This Year’s Price

Chameleon woke me gently, pressing her warm body against me and running her fingers over my arm before resting her hand on my chest. I stretched, enjoying the feeling of her skin on mine.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

I stiffened slightly before I could catch myself. I knew she’d felt my reaction. I’d known the question was coming, what it meant for both of us. I knew what she needed from me. She needed me to share a fantasy with her. A dark fantasy – something that I knew was wrong. Something I was ashamed of, that embarrassed me. But something I wanted to happen, that in the most secret parts of my soul I longed for: a dirty, secret desire that, if I had never met Cam, I would never have admitted to anyone, including myself, a fantasy she could make real for me, as a gift.

I already knew what I wanted for my birthday this year.

“You’ve been a bad girl,” I said. “And you must be punished.”

She looked at me. As always at this time of year, her green eyes looked right inside me, piercing my soul and testing the truth of my request. She could only feed from me if I told her the truth.

She was the love of my life, my every dream come true. Our life together had been full of happiness and laughter. We were similar enough to enjoy the same things and different enough to enjoy each other. She was beautiful – by far the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, inside and out.

She was not human. She was a demon, cast out of hell and living among us. She saw my dark and twisted fantasies and accepted them. She needed them. She fed from them but just one a year – on my birthday.

Each fantasy she made real changed me. I had already answered her question three times. This was the fourth. She had told me that each time she fed I would lose a piece of my soul, replacing it with something darker – something evil. Being with Cam was slowly driving me insane, and ultimately killing me. There were only two ways that our relationship could end: either she would destroy me or she would leave me while there was still something of my original self left. I knew that I would not, could not, leave her.

“I’ll be a bad girl,” she agreed. “And I will be punished.” I felt something shift inside me, just below my heart. There was sharp pain, but only for a moment. A deal had been struck, and paid for with my soul.

“Sunday,” she said. Today was Tuesday. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I love you.”

She smiled sadly. She knew what she was doing to me, the price I was paying for her. But she had to feed. She was powerful and incredibly strong. She was immortal and effectively invulnerable. If she went too long without feeding, she would fall into a frenzy. Her feeding frenzies killed people, sometimes dozens at a time. She had explained to me the steps she had taken to try to restrain herself, the times she had tried to take her own life to spare others from her hunger. She had failed every time. She had brought on a frenzy every time.

Our compromise was the least harm she could cause. She had to feed, so she took from someone who loved her, who fed her willingly. She amplified the power she took from me by turning her feeding into a gift for me. She knew she harmed me more with every year she stayed with me, but she caused that harm as slowly as she could.

She was just as trapped as I was.

I had never asked her how many had come before me and she had never told me. She looked perhaps twenty-five. She might have been as old as time.

Happiness has a price, they say. Feeding my soul to my demon wife one piece at a time was the price of mine. I paid it gladly.

Tuesday

She leaned over me and kissed me gently, before running her tongue over her full lips, moistening them. She never wore make-up – she didn’t need it. Her freckled face was inches from mine. Her lightly tanned complexion glowed with strength and health. The pendant she wore on a silver chain hung down, almost touching me. Its onyx pendant was shaped like a goat today. It changed every now and then, but I had never found a pattern to it.

Her green eyes held me, glowing slightly with the after-effects of our new contract. I breathed her in, relishing her scent. She smelled of apples and strawberries. She smelled of life and vitality. I loved being near her. In the first months of our relationship, she often told me off for following her around like a love-struck puppy. I didn’t feel like a puppy anymore. A wolf, perhaps. I smiled at her. I wanted her, right now.

She kissed me again, her soft lips parting mine to allow her tongue to slide inside my mouth, tasting me. “Mmm,” she murmured. I kissed her back, passion rising quickly. Her gentle, clever hands slid down my chest, stroking me. Her fingers left trails of goosebumps behind them. My hand moved to her perfect breast. It filled my palm. Her nipple hardened against my touch. I squeezed, gently for now but with a promise of more if she wanted it. Her mouth moved down to my neck, kissing and nuzzling. I felt her tongue slide over my skin, small licks leaving my skin wet. The wet patches felt cool, a delightful contrast to the heat of her body on mine. She moved her mouth lower, making her intentions clear.

“Oh, yes,” I whispered. “Yes please, Cam.”

She kissed my stomach, taking her time. Her hand slid down further and her fingers brushed my cock gently, testing my arousal. I was rock hard. As if there could have been any doubt. She shifted her weight to her hands and knees, placing them on each side of my prone body. Her mouth hovered where her fingers had been. She let me feel her warm breath first, teasing me. I pressed upwards towards her, my need clear. She opened her mouth for me and my cock slipped inside, but just a little.

“Mmm,” she moaned again. “Happy birthday, my love. I’m going to make you come.” Her words were muffled by my cock, standing proudly against her lips. “I’m going to make you come all over me.” The vibrations of her words felt fantastic. I bucked my hips up again, struggling to keep control. She moved with me this time, denying me deeper penetration.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I said. That earned me a flash of green eyes and a smile.

She started with her tongue. She held me in her mouth, barely moving her lips. Her tongue slid around my tip, tasting it. My cock twitched inside her mouth and I hissed out a breath, wanting more. I was so hard it was almost painful. Almost. Her fingers touched me gently at the bottom of my shaft and moved down to cup my balls. She pressed gently at the spot behind my balls that always drove me wild. She started to move her mouth, barely at all at first with just a hint of movement, relying on her tongue to do almost all the work. Then a little more, her lips slipping up to my tip before sliding back down, a little further each time. I groaned. I grinned. I was ready to take control now.

“You’re my slut, Cam,” I said. “I’m going to cover your face with my come. I might save some for your tits, too.” I would never have spoken to Cam like this when I first met her. But we were three birthdays in already. Two years ago I had answered her question with “be my whore.” And my whore she had become. I owned her, and I accepted that ownership. I had paid for it with my soul, after all. I was her food. In return, she was mine to use, mine to enjoy. She was a dirty slut for me, and I could do whatever I fucking liked to her.

She could hardly complain – she had made me like this. There was still enough of the old me left to know that my responses were off, unpleasant – that my thoughts when aroused did not match my love and respect for Cam when I was not. But there was already enough of the new me not to care. I let my cock lead me and took what I wanted.

My hand moved down to Cam’s hair and gripped it hard. I pushed her head lower while thrusting up with my hips. I wasn’t going to let her pull back from me anymore. I was going to fuck her mouth. I was going to push my cock in as far as it would go and as fast as I wanted. I slapped her face with my free hand when she tried to pull back. She grunted, a pink spot appearing on her cheek. I pushed harder and hit the back of her throat. She took it but gagged. I fucking love it when she gags on my cock. I pushed again. She drooled around my cock, thick and stringy. I was getting covered in her spit.

Her breathing was heavy now, tears running from her eyes. So was mine. I put a second hand in her hair and went at her with all of my desire, all my need. I fucked her face, losing any sense of control. I grunted like an animal, in time with my thrusts. She took it all. She never closed her eyes, watching me the whole way through.

“I’m coming, you fucking demon bitch,” I shouted. I pulled out from her mouth and grabbed my cock. The first spurt hit her cheek and reached her nose. The second hit her lips and some went in her mouth. I shifted my aim and finished over her tits. My come glistened, sitting on top of her sweat-sheened skin.

I wanted to fuck my demon wife with everything in me. I needed it. I was still hard, and more than ready to keep going.

She rolled away from me and slid out of bed, moving quickly to the bathroom.

“What?” I said, confused.

“Sorry, darling,” she said. Her voice was a little hoarse. “I have a work thing this morning. No time for… more.” She closed the bathroom door and I heard the lock click. That scuppered my plan to join her in the shower and make her late for her work thing whether she wanted that or not.

“Fuck!” I swore. I sat up in the bed, breathing heavily. Slowly, my erection faded. I started to relax and my anger and sense of ownership felt unnecessary; I realised I was overreacting. There would be time later. Maybe an early night after sharing some wine. I owed Cam some pleasure and attention after this morning’s performance. I could wait.

By the time I had dragged myself reluctantly from our bed and made it through the shower myself, she had dressed and was downstairs. I heard the door open and shut as she left our flat. She hadn’t said goodbye. That broke one of her precious relationship rules. “Let’s always acknowledge each other when we arrive in or leave the house,” she had said. “That way we’ll always know the other sees us and appreciates us.”

I had realised after a while, once I knew what Cam was, that the rules helped her. She needed them. They let her be normal and live normally. They kept her inherent evil in check, out of the picture. And so I had dutifully shouted a greeting or farewell to her every time I had come in or out ever since. It was a small breach of our established relationship etiquette, but I could not remember the last time she had broken one of her own rules.

When I got downstairs, her breakfast bowl was still on the kitchen table. Her spoon had fallen from the bowl, leaving a milk stain on the tablecloth. The milk was on the kitchen surface, top still off. The coffee was out of the cupboard. The cupboard door was open. That was breach number two. “Let’s never leave the other to clear up our mess,” she had said. “I don’t ever want you to resent me. And I don’t want to resent you.” We had made a joke out of this one, each trying to outdo the other in making sure never to leave a mess behind us. Our flat was always spotless. Our sheets were always clean. But not today. I cleared up Chameleon’s breakfast things. I found I was not hungry. Not at all.

“I’ll be a bad girl,” she had said. There were other relationship rules. Bigger ones. Would she break those too?

A sick feeling started in my stomach. It had started. Where would it end?

To be continued…