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Newsman sent into a refugee camp to rescue a rent-boy.

She had carved one into the concrete of her basement floor at home, practiced until she had summoned increasingly powerful demons, banishing them all after proving to herself that she could do it. She had heard a rumor about this place, this building whose front housed the Slaughterhouse Club, where deep bass beats overflowed and red light pretended to aspire to the atmosphere of this room. Where feeble, prideful and unmindful humans played at this. And after interviewing the floor boss, she had been invited into the imposing marble corridor behind the club, had been allowed to wander its length until she came to this door, pushed it open, and saw what she wanted. This basalt floor, where the demons she would summon did not need her permission to leave the pentagram scribed deep into the floor. Melinda craved this. Needed there to be no restriction on the one she would summon next; Belial.

Before her hand could cross the few inches of space between them, his hands were on her hips. Firm, dangerously powerful. She delighted in this, smiled wolfishly. Belial smiled back thinly, and to her eyes this sight was perfect. Her eyes were wide now, bright green, reflecting the clean red light. She focused singlemindedly on one sentence, one sentence that could be translated into English only as Make me yours. He didn't need to speak. I will. She smiled wider, felt those hands lift her off her feet, the thick muscle of his chest and back easily taking her weight. She crossed her legs behind his back, feeling the perfection of his skin on hers and shuddering in anticipation. For any mortal she was an inspiring beauty, sexy beyond earthly imagining. Any human male would have been achingly hard for her in moments. Belial had seen better. With elemental magic he filled the small spaces between their skin with a formless warmth that soaked into her skin and aroused her unimaginably, she grew damp. Then wet, more excited than she had ever been in her life. His perfect shaft was hard for her now, more elemental magic guiding the perfectly formed head to her labia. Her hands rested on the broad muscles of his chest, her eyes again locked with hers. Please. I've waited so long.

I know.

He lowered her with delicious slowness, giving her what she had not allowed herself to experience until now. Though she could not know it then - she would with time - it was incredible, beyond what a mortal could have given her. She slid down, and there was no pause as her virginity gave way, her blood mixing with her excitement and coating him as she was parted for the first time, stretched around his thickness, penetrated deeply, until her cervix brushed the tip and yet there was more, and she longed for it. Thank you, thank you, oh Master: Make me yours. Another two inches slid inside her easily, inexorably, and her cervix parted around the head. She took him more deeply than any mortal woman should, but that was no problem. She was no longer mortal. She was succubi, one of Belial's, and with sudden power over lesser succubi and, for that matter, lesser demons. She gave him the purity of her spirit and Belial saw into her soul, knew she could be trusted, and instinctively Melinda knew she was his favoured one. Her lips parted to release a small pleasured cry, and no sound emerged. His hands brought her lower, and then she had taken his full length and her clitoris touched his pubis. Her nerve endings reverberated, responding to this new sensation of being filled, the gentle lubricated friction of her clitoris on his skin, made slightly rough with the black hairs crushed between their bodies. She was so close, and now she needed this release. Belial lifted her until his length had almost completely withdrawn from her.

She clenched herself around him, holding the head inside.

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