little white card nestled in with them. She stared at them in shock and fear; her body grew tense and her breathing became more rapid.

Marcy approached her, eying the roses with envy, before looking back at her employee with unveiled jealousy. “Well aren’t you gonna read the card and see who they’re from. It’s not every day a lady is fortunate enough to get roses, especially not as many as you received” The elder woman lectured saccharinely. Nodding stupidly, nervous and shaking hands reached for the card, plucking it away from the roses.

“Soon” Marcy muttered reading over Layla’s shoulder. As the woman continued to talk, her words began to drown out to pure sounds that faded into nothing. And then there was darkness.

-

Layla couldn’t help but rush out of her office after her panic attack. She sped down the highway and all but ran to her apartment. In the safety of her home she relaxed, taking off her jacket and kicking her heels off of her feet.

She walked to her bedroom, and over to her answering machine to review the day’s messages.

“Layla, this is your mother calling. Just wondering when you were coming home and if you were bringing any male friends along with you. Love you and hope to talk to you soon.”

Layla smiled at her mother’s voice and made a mental note to call her back after her messages were done. Layla sat down on her bed and began taking off her jewelry while the next message started.

At first only static could be heard. And then his voice.

“My sweet Layla, I see you have gotten my gift though they are not as lovely as you. I have told you many times my pet that I intend on having you, but it seems you have thought I was joking. Soon, my love, soon I will be back home where I belong. Till we meet again.”

The recording stopped, and the machine beeped. Layla rushed to her feet and stumbled to her bathroom, where she bent over her toilet and promptly threw up.

-

It was the night of the Christmas party and Layla found herself in front of a full length mirror, eying her form. Her dress was a beautiful vintage strapless affair that clung to her bust and fell down her torso, and flowed down her legs. It was the color that drew her to it, a deep vermilion that reminded her of hot scorching hands and golden eyes.

Her hair flowed down her back in soft curls and her makeup was reminiscent of a fifty’s pin up. She seemed to have a glow about her, and when her date gathered her at six sharp she had cast all of her problems away.

The old Layla was back; and as she left, golden eyes that were quickly changing black followed her every move.

-

Corporate had rented out the largest ballroom available in the hotel it decided would house the event. Many members of the company were there in their tuxedos and ball gowns all with masks upon their faces to stay true to this year’s theme.

Martin wore a silver mask to match his grey suit, while Layla wore a simple golden mask. Together the duo made their way into the ballroom, where they danced, smoozed, and laughed the night away.

Somewhere, a clock struck twelve, marking the start of the witching hour. Sharp, elongated teeth made up a fearsome smile as he transformed from his true form back into his container.

-

Layla had been dancing the waltz with Martin for the fourth time that night, when she felt a shift in the air. It was as if the air crackled with an unrestrained power. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she knew it meant only one thing… He was there.

-

I get nervous, perverse, when I see her it's worse

-

He found his darling Layla, and was once again mystified by the vision she presented. The deep hue of her dress thoroughly reminded him of the many sessions in which the black sheets were involved. When he would have her blood spilled upon her body as he thrusted deep within her wanton slit, filling her with his seed.

His pants grew tight at the thought while his eyes narrowed. The man who thought he could steal his consort away was placing his filthy mortal hands on her, causing a fierce wave of rage and possessive jealously to ripple through him.

He moved through the crowd, ignoring the many who were enthralled to his figure like moths to the flame. He only had eyes for one woman. And tonight, they would be going home.

-

All movement in the room stopped. The loud din of everyone talking at once ceased, leaving an eerie silence. She stepped back from Martin with a frown on her face, only to feel a warm hand grab her hip, pulling her roughly into a strong solid body behind her. The hand moved across her waist to rest on the other side while another warm palm hers captive.

As they began to sway, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata began to fill the room, adding to the trepidation she felt as the hands that ensnared her tightened, as if they were afraid to let her go. Lips found her right ear, bushing against her sensitive skin, causing her to gasp lightly.

“How I have missed you.” The mumbled words filled her ears, and her eyes closed at the sound. “Oh how I have missed my sweet, sweet Layla.” As the music played on, his soft whispers trailed down her spine.

“You shall be my wife, your dowry 'greed on. And, will you, nill you, I will marry you. Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn. For, by this light, whereby I see thy beauty. Thy beauty that doth make me like thee well. Thou must be married to no man but me. For I am he am born to tame you, Kate, and bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate conformable as other household Kates. Never make denial. I must and will have Katherine to my wife.” The monologue that Petruchio spoke to Katherine fell heavy on her soul, her life sentence to be the wife of this creature whose name she didn’t know. 

“My name is Maximus Konstantin the first, my sweet Layla. I am demon from hell, and you shall be mine forever.” The words came as if he read her mind while the hands grew hot on her skin, and Layla’s eyes snapped open. She gasped when she realized that she was no longer in the gauche ballroom but in a bedroom which she had never seen before. Moonlight flooded the room from colossal French windows, illuminating the large dark bed placed in the center of the space.

She gasped once more as she became disrobed, and restrained on a large canopy bed atop white sheets. A dark chuckle filled the room, and golden eyes stared at her from across the room. “That was a very naughty thing you did my love, warding me from our home.” 

Slowly the eyes grew closer, the hungry gaze feasting on the naked body before it, causing a sharp spike of lust to course through her. Another chuckle sounded. “But then I realized that it was just your way of forcing me to become more serious about my claim on you.”

Invisible hands caressed her bare skin, teasing her nipples into hard peaks and lightly stroking her clit. Layla whimpered softly, her lidded eyes meeting his gaze head on. “I realized that you wanted to make sure that we had a strong home for our child.” Hot hands reached out and rested on her flat abdomen, the rough calloused fingers grazed her skin, adding to her desire. 

“You wanted a family of your own; the husband and child whom you could love and cherish. You wanted me to give that to you.” Lips found her stomach, causing her to arch towards them, a ragged moan spilling from her lips. 

The lips trailed further down grazing her slit and inner thighs while invisible hands continued to caress her breasts. Two fingers found their way inside her center and she was lost. The fingers moved inside her slowly, a pace she didn’t think he was capable of. His mouth found her clit and sucked lightly on the bundle, nipping it gently. 

Soon invisible hands were replaced with real ones and the two fingers were replaced by a long throbbing manhood. He thrusted into her deeply and slowly, his hands gripping her hips and her legs wrapped around his back. The pace was slower but the pain, the brutality, and the pleasure were all still there. 

She cried out as he repeatedly hit her spot. She was close. 

“Say my name.” He whispered in her ear, causing to whimper. 

“Maximus” She moaned sweetly as he hit her spot once more. 

“Again.” He demanded, his pace increasing. 

“Ma-Maximus” She stuttered her voice almost breaking. Her thighs began to quiver. 

“Louder.” He yelled, his thrusts painfully fast and deep. 

“MA-MAX!” she screamed as she came apart, her body arching into his, her eyes rolling, her toes curling and her body as light as air.

“MINE!” he roared, biting her the junction between her neck and collarbone as he began to ride out his orgasm, his seed pumping deep within her body. Her blood flowed from her wound, dripping onto white sheets and running slowly down her body. 

“Yours.” Layla whispered.  

And all she saw was gold.