Archive of Our Own ^beta

The man’s boot heels clacked along the dark stone halls. Devils walked by, pausing to glance at the two cambions. As always, Raphael was quite overdressed for the fashions of the Hells. He hated this. Court. A court quite unlike his fathers, more gruff soldiers and strategists than simpering mages and academics- but a court all the same. There were far too many people about. Raphael preferred a smaller employ. His staff list had always been short- and he’d interestingly never really employed other devils, preferring humanoids. The only fellow devil on his list had been a gift from his father. Haarlep. Rapahel assumed the creature was fine, from all the passing shivers he’d been getting lately. Part of him was glad he was alive. Part of him annoyed he got to live on out from under the cambion’s thumb. Mostly he missed the creature, used to its consistent twisted companionship over the last thousand years- but he knew the full-blooded devil likely never felt the same.

He tamped the passing, embarrassing human feelings down, as he’d been doing his entire life. It was harder now, so disgraced. He scowled, his pace slowing.

In truth, he never fit in among other devils. He was too different from them, his father had always said he favored his human side. Yet he’d been more successful than any other cambion he knew. Maybe any cambion in history. Rapahel was partial to believe so. But objectively he was! Certainly. He’d made his own way, created his own happy home- without his father’s blessing. Yes, he did the unthinkable for a half-breed, creatures who didn’t even have the right to rank up within the Hells social hierarchy. Yet he’d still become quite the important figure in Avernus. He was vassal to Lady Zariel and completely independent of others, but it had not been enough. 

The devil should have been beneath no one. He was more worthy than Asmodeus himself. The cambion deserved to make every head bow and every knee bend. He was going to make them all rue how they treated him. The half-breed was going to change everything- rule the Hells, the material and beyond. Raphael would become Archdevil Supreme. 

He’d- he’d tried to become it anyway. That had not come to pass. Despite all his careful planning, all his fantasies (He’d written over a hundred different scenarios!)- the Crown of Karsus had ended up in the Chionthar, and his father had sent one of his warlocks to promptly recollect it. Part of him wondered if that’d always been the goal, put a little cheese out on a glue trap, finally get his unruly, meddling son back under his massive wing. The idea of him- a mouse so easily falling for simple temptations made Raphael scowl to himself. He was the cat that caught the mouse! But he was not ignorant. His father was a highly intelligent man, and he’d been long tiring of Raphael. The Archdevil had likely planned this eons ago. Ever since the boy won his independence. Father never did let his toys go easily.

So, his father had allowed the crown to be stolen by Raphael’s former ward, a humiliation in itself that his former slave could do what Raphael could not, brought it out in the open. It had never made sense to Raphael that mortals (Even his former slave, who was quite bright.) could burglarize Mephistar. It was an impenetrable fortress of ice and dark magic. It being bait made more sense. The cambion wished he’d seen it for what it was, instead of getting blinded by delusions of grandeur. For years in the past Raphael himself could not understand why Mephistopheles himself would not use the crown- but he assumed it to be the folly of an over-the-hill Archdevil, too paranoid and shrewd to make any decisive plays. He sighed, wishing he could blast those rudely staring. It seemed the folly was his.

An orthon in the group of soldiers purposely shoved the man, snarling “humanspawn” before finally lumbering past. Raphael hit the wall, his hair falling out of place and his head slamming back with a sickening crack. The creature sneered and scowled at the pain- but did nothing but fix his hair and smooth out his dress shirt. He was a sixteen year old boy again, an unimportant and rather odd little cambion, abused, mocked and ignored by his father’s court.

The cambion leading him was still walking, seemingly not noticing or caring about him being shoved into the wall. He didn’t blame her- he wouldn’t have cared if the roles had been reversed. Of course…he was a cambion of a noble line, while she burst from some common woman, he was sure. She had the gait of your run of the mill gutter whore.

He would not be rushed. Fastidiously he made sure his blouse had no wrinkles, his sleeves and collar were smooth and straight. He refastened his cuff-links. As he worked his eyes slid this way and that, a deep frown forming. No mirrors. No, nothing in these miserable, dark halls. Zariel’s flying fortress was so drab, dark and militaristic with sparse beauty or decor. Though he’d never admit it, even his father’s citadel was prettier. His father loved his hot springs, and though he certainly was not at the taste level of Raphael- Mephistopheles could certainly be convinced to display a sculpture or a piece of art- more out of preservation of rare artifacts than actual appreciation- but at least there was nice things too rest your eyes on in the halls and rooms of his palace!

How was Rapahel, a patron of the arts, music- A lover of the finer things in life supposed to thrive in a minimalistic, ascetic place such as this? Zariel may be an Archdevil, but her history as an angel, and their flawed beliefs in martyrdom and austerity were definitely showing through. 

The devil huffed, brought a handkerchief to his forehead. It was so stuffy too. Avernus was of course incredibly hot, and the windowless, steel walls created an oven of sorts. Full-blooded devils were completely unaffected of course, but cambions like Raphael could be affected by temperature. More than that the heat bothering him was the humidity, the moisture was annoying him. He looked down at the stained lace fabric and sneered- tried to poof it away, then remembered he could not.

His lip curled, and he stuffed the offending object into his pocket. The younger cambion had finally stopped, was watching him with arms folded from further down the hall. She looked quite miffed.

“Hmpfh! Hurry up old man. Just because I was assigned your babysitter doesn’t mean I’m your mother” 

Raphael did not start moving, face scrunching and ears burning at being called old. Though his powers were gone, his personality was still quite in tact. In fact, he leaned against the wall, just to illustrate said point. 

The woman beside him scoffed at his childish bull-headedness. She started walking back towards him. He smirked. Hah! Yes. Make her come to him. She got in his face, though she was shorter than the man. The female cambion looked up at him, her manicured nail poking his aquiline nose.

“Are you a fool? Do you think Lady Zariel saved you out of the kindness of her vile black heart? Your soul is claimed by Mephistopheles, he was on his way to consume you- yet you act like a snotty brat on vacation.”

His stuck his nose in his air to get away from her prodding finger and shrugged.

“She knows I am a great asset.”

It was the woman’s turn to smirk. In fact she threw her head back, laughed. It was harsh barking, cruel.

“Oh. You silly little boy. They’re bargaining over who gets to experiment on you.”

Her pretty nails now poked his sternum, dragged slowly down to his groin.

“Who gets the pleasure of cutting you open- rooting around in those lovely warm organs.”

It was true his father and Lady Zariel were the most scientifically inclined of the Archdevils, and both had a penchant for experimentation, (something Raphael had no taste for.) but why on Toril would the two Archdevil’s be interested in experimenting on him, a noble and beautiful yes, but still rather standard model of cambion?

“You bluff woman.”

“Hmm.”

She leaned up, whispering in the shell of his ear, chuckling as she patted the side of his face.

“Wait and see pup. Wait and see.”

With that she whipped back around, continuing down the dark halls. He knew, knew she was lying- but a seed of unease had been planted. He started following her, striding to get back to her- easy enough- he was bigger than the pretty half-breed.

“I know I’m some sort of bargaining tool, being held hostage for one reason or another.”

The woman laughed again, practically prancing down the halls now, his words quite literally adding a skip to her step. It agitated the older half-breed almost irrationally so.

“My, your big-headedness is beyond the pale! I hope Zariel gets claim, watching you be vivisected will be truly enjoyable. Will you cry when she peels your skin back, little lab rat?”

He sneered, but the image of himself chained down, his flesh peeled back and held out with silver prongs as the cambion helplessly looked down at his own cracked rib cage and beating heart beneath as they poked and prodded- it made his stomach churn. 

“You can’t scare me with wretched lies or tall tales woman. I am the king of lies, sowing songs and stories of discord for eons. I have been creating doubt and making deals before you were even a twinkle in your wretched father’s eye.”

She slowed her gait slightly, looked him up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Mm. What a flowery manner of speech. I didn’t realize you were a bard. That makes sense, they’re all such wretched little minstrels. I tell no lies, or tall tales. A former prisoner of yours is running around with your abilities. It gave our soldiers quite a surprise. Lady Zariel’s men took you, but the girl ran and hid after killing a good few of them. They had to abscond as they heard your daddy dearest was near. Mephistopheles had already swept her up when they returned to collect her.”

A head rush of rage. Hope? Hope had his powers? He’d assumed Lady Zariel had done something to make them dormant or to take them away while he was unconscious after being defeated, not that they’d been transferred to that miserable creature! That made no sense. Unless…Gods could not interfere with the Hells, but devils were supposed to seduce mortals into their contracts, not torture them for fifty plus years. He’d bent the rules a little with Hope. Okay a lot. It wasn’t his fault! Hope was a puzzle box he loved to shake and pull. A paradox, and a fascinating one at that. So perfectly naive but well-aware, innocent but worldly. Korrilla, Hope’s sister had come to him willingly, an important cleric of Moradin. She’d wanted to switch to his service after she’d done something to save the biggest Dwarven city in Toril, Mithral Hall, only to hear crickets back from her God. Korrilla had then complained, prayed to Moradin and demanded a response as one of his highest ranking clerics and the savior of the city. She had gotten her long awaited reply. It was a harsh, painful one. Her first ever response from the God she dedicated her entire life to, despite never once hearing answers to her prayers.

After that she’d promptly came to the devil. The dwarf had found him, not the other way around, and he’d been incredibly pleased. She quickly became his greatest warlock but Raphael knew dwarves did things in sets. He wanted to enslave the whole bloodline, knowing how excellent Korrilla was.

In Korrilla’s case her half-sister Hope was the second half of her pair. One of the two Hearthflame heirs. Getting both heirs under contract would be a particular treat to the cambion, but it had all been conjecture, he certainly wanted her, but it wasn’t the end of the world if he didn’t get her. 
 
However, when Korrilla told him the girl’s name, the same moniker of his house- it had tipped the scales. His eyes had widened. Oh, he had to have her! It was too perfect, too much a coincidence. Hope, in service of the House of Hope. It was structured the way stories were written, songs were sung. Simply, it was fate. Hope was born to belong to Raphael. For all the logical reasons as well as that simple one. 

So when she’d been so totally incorruptible, even after half a century of torment with not even a modicum of progress…even after her mind broke, after she forgot Moradin’s holy name…forgive him for being a bit fixated! Breaking Hope to his will had become one of the devil’s greatest dreams. After becoming Archdevil Supreme and making his father and all the Hells and beyond kneel before him- It was the premier fantasy.

The woman had never given in though, and he’d never become an Archdevil. What a sad twist of fate.

Draconic and dwarven Gods were known for their spitefulness- particularly compared to Elven and Human. Even good-aligned ones could bend the rules at times. Perhaps Moradin had rewarded his mad cleric for never recanting his name. It seemed liked something he would do. The God was tirelessly and unflinchingly defending the dwarven people, their values, and their principles of good. While a sanctified heart was necessary for his acceptance, only quality results and true sacrifice earned his approval. Certainly, through Raphael, Hope had sacrificed a lot in her young life. More than most of his clerics would do in their entire existence. 

Of course, it was just a hypothesis. There could be other avenues- Oh. They were going to experiment on him. A shiver ran up his spine.

“That…that makes no sense.”

He said, more to placate himself than to reply to the woman. The female cambion shrugged, opened a small side door.

“Stranger things have happened.”

She pointed at the sparse, but comfortably sized room. 

“You’ll stay here until Lord Mephistopheles and Lady Zariel come to a decision.”

His heart dropped into his stomach. Never in his life had the cambion stayed in such a terrible place. As a little boy in Cania he’d had a terrible childhood, but he’d always had beautiful, luxurious chambers. When he’d been drafted in the Blood War he’d always made sure to sleep in the material, and seducing his way into a mortal’s bed had been as easy as breathing. He’d usually leave with a nice little contract as well. And then came the day he’d built his own happy home. Never, never had Raphael had to make do with such plain accommodations.

“I can’t sleep here. This…this is for commoners. Look at the bed, the blanket is threadbare!”

He gingerly picked up the blanket with two pinched fingers. 

“And the mattress is thin, lumpy!”

He shook his head, hands on his hips. The blanket fell to the floor, discarded.

“Tell Lord First I must have nicer accommodations.”

Mizora sneered, and her hand went to her hip, mirroring him.

“These are the nice accommodations pup. Only cambions on this floor. I could put you on the floor with the orthon and merregon soldiers, if you prefer. Perhaps you’d like to sleep with the imps. Or maybe the lemures?”

Raphael’s mind flashed to his early adulthood, remembering how filthy and disgusting those subraces of devils often were. 

“I….”

He took a deep breath. One got more with honey than vinegar. Perhaps it was time to take a page out of the playbook of his youth. 

“My dear, surely this isn’t where you stay?”

“Well of course not, I’m Lady Zariel’s personal lawyer, and one of her closest ladies-in-waiting. I’m essential staff.”

He slunk over to her. It had been a long time since he’d purposely tried to do this, but he was still the same Raphael. 

“What, what was your name my dear?”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Mizora. Lady Mizora, as I am your superior.”

He looked her up and down. She had all the beauty of common street garbage, nothing compared to himself- but he could slum it for a decent place to sleep. Once he was on the floor with more notable staff members he could scope out if there were any more desirable devils. Besides, if what the girl said was true, he needed to start playing the nasty old game of royal court again. Get some of the important players on his side. He didn’t want to end up on a stone slab next to Hope, scientists poking and prodding him to figure out exactly how his powers transferred.

“You are a truly lovely creature, dear Mizora. Forgive me for not saying so sooner.”

 Raphael’s lips curled into his most practiced smile, his sharp features softening just enough to seem inviting. He stepped closer, his head tilting down to look into Mizora’s eyes with the precision of a predator who had practiced this type of hunting for centuries. His voice was a smooth purr, the kind that had lured peasants and patriars alike to ruin.

“And do forgive my earlier rudeness as well, Lady Mizora. It has been… a trying time for me. I’m sure you can understand how a devil of my standing might feel, but I’ve been giving you unnecessary trouble. I know a woman of your grace and refinement will understand my needs.”

Mizora raised a single perfectly plucked brow, her pretty lips twitching with amusement. She crossed her arms, the movement drawing attention to the curve of her hips.

 “Oh, a woman of grace and refinement, you say? My, my. Aren’t you the sweet talker.”

She said this dripping with sarcasm, poison and jealousy soaked into every word. She then tilted her head, studying him as one might a curious insect pinned to a board.

“I’ve heard of you, you know.”

“Of course you have.” thought Raphael. His smile widened. 

The great bard of Avernus. Son of Mephistopheles. The cambion who owns his own property…an anomaly. Handsome, clever, charming…” 

She smirked, her voice dropping an octave.

 “…and utterly full of himself. It seems they exaggerated your cleverness. Though, there’s certainly a beauty. I’d imagine it was more pronounced a thousand years ago.”

Her words were like daggers needling his skin, but the devil didn’t allow the pulse of rage over the insults to throw him off balance. If anything, they only emboldened him. He leaned in, his hand brushing her arm with calculated carelessness.

“I’ve found that even the most guarded of hearts can be swayed with the right word, the right touch,” 

He said, his voice low and rich.

 “And I imagine your heart, dear Mizora, burns as brightly as the Hells themselves.”

Her laugh was sharp and sudden, cutting through his words like a whip crack. Before he could react, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Her palm lay flat on his chest, seemingly feeling what was there. He smirked, the cambion knew he was in.

“Oh my, what a poor, delusional creature.” 

Her voice was syrupy sweet, laced with venom. 

“Do you think I’m some simpering mortal girl, ready to fall at your feet because you batted those pretty long lashes? Oh no, no, no.” 

She grinned, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. 

“You’re in luck though- I have recently lost my favorite puppy. An you’re solid.” 

She said, roughly pulling apart his dress shirt. A gold button flew off. What a savage creature, she could’ve just poofed his clothes off! His lip curled in annoyance despite his best efforts, and his hand flew to stop her from damaging any more of his (expensive) garments he could no longer easily replace.

He pulled her away, his large hand encircling her thin wrist easily.

“Gentle dear mouse, there’s no need to rush. Let’s go up to your room, get to know each other.” 

The devil purred, masking his irritation with an exaggerated, seductive tone.

Mizora paused, stared at him grabbing her wrist. She let out a tiny laugh of disbelief, before snatching her hand away. 

“Oh. You don’t understand what’s happening here, do you dearest? You have no power. You may look like a cambion, but you may as well be a regular human.” 

He looked down at her, his jaw setting and squinting slightly at this comment. It hit him like a ton of bricks when she suddenly cast hold monster, locking him in place.

“You contemptuous cur of a wom-“

She casted silence next.

“Now now, no need to be so moody. I promise, you’ll have fun too.”

She giggled, patting his cheek as he snarled.
With that she continued pulling apart his dress shirt, the buttons that didn’t pop off she purposely pulled, his belt too, she threw off of him, letting it clatter to the floor and stomped it, making sure the metal bent out of shape. Why she wouldn’t just poof his clothes away was beyond him, it was an unnecessary cruelty. He was left with his blouse tore open and limply hanging on. The cambion snarling and growling soundlessly as she ran her hands over his hairy, muscled chest. Admittedly, even as he sputtered and struggled- feeling so helpless was turning him on to no end. She seemed to notice this too, snickering as she roughly palmed his groin through his long pants.

“Aw, puppy is so eager to play!”

She cooed into his neck, now squeezing him through the fabric so hard tears sprang up. He seethed, his face was on fire over being humiliated like this- but she was right- this was exciting him, his cock jumping with each rough touch.

He loved this sort of thing with Haarlep, but Haarlep was safe, only to dominate him with his permission, in the controlled environment of his own home. This on the other hand was dangerous, he had no control over this woman, and no power to stop her. Which made it oh so invigorating. He whined mutely, rutting the tiniest bit he was allowed with hold monster in use.

She cackled, finally poofing away his pants and underclothes with one snap. She looked down, a smile coming to her face and a thin eyebrow raising once more. 

“Well, at least there’s one thing about the Great Bard of Avernus that isn’t terribly disappointing.” 

She circled around his tanned, naked form. He was half-hard, already leaking. He moaned again when she pressed the bare heel of her foot against his erection, and pressed down. Hot lashes of pain shot up through the squirming devil- but so did tingles of pleasure. Suddenly he could make noise again- and he was moaning, loudly.

“My my, quite the little masochist you are! You know looking at you I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type, but I certainly won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” 

A barbed whip appeared in her hands, and she clicked her tongue, circling. 

“My last pet had to be broken in, trained to like this sort of thing- but something tells me you’ll do just fine jumping right in.”

He gave the tiniest nod, his sunset colored eyes meeting her blood red ones.

She began to strike him, and each lash left a bright red line. They were hard to see against his warm crimson colored skin, but they were quite easy to feel. He groaned and hissed with pain as she circled round and round- striking his chest, his stomach, his groin, ass and back. Each lash made the restrained cambion jerk, grunt but he loved it.

When he was trembling, covered in lashes  from neck to knee, and fat tears rolled down his proud face was when she finally poofed the whip away. 

“Why, you were so chatty before, what happened my dear?” 

She puffed, leaning up to lick the tears from his ruddy face. She was pressed flushed against him, her soft warm flesh against his straining, weeping cock.

Raphael glared down at her, his expression a mixture of humiliation and begrudging arousal. Being reduced to this state was infuriating, but it also ignited something primal within him. He hated how much he didn’t hate it.

Still locked in place by her spell, Raphael could only watch as Mizora stepped back, examining him like a prized possession she’d acquired on a whim.

"You know," 

She began, rocking on the balls of her heels, seemingly enjoying the view.

"I could get used to this. A once-mighty, noble princeling, reduced to a pretty toy for a common cambion’s amusement. It has a certain poetic justice, don’t you think, daddy’s boy?"

“Everything I’ve ever had has been because of my own accomplishments.”

Raphael snapped immediately, his eyes blazing with indignation. If only he had his powers, he’d wipe that smug expression off her face. But alas, he was at her mercy, and she was seemingly enjoying every second of it. His cock twitched, so was he.

“Oh dear. Daddy is a sore point. Did he kick you to the curb, leave you all alone?”

That is not what happened! He’d had to fight to gain his own freedom, lie, cheat and play many sides. He’d-

Mizora leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear.

"Don't worry, puppy. I'll take good care of you. After all, it would be such a shame to let such a pretty thing go to waste."

With a wave of her hand, the hold monster spell dissipated, and Raphael stumbled backwards, his knees threatening to buckle from the sudden release. He caught himself just in time, straightening up and attempting to adjust what remained of his tattered shirt to cover himself best he could. He looked like a common devil, completely undignified and disposable.

"You’ll regret this.”

He hissed, his voice low and venomous, a promise of what she’d endure if he ever regained even a fraction of his power.

Mizora laughed, a musical yet cruel sound that echoed through the sparse room.

“You know something tells me I won’t.”

She teased, gleefully shoving him back onto the small mattress. He had been right, it was far too thin, uncomfortable. The older cambion struggled against her, but despite the fact it looked like he should be able to throw her off- he could not. She had all her powers, while he- as she said- had the strength of a mortal man. He swallowed thickly as she crawled atop him, grinning mischievously. 

“Now now- don’t be nervous-“

Her eyes narrowed at his cock, still half-hard. 

“I suppose even cambions age, given enough time. That just won’t do though.”

He felt a dull roaring in his ears. Haarlep was the only one who knew about his “little problem”. For the last seven hundred years he hadn’t topped; Raphael had never particularly enjoyed it, preferring to lay back and be worshipped- but he’d still do it once in a blue moon. Until- until he hadn’t. More so than the fine lines, the sunkeness of his eye sockets and plumpness of youth leaving his face- this had been the slap in the face that he was aging. At a glacially slow rate, as cambions of a noble line did- but aging all the same.

She was shoving her long manicured nails into his many whip wounds, twisting and scratching them, rocketing him back to the present . He hissed in pain, writhed. His own arms shot up in an attempt to hit her, shove her off, but he was pinned. Mizora might as well have been a brick wall, despite her slighter frame there was no chance he could move her. Instead his arms pressed against her like a helpless lover, groans and grunts of pain bubbling up unbidden as she fingered the many wounds, working them bigger. 

“Hehe, I thought so~”

She dug her finger deep into one wound just below his pectoral, her finger disappearing inside of him. He cried out, and his cock jumped in synch.

“What a sick little puppy…”

Mizora smirked as she hovered over him, her crimson gaze locked onto his, one hand petting his cock, the other continuing to finger his many wounds. Her presence radiated a mixture of malice and playfulness, a predator toying with her prey. Raphael's breath came in shallow bursts as he tried to regain composure, even his breathing. The cambion knew he should be controlling himself- but he didn’t really want to. 

His eyes drew up to the woman, her red hair falling in front of her face, her wetted lips twisted into an absolutely mad malicious grin. It was lovely. Maybe she wasn’t totally terrible to look at. 

“There we go!~”

She praised, the mocking undertone never leaving the woman as she finally got him to full hardness. 

With that she straddled the man, drew her dress to the side and gently guided him inside of her. They both groaned in unison as she slid down, bottoming out. Immediately his hips snapped, grabbing her hips pumping up into her with abandon, giving her no time to get used to him. She gasped, falling forward slightly and hissing with irritation. It was his turn to look mad, grinning up at her cruelly. 

“Too much for you my dear?” 

He said, smarmy and pleased. She cast hold monster again, stopping him. Mizora struck him, so hard his head snapped to the side. He scowled, blinking rapidly to refocus. She took a moment to even her breathing.

“What are you, a teenage boy rutting into whatever you can as quickly as you can? I’d expect a man of your age to have better manners.”

She tsked, before drawing up and slamming back down, creating a deep, steady pace. It was torture to not just violently chase his release, to be forced to pleasure someone else. His head drew back, and he hissed with frustration, his hips stirring the tiniest bit they were allowed with hold monster. 

Mizora chuckled, continuing to rock into him at her own pace, her hands on his chest. She leaned forward, sucking and biting at his adam’s apple. He groaned again, lashes fluttering as her body pressed against the stinging wounds covering his torso.

Mizora continued to ride him at a maddeningly slow pace. He just wanted to chase his own pleasure, to just rut into her until he found release- she was right. Why should he have to pleasure a common whore? But it seemed she had no intention of letting him do that. Instead, she maintained her steady rhythm, grinding against him just enough to keep him on edge but not nearly enough to let him finish.

"You're a selfish little prince, aren't you? Now that you’re down with us commoners you’ll have to learn to give and take…”

“Princes d-don’t bother with the n-needs of p-peasants.” 

He retorted, huffing with effort. She giggled into his neck at that remark, sinking her fangs down into him. Raphael’s snarl turned into a whine. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, and his hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking more friction. She chuckled around the bite, her sharp teeth grazing his skin in a way that made his cock throb.

"Mmm, you like that, don't you puppy? Being used like the little whore you are."

Mizora continued to grind against him, her sharp nails digging into him as she rode him. She sucked and bit at his neck, leaving a trail of dark hickeys. Raphael's hands clenched into fist so tight his claws were digging into his palms drawing blood, and his tail twitched helplessly. He wanted nothing more than to grab her hips, to slam into her with wild abandon until they both found release. But the hold monster spell kept him pinned, helpless to do anything but take what Mizora gave him. 

Finally it seemed she was picking up her pace, riding him as moans of pleasure spilled from her wetted lips. She drew back up, filthy whispers dripping from her. His ears strained to hear them.

Mizora leaned back, her back arched, her breasts bouncing in her dress. Raphael's eyes flicked up, taking in the sight. She bit her lip, throwing her head back in ecstasy as she rode him harder, her pace becoming frenzied as she ground down into him. Her passage felt so warm, wet. He was moaning, gasping- 

“Oh, you feel so good inside me… I bet you'd like to cum, wouldn't you?"

He nodded frantically, his pride overrode by teetering at the edge of release. 

“So cum, pet.”

She purred, and with a snap he could move again. He immediately grabbed her hips, snarling and pulling her down into his own thrusts like a beast in heat, slamming into her so hard he was sure to leave marks. His nails dug in as he chased that release, and she moaned in ecstasy cumming all over his cock. 

The tightening of her wet, warm walls around his prick was enough to finally send him over. He growled low in his throat, grinding her hard against him as he thrust as deeply as he could, making sure every drop of cum went deep inside the moaning, gasping woman. She writhed with pleasure against him. His arm slipped around her back, and they both lay there for a moment, panting against each other. Idly he stroked her back, and the female cambion nuzzled into his neck.

After a few moments she gingerly removed his arm, disconnected from the softening cock still inside her with a lewd wet squelch. He sat up slowly and groaned, his wounds agitated and muscles screaming with protest. Raphael was used to his restoration baths after sex. He was going to miss them terribly.

She slipped off the bed with silent grace, feline in nature. He watched her, for once having little to say. The man was pleased, enraged and embarrassed all at the same time. But the overwhelming feelings were tiredness, and post-orgasmic bliss. She was decent to look at, maybe not complete gutter trash. Not gorgeous, not like him, but decent. She turned to him, leaning in the doorway. 

“Well, do you want to come stay in my room or not?”

He perked up. Things still went his way no matter how bad life got. Of course they did, he was special. She touched him, teleporting him to a room the exact same as his, albeit better decorated and covered in knick-knacks and oddities.

“It’s the exact same. Lady Zariel treats none of her staff special, she’s a rather austere woman, but you’re welcome to stay, chained to my bed post.”

“You’re a wretched cur of a woman.”

He spat, staring at the small, crowded space. His wings fluttered and his tale thrashed.

“You’re a sniveling welp of a man. And calling you a man is being quite generous.”

Raphael decided he liked this little cambion. He liked her very, very much.