The cold stone floor bit into my knees as I settled on all fours before her, my Mistress and Goddess. Candles flickered in alcoves, casting a hellish glow. The air was heavy with incense smoke and the ripe scent of dark worship.
Cyn stood above, a vision of depravity in black leather. Her eyes blazed as she took in my prostrate form. Her full lips curved in a wicked smile.
“On your knees, slut,” she purred. Her voice was a silken rasp that stroked my spine. “Face the altar. Present yourself.”
I shuffled forward on hands and knees until my mouth pressed to the cold stone. The musk of her arousal perfumed the air. I could feel her eyes devouring every quiver and twitch of my helpless body.
“Spread wider,” she commanded coldly. “Ass up, face down. Yesss.”
I obeyed, arching my back and raising my ass in the air. My cock jutted obscenely between my legs, trickling with humiliating arousal. She hummed in approval.
“Good little altar boy. Now hold the candles.”
Her heels clicked closer. I felt the heat of her nearness. Then the cold press of metal against my skin as she slid a heavy candle stand beneath my chest. The rack was form-fitted to my body, the candles splayed out around me in a blasphemous parody of crucifixion. Leather cuffs encircled my wrists, securing me in place.
“Brutal,” I groaned, my cock twitching. The degradation was exquisite. I was pinned, helpless, an offering to her dark desires.
Her hand stroked down my spine possessively. “You’re mine, slut. My object. My plaything.” Her voice was a seductive growl. “I’m going to use you. Defile you. Make you scream my name as I claim you. As I feast on your submission.”
She began to circle me, a predatory gleam in her eyes. The clicking of her heels was a steady drumbeat, a war rhythm. Her voice rose in a blasphemous chant, each word dripping with carnal promise.
“Oh you debased and despicable worm… I claim you in the name of the infernal Queen. I consecrate you as my most abject slave… Baptized in the juices of your own humiliation…”
My mind hazed as she spoke, my thoughts scattering like leaves on a hellish wind. I was her will, her plaything. No longer a man, but a set of holes and nerves for her pleasure.
The blunt heat of her riding crop stroked over my skin, leaving crimson trails. My back arched as she worked me, branding her ownership on my flesh. Gasps and moans spilled from my lips, sweat cooling on my skin. I undulated beneath her ministrations, a serpentine dance of pain and pleasure.
She was everywhere at once, her presence searing, her voice honeyed hellfire. Lash after lash fell, her dark blessings painting my skin. Branding me as hers.
“Who owns you?” she demanded, the crop biting into my shoulder.
“You!” I wailed. “You own me, distress! I’m yours, all yours!”
“Correct, slut.” Her tone was darkly pleased. “You’re a thing of dark worship now. A vessel for my pleasure.”
Her nails raked down my sides, raising welts. She shoved my legs further apart, baring my most shameful places to her hungry gaze. Her fingers danced between my cheeks and I shuddered, clenching around the intrusion.
“Yes,” she hissed as I tightened. “So desperate for me. So hungry to be used like the altar whore you are.”
She stripped off her clothes, revealing full breasts and a thatch of midnight hair at the apex of her thighs. My mouth watered at the sight of her.
She mounted the altar, straddling my head. The heady musk of her arousal perfumed the air. I had but a moment to moan before she lowered her dripping slit to my mouth.
“Service me,” she growled. “Make me come on your face like a good altar boy.”
I devoured her, lapping and sucking at her folds. My fingers dug into my thighs, fighting the urge to touch myself. Such base desires had no place in this sacred profanity. I was not a man, but an object of worship. And I willed myself to the task of pleasing my goddess with single-minded focus.
Her juices flooded my mouth as she rode my face. I swallowed it all, relishing the taste of her. The salt of my tears mingled with her nectar as I lost myself in her, submitting completely to her dark divinity.
And when she came with a keening cry, grinding her pelvis against my mouth, I knew I was hers now, in body and soul. Cyn’s loyal worshipper, consecrated by dark rites. Damnation had never felt so sweet.