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Death is a busy occupation. But no matter how weary, Death always returns.
The victims are the same each time – female, withered, tragic. She can picture Agatha’s latest performance as if she had been watching from the shadows: the theatrical jabs and insults, the crimson flush that races up her lover’s neck as stolen magic rushes into her, and the dark sparkle in her violet eyes. They’ve both been playing this game for long enough. As Agatha slaughters her way across the continent, Death follows the trail of bodies left behind like a faithful pet. The twisted Ballad – the final evidence of their sweet, ill-fated boy – is the ringing bell, and Death is the drooling dog.
This time, Death arrives in a sun-drenched clearing to the familiar scent of freshly drained corpses. There are about a dozen, limp in the grass. Agatha kneels by a nearby creek, drinking thirstily.
“My love, if you wanted my attention, you need only ask. I didn’t realise the Road upped its coven membership quota.”
“Oh fuck off,” Agatha growls. “I kill an extra witch or two and you come running over just like that?”
Rio gives her an unamused look – don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me. Agatha sniffs contemptuously.
“Why can’t you find some other wench to follow around like a damned pet? What is it about me that you can’t fucking leave alone?”
The words are cutting, and almost genuine. Agatha doesn’t know if the heat in her throat is a product of deep primordial resentment or unquenched desire. She doesn't care to know, but if she did, the simple is answer is plainly both.
Rio doesn’t answer. She isn’t expected to. There is no honesty left; no remnants of their soured love. This is the only debris – a ragged, fervent dance.
“I can hardly stop running into the most prolific witch-killing serial killer in recent history unless she stops killing witches for me to reap.”
“Aw, are you flattering me?” Agatha smirks, sitting heavily on a log with her knees firmly spread. “You know, I’m sure you could pass on your witch-reaping duties onto some other insufferable after-life stewardess. You just miss me.”
And you don’t? But Rio is tired; she’ll let Agatha pretend. She sits down next to her, just waiting.
“You want me. You need me. I bet you’re already wet for me like a fucking whore, aren’t you?”
There it goes – this is a practiced ritual. But despite the routine, she feels exactly the same way she did the day Agatha taught her the pleasures of the flesh for the first time. Just like that, the world is made up of only Agatha, her slender fingers, her roiling power –
Rio whines at the slap. She's needrd this. Agatha's face is composed, but she cannot hide her want.
“I asked you a question, pet.”
“Yes… master.”
Rio doesn’t know where to put her hands. She’s never called Agatha that before, but it slips from her throat like water from a clenched fist.
“Master, hm? I like it. The unconquerable Lady Death, offering herself to me like a common bitch. Kneel for me.”
Obviously, Rio sinks to her knees.
“Good boy,” Agatha croons. “Doesn’t it feel good being where you belong? Come make yourself useful for once.” She grabs a fistful of her hair, pulling her close to the far-too-empty space between her already-trembling thighs.
Death is an obedient servant by nature. On her knees in front of her love, she is mindless. She dips her head under the hem of Agatha’s dress, bites at her underwear and drags it forcefully down her porcelain thighs. Ravenously, Rio laps at Agatha’s swollen clit, sucking fervently. The sweet-salty taste of her lover’s cunt is the only taste she knows, and is all she has ever eaten. At her master’s throaty moans, she licks up and down Agatha’s throbbing cunt, pushing her tongue in and out of her hole, panting and whining with the effort.
“That’s it, pet. Come on, try harder, be a good fucking slut.”
As her own cunt clenches frantically around nothing, Rio moans and buries herself ever deeper. Agatha’s moans are louder now, and higher in pitch, and her magic crackles in the air – she’s close. Rio holds her hips tightly, desperately pressing herself into her cunt, flicking at her clit fervently, worshipping the sensitive bud with wanton devotion. Without warning, Agatha comes in a violent gush against her open mouth, running down Rio’s chin, mingling with long strands of her drool.
Panting, Agatha pulls Rio's wet face away from her sensitive cunt, stroking her slick-covered cheek with softly. “That was good,” she breathes. “See, you can be a good pet when you listen to your master.”
Still kneeling, Rio nods. “Please,” she whines. “Please, you said I was good.”
“Please what, pet? Use your words like a big boy.”
Agatha’s cheeks are flushed now, and her eyes are dark and hungry. Rio has never felt more empty, more desperate.
“Please touch me. I want you to fuck me, please.” Tears are threatening to fall, but she manages suppresses the all-consuming urge to touch herself. She is nothing if not a well-trained pet.
“Handsome, are you crying for me already? To think I haven’t even started to hurt you.”
Rio moans, too far gone. “Please, hurt me then. Please, master. I just want you, please, anything from you.”
“Well, who am I to deny my love?” Agatha waves a hand, revealing Rio’s nude form. “Lie on your back, with your knees drawn to your chest. I want to see how wet and disgusting you get from eating me out.”
With her cunt exposed and her bare back pressed into the sharp grass, Rio moans desperately, her eyes fixed on the woman crouching above her with a ridiculous smirk.
“Look at you, all spread out for me. You’re fucking pathetic, do you know that? Do you still want me to hurt you? Beg for it.”
“Master, please, hurt your pathetic whore. Please, I need it, I want you so much, please –“
Suddenly, a splash of pain explodes across her thighs and her buttocks, and even between her spread legs, as Agatha sharply rains down slap after slap. “Is this what you want, my love? Hm? I can see how much slicker your needy hole is getting,” she spits. “Thank me.”
“Thank you master,” Rio whimpers raggedly. She thinks she could probably come just from being spanked across the cunt, but she longs to be properly, passionately fucked. “Please, I wanna feel you inside me, fuck me Agatha, I need you to fuck me, I’ll be your good pet, I’ll do anything.”
“You wanna be filled up, huh? Greedy pet. You’re lucky you beg well.” Agatha plunges two fingers inside Rio’s sopping hole, smirking at the obscene squelching. “You are such a fucking pathetic slut,” Agatha breathes as she slips a third finger inside. “Do you even know what you look like, on the floor with your cunt spread for me, crying while taking my fingers like a loose whore?” Rio shakes her head, gasping at the delicious stretch.
Agatha licks the tears off Rio’s flushed face, seeming to enjoy the taste a bit too much. She slides her slick fingers out momentarily, pausing to stare at Rio’s damp and desperate face.
“Don’t look so sad, pet. Open up." Good boy,” she purrs, as Rio gags on her outstretched fingers. “Do you like how you taste? Yes? No? Tell me.”
Begrudgingly, Rio moans something incomprehensible around her own juices and Agatha’s beautiful fingers. She glares, and Agatha laughs - a bright, clear sound she remembers making her heart swell centuries ago. A quick slap, with those same filthy fingers, brings her back to the dark passions of the present.
“If you want to come, pet, you’re going to have to do it yourself.” Mercifully, Agatha deigns to return those fingers to her cunt, pumping forcefully now. Feverishly, Rio paws at her clit, clenching, moaning and crying freely until her orgasm rushes over her with the awesome force of a star imploding.
She slumps on the grass, spent, shaking thighs pressed tightly together. Agatha sits beside her, stroking her hair with almost loving tenderness as she recovers her breath. In these few moments, they can pretend.
Soon, Death departs when Agatha sends her away with some half-mocking parting snipe. They both know that when she calls, Death will return.