Prince Abaddon: An Erotic MM Drama (part nine) 18+

The Seduction of an Angel

I've had an... interesting day.

Before I continue, I must point out the elephant in the room: while I've been sharing my fictional erotica with you, dear readers, I've yet to divvy up details regarding the nature of my own carnal adventures.

A confession is at hand. It wasn't a lie that the main reason I came to your world was in hopes of finding the faerie boy. Whether I truly love him or am simply suffering from the sickness of rejection, I cannot rightly say. However, it would be a lie to imply that I've been chaste during my time among humans.

Do you wish to hear of the kinds of debauchery I've been getting up to?

Yes, it's time I stopped playing coy. After all, we're all adults here.

But first, I do believe I shall tease you with the next section of the story...

***

Rideriel climbed atop the table, carefully tiptoeing around the various entrées on display. Upon reaching the center, he did his best to adopt the desired statuesque pose. It was a strange sensation to stand there in such a fashion; the angels of Heaven had always hidden the sensual nature of their bodies.

He closed his eyes, suddenly bashful to have become such an alluring piece of art. Abaddon chuckled and said,

"Now, now. Hermes stood with pride in his lustful beauty. Open your eyes, little bird." Rideriel's heart skipped a beat as he obeyed. His gaze was greeted by Abaddon's powerful stare. Something flickered deep within those orbs, like carnal embers that both frightened and thrilled him in a single look.

Rideriel wanted to look away, but was held fast, mesmerized by their intensity.

Astaroth grinned before returning to his meal. Andras was clearly entranced. Rideriel noted the way the Marquis's dark eyes traveled up and down his body, as if the demon were looking upon some divine, sparkling chalice. He remarked,

"Were I one of my brethren of the mortal realm, I daresay I'd be tempted to carry your angel off to decorate my nest." Abaddon’s smile faltered momentarily. Andras turned his attentions to his dish, stabbing into a large cut of meat with much relish.

As the demon lords ate their fill, the prince locked eyes with Rideriel. The scribe felt something primal within him stir. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying so very hard to resist the craving threatening to overtake him.

Finally, the feasting came to an end. Astaroth licked the remaining sauce from his long, clawed fingers and said,

"My thanks, Prince Abaddon. I haven't had a meal this flavorful since the fall of Constantinople."

The Duke pushed his empty plate to a waiting attendant, straightening as he locked eyes with Andras, who was busy taking a hearty swig of wine. Astorath continued,

"Now, Andras, shall we get back to your complaints regarding your supposed land claim?" Andras, enraged, shouted,

"I was guaranteed those territories as reward for my loyalty!"

He looked at the prince and added, "I supported your ascension! My forces were effective in securing your current position!"

Abaddon sat impassively with his arms crossed, not out of respect for his guests, but because he secretly found the Marquis's anger amusing.

Andras swiveled back to Astaroth, adding,

"But you! All your forces did was guard the castle while my troops held the coast!" Astaroth, smiling wryly, replied,

"I'm not sure why you're making such a fuss; the land you've laid claim to is nothing special. Even if I decided to invade, you'd only lose a salty desert." Andras sprung to his feet, angrily pointed at Astaroth, and shouted,

"This isn't only about land, it's about respect! It's about rules! Hell cannot last in a state of anarchy!"

Rideriel cleared his throat. Andras, still fuming, swiveled his gaze to meet the angel. Astaroth and Abaddon followed suit, wondering what he might say. The scribe began,

"I read through the hall of records recently. I know of a provision that would solve this."

The demons stared at him, then Abaddon. The dark angel rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said,

"I've never received counsel from a pet. This might be interesting."

He laughed and continued, "Alright, my precious bird, I'll grant you the privilege to speak, but keep it quick."

Rideriel nodded and explained,

"Two hundred years ago, a minor skirmish in Hell's northern territory led to the creation of the Accord of Keíal. Clause Seventeen states any territory granted in exchange for loyalty is placed in the care of the vassal in perpetuity, unless officially withdrawn by the Crown, or legally retaken in open warfare. Neither occurred."

Rideriel and the demon lords looked searchingly at Abaddon. The prince replied,

"All right then. At the present moment, I decree the land stays with Andras."

He glanced at the Marquis, stating,

"However, if loyalty becomes an issue in the future, my generosity might be redirected elsewhere." With these final words, the conference was officially concluded.

Astaroth muttered,

"Fine by me. All that territory has to offer is fish. What a lot of dreadful, smelly meat."

The demon lords rose, performed the traditional bow to their king, and headed out.

Abaddon waved the servants away. One by one, they scurried out, leaving only the angels. He gazed intently at Rideriel, coaxing him,

"Join me, little bird."

The prince patted the seat at his left-hand side. Rideriel cautiously climbed over the table edge, taking care not to stumble. He sat by the fearsome angel.

Abaddon clasped the scribe's chin, turning him so their eyes met. An involuntary shiver shot through the scribe as the object of his scorn and desire pulled his face closer, until their lips were almost touching...

The dark angel whispered,

"You're such an impressive creature, using your voice and body to silence those quarrelsome brutes."

Rideriel stiffened, replying,

"I... I'm sure it was my legal argument that convinced them." Abaddon replied,

"Oh, I'm sure those two would claim that’s why they chose to bugger off, because you'd used that clever brain of yours to sort things out, but you and I both know under that innocent facade, you're a debauched flirt."

Rideriel, confused, responded,

"No, I'd never-"

But the prince only laughed wickedly, watching him intently as he said,

"No? Are you so pure, when my mere presence causes you to tremble? Even now, I hear it in your breath. Admit it, you fell because you were an angel of lust."

Abaddon leaned in, brushing his lips against Rideriel's ear. The scribe gasped softly, causing his tormentor to grin and whisper,

"Tell me to stop. Prove that you're as chaste as the slaves of Heaven."

Abaddon ran his rough hand along Rideriel's wings. It was an act forbidden in the celestial realm, for there were few parts of an angel's body that elicited a more sensual response. The leather thong around the enraptured angel’s loins grew restrictive as the prince continued his ministrations.

Abaddon pulled him forward, pressing him against his broad chest. The dark angel traced his lips across Rideriel's neck. He shook, finding himself grasping at the beastly angel with unexpected heat. Abaddon said,

"Tell me you don't want this."

He ran his hands down Rideriel’s back, grasping softly at his bare flesh. He tried to resist, but was overwhelmed by waves of uncontrollable longing. All he could manage was a gentle moan, so enraptured was he by the dark angel's touch. Abaddon, his breath heavy, murmured,

"Lie back on this table, and I shall show you the pleasures of Hell." Rideriel knew he shouldn't, but...

On the day of his first seduction, some long dormant thing within him had been awakened. He thought,

If I am doomed to forever be in Hell, let me at least know ecstasy.

Rideriel pushed aside the platter beside him to make room, stretching himself across the table surface. Abaddon, eyes gleaming, regarded him from above and said,

"You were made for this, to be taken. Worry not, I shall savor every moment, until you've lost all trace of holy grace."

With that, he untethered Rideriel's leather strap and took him with a hunger that burned away the final remnants of the angel’s innocence.

***

Let's return to my recent delightful dalliance.

A half hour after we left the doughnut shop, I was hit by a massive sugar crash. Desperate for a sugar fix, I glanced about, hoping there might be some local bodega awaiting me, but with no such luck.

However, I then realized what street we were on. With an agonized groan, I dragged myself to a particular nearby office building.

An explanation: Shortly after arriving in the human world, I became acquainted with vending machines. We have something similar in the Nether realms, although our version is inhabited by ornery pixies with large needles who are prone to attacking the snack-seekers, which is why we goblins always bring-

My apologies, back to the spice.

Through rapid exploration of the local high-rises, I now have a mental map of the locations of seventy-nine different vending machines. The building at the corner of this avenue had a machine on the eighteenth floor, featuring a vast array of chocolate bars, packaged rolls, and fried potato slices.

I worked my way up the broad stone steps that led to the colossal edifice, wandering through one of those strange swiveling entrances that functions more like a glass merry-go-round than a proper door. Upon entering the lobby, we came upon a few humans in tailored suits milling about, chatting into their phones about lunch plans.

We bustled into the elevator. The human inside seemed annoyed by the amount of space I required, but it couldn't be helped; my crown was designed to jut outwards. Stinksnort, attempting to alleviate the tension, burst into an old folk song about a goblin wife smacking her husband for feeding her cooking to swamp pigs.

In a way, it worked. Once the floating room paused long enough for the doors to open, everyone rushed out in a hurry.

Finally, we reached our stop. With the final remnants of my strength, I stumbled down the corridor, searching doggedly until I found that bright, beautiful treat box.

The gremlins hiding in the dollar slot, seemingly alarmed by my wasted, decrepit visage, decided to show mercy by accepting my crisp new bills on the first go. They even had the decency to move the curled wires long enough for all my chocolate cream cakes to fall into the collection bin.

Stinksnort, write a reminder in my log: I must send a royal missive of thanks to their regent.

Moving on, I tore into the packages for dear life, until I-

What was that, Stinksnort?

I know the audience wants to hear about my licentious liaison, but it's important to-

You make a good point. I'll skip right to...

Oh dear, what was his name?

Wait, dear reader, my phone is ringing

***

Oh bother.

That was Nicole. She needs to hurry back to the apartment, one of the dragonlings escaped. Blarg's keeping it at bay by distracting it with a laser pointer, but if I don't get there soon, the battery might run out, and next thing you know, the couch will be on fire.

I'm afraid we have to wait until the next chapter before I can entertain you with the sordid details of my high-rise hookup. Until then...