#bride cuckold Tumblr posts

  • artycsucker
    27.05.2022 - 17 hours ago

    Hi again, Was that you trying to start a chat-message with me? My chat and-or message isn't working and Tumblr's help isn't responding. I've pinned a post on my blog with a link to the new forum.

    it was me yes :) i love the idea of a bride cuckolding her new hubby :)

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  • ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds
    14.02.2022 - 3 monts ago

    Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! I’ve had major Inkubus brainrot as of late.  The movie itself wasn’t very good, but honestly who cares, because Inkubus himself is rhbfwjbfwf and I have thought about The Table Scene way too much.  So I’ve been working on this baby pretty much ever since watching it, and I thought posting this fic on Valentine’s Day would be fitting.  In a fucked up, twisted kind of way.  This is a little different from my usual fair, but it was SO much fun to write.  And also very self-indulgent.

    A couple quick notes – I wasn’t able to keep the Reader totally gender-neutral.  Although they’re referred to as they/them, they’re also wearing a dress and are referred to as a “bride”.  As an enby who’s okay with certain feminine terms, I feel comfortable with it, but I realize not everyone will be.  I apologize for that.  Also – I kind of rushed through revising/editing, so this fic probably isn’t going to be as nice or streamlined as my other couple of fics.  Sorry about that too.

    All that being said, let’s get into it!  Again, it’s not my typical type of fic, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless.



    Pairing: Inkubus x Fem!AFAB Reader

    Rating: Explicit, NSFW

    Word count: 6,608

    Content warnings: Some angst, murder, gore, religion, religious themes, blasphemy, cheating, loss of virginity, cuckolding, voyeurism, exhibitionism, fingering, more blasphemy, praise, finger-sucking, consensual mind-manipulation, overstimulation, crying, so much blasphemy, Christian Reader, Ace pretends to know about Christianity

    It was your wedding day, and you’d never been more miserable in your life.

    You knew you should’ve been happy.  You should’ve been more than happy.  You should’ve been glowing, eager, brimming with joy and excitement and sheer, absolute love as you walked down the aisle and towards the priest and the groom waiting at the end.  Sure, a little bit of anxiety should be mixed in there too.  But mostly, this should’ve been the most wonderful day of your life.

    And yet.

    You felt like you couldn’t breathe.  Like an iron hand had slipped its fingers around your lungs and was squeezing, slowly, suffocating you bit by bit, second by agonizing second.  The dress you wore – frilly and white and absolutely beautiful – scratched at your skin and made you want to claw the thing off.  Wearing it felt wrong.  More than wrong.  It felt like a betrayal to your very being.

    The church, for all its soaring ceilings and arches, felt too small, too confining, more like a prison cell than a house of worship.  The gazes of the people seated in the pews burned against your skin.

    Did they know?  Did they see the fear in your eyes?  Did they see the tightness of your shoulders, or how you clutched your bouquet of flowers with shaking hands?

    Could they tell you wanted nothing more than to run?

    You stepped up to the altar and turned to face your soon-to-be-husband. He was handsome and pleasant to look at, and even more importantly, he’d been sweet and devoted to you since you’d first started dating.

    You liked him.  You really did.

    You just… hadn’t really been expecting the proposal.

    And there was no way you could’ve turned him down and watched his face crumble with disappointment.  It would’ve been so selfish and cruel.  You could never have done that.

    You wished you did now.  Almost blurted it as you stared at him and that sweet, unknowing face.

    You only half paid attention to the priest as he welcomed everyone on this “joyous day” and thanked them all for coming here.  Yes, thank you to my family, my friends, my soon-to-be in-laws for coming to watch the beginning of lifelong damnation–

    No, you shouldn’t be thinking that!  You were getting married! Holy matrimony under the eyes of God, to a man you… cared about.

    The priest continued to talk about the wonders of marriage.  You stared at some spot beyond your fiancé, keeping a happy smile plastered to your face, even as your skin burned with shame.

    You should be happy you should be happy youshouldbehappy–

    Dread gnawed at your insides as family members and friends stepped up to share a reading or some thoughts about you or him or your relationship.  It should have been touching.

    Even when the priest finally turned to you and your fiancé, speaking about the responsibilities of marriage, you didn’t feel joy.  Just anxiety.  Dread.


    This was not how this day was supposed to go.

    The priest was saying something about the sanctity of the vows you were about to take.

    Fake.  You felt like a fake.  There was nothing sacred or holy about this.  Not when it was a lie.

    You exchanged vows.  Your soon-to-be husband spoke sincerely, kindly, vowing to keep you safe and to love and treasure you until the end of time, and beyond that.  You were his rock, his love, his God-given soul mate, and he was the luckiest man in the world to have you.

    It should have made you cry.  Made you weep with joy.

    It did not.  You felt like your legs were going to give out beneath you and you were going to collapse to the floor and vomit your guts out until there was nothing left except for an empty shell.

    But you didn’t do that, either.  Instead, your own vows spilled from your lips, just as you’d practiced and rehearsed so many times before.  They felt sincere then.  But now, as you stood here and the reality of it all hit you, they didn’t feel so true now. They rang hollow.  Lie after lie after hateful lie, spilling from your mouth like poison.

    He didn’t deserve this, and you didn’t want this.  But you couldn’t back out now.  It was too late.

    You put on the rings.  Your fiancé took your hand gently, his hands warm and soft, and slid the ring on your finger.  His eyes shone with love… and concern.  Concern for you, more than likely.  You almost apologized.  But you stopped yourself and slipped the second ring onto his finger.

    This is a mistake.

    The words rang in your head, loud and clear and unmistakable.  You half expected to be struck down for the thought at all.  Instead, the dread that had been gnawing at your insides was full-on devouring now, sinking its teeth in and tearing without mercy.  Panic rose in your chest and got caught in your throat.  You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak.  Time seemed to move in slow motion.

    Please.  Please, I don’t want this.  Please, God, don’t let this happen.  Somebody, anybody, PLEASE–  

    The priest smiled kindly.  You fiancé beamed.  You wanted to die.

    “I now pronounce you–”

    “I object.”

    The Church fell silent.  Dead silent. And, as one, you all turned to see who dared to interrupt the ceremony, who dared to object to this union of two such wonderful souls.

    The hair on the back of your neck rose.

    In the very last pew sat a man.  Older, with silvery hair and dressed entirely in black.  He sat with his legs crossed and one hand on his knee, the other arm stretched out along the back of the pew.  He looked like a man without a care in the world.

    You had no idea who he was, or what he was doing here, at your wedding. But you couldn’t help but stare at him. Stare at the man who had answered your unspoken wish almost as soon as you’d thought it.

    He stared back.

    “Wh-what?”  You tore your eyes away from him to stare at the stunned priest.  Across from you, your husband – no he wasn’t really your husband yet, was he, the priest didn’t finish – looked just as shocked.  Perhaps evens more so.

    “I said–”  The man rose to his feet and walked down the aisle, his black coat fanning out behind him as he moved.  He came right up to the altar, standing close to the three of you clustered there.  This close, you could see how expensive his attire looked, how tailored and… unusual it was.  And that was to say nothing of his face.  Handsome, sharp featured, lined with age yet striking nonetheless.

    And his eyes.  They pinned you to the spot.  You felt so much smaller as he looked at you, and yet at the same time, you felt important, as if you had all his attention.  You didn’t know whether to cringe away or lean in closer.

    The man’s gaze didn’t move away from you as he spoke to the priest.  “–I object.  And I’m sure you do, too, don’t you love?”

    You felt everyone in the room look at you.  Your face instantly heated.

    The priest sputtered in disbelief.  “That’s not – you can’t – you’re not actually supposed to–”

    “You can’t object!”  The man turned away, and an odd mix of relief and disappointment washed over you.  But that quickly morphed into concern when you realized your fiancé was the one speaking.  The surprise on his face was gone, replaced with pure anger.  “‘Speak now or forever hold your peace.’  I think you missed that part, buddy.”

    “Yes, well, better late than never.  After all, somebody had to help out your…”  The man twisted back around to you, his gaze raking down your form in a way that was almost tangible.  “…Dearly beloved.”

    The way he said it… you almost shivered.

    Not… entirely out of fear.  Shame curled in your gut.

    “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” your fiancé spat.  A ripple went through the audience, as if shocked at such language.

    “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.”  The man tilted his head at you.  “But you don’t, do you?”

    You stared at him, wide-eyed.  “What…?”

    Your fiancé tried to reach past the man and grab you.  “Babe, don’t–”

    “This is entirely inappropriate–” the priest spoke up.

    A sigh left the man’s lips.  “This is getting rather tiresome.”

    A blur of movement.  A wet crunch.

    It took you a moment to realize what had just happened.

    A blade now extended from the man’s sleeve, dripping deep red.  Everyone stared in shock.  Including the priest.

    Right up until his head popped off and tumbled to the ground, his body collapsing with it.  Blood pooled on the floor, staining the polished white tile and seeping into the carpet.  All the air seemed to be sucked out of the room.  You couldn’t move.  Couldn’t think, couldn’t process what you were seeing as you stared at the priest’s detached head.

    The man straightened and glanced at everyone seated in the pews.  “That would be your sign to leave.”

    And just like that, the church erupted into chaos.  People screamed, fled, stumbled over themselves as they rushed up the aisle and exploded out the church doors.  You watched your family and friends run, leaving you forgotten at the altar.


    Abandoned with a man who was most certainly not your savior.

    You should have run with them.  But something made you stay.

    “Well, now that that’s over with.”  The blade disappeared back into the man’s sleeve with a hiss, and he brushed his hands together as if wiping them off.  He clasped his arms behind his back and slid that heavy gaze back to you.  “I think a thank you is in order.”

    A beat passed.  Two.

    You stared at him.  A thank you? A thank you?  He’d just interrupted your wedding day and beheaded a priest whose blood was now soaking the hem of your wedding dress, and he was standing there waiting for a thank you.

    You should’ve been horrified.  Revolted.  Terrified.

    And, yes, there was definitely that.

    But deep down, there was something else, too.  Something you didn’t want to admit.


    Your prayers had been answered.  This man, whoever he was, had stopped the wedding.

    “Thank you.”  You were surprised by the steadiness of your own voice.

    The edge of his mouth curled up in a smirk, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement.  “You’re very welcome.”

    You hesitated, licking your lips out of nervousness.  You needed to tread carefully.  “Who are you?”

    He chuckled as if the question genuinely amused him.  Before you could react, he stepped up to you, captured one of your hands in his, and raised your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. Something curled in your gut, and you were so flustered you almost missed what he actually said.

    “Inkubus, at your service.”

    Your heart stumbled.  That vice around your lungs returned, stronger than before, and you stared at the man in horror, unable to say anything.

    What could you say?

    Inkubus.  An incubus. A demon.  A monster from Hell.

    He couldn’t be serious.  He couldn’t be.  And if he was, he had to be insane.  There was no way… no way a demon had just waltzed into this very church and interrupted this very wedding and beheaded this… very… priest.

    You glanced back down at the priest’s body before you could stop yourself. His unseeing eyes stared at the gilded church ceiling in shock, as if gazing upon some untold horrors.  His body was skewed awkwardly on the floor, his white robes stained deep red.  The hem of your dress was soaked in his blood.

    …Oh God what if he was?

    You snapped your gaze back to him.  Fear constricted your chest and threatened to crush your ribcage like toothpicks.  He still held your hand, gently, delicately, not at all how a demonic murderer should’ve held your hand.

    Something about him… something about him made you believe he really was a demon.  You weren’t sure what.  Maybe it was how his gaze seemed to pierce you and flay you alive.  Maybe it was how quickly and effortlessly he’d sliced the priest’s head off, as if cutting through muscle and bone took little more effort than slicing a hot knife through butter.

    Or maybe it was how from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, you’d felt drawn to him.  How his hand on yours sent electricity skittering through your veins.  And how you couldn’t quite ignore the persistent thought of what it would feel like to have his hands slide along the rest of your body.

    What other explanation could there be?  What else could possibly explain what you felt for a possibly demonic killer who’d interrupted your wedding?

    The thought hit you like a slap to the face.  Holy shit my fiancé –

    You whipped your hand away from Inkubus and brushed past him, heading straight to the man you’d been about to marry.  He stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the priest’s body with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.  Unmoving. Barely even breathing.  As if he’d been frozen in place.

    “Oh, don’t worry about him.  He’s fine. A little shaky but nothing to worry about,” Inkubus said from behind you.

    You glanced down at your fiancé’s hands.  They were shaking uncontrollably.  But the rest of him was still as a statue.

    “Are you doing something to him?” you asked quietly.

    “Just keeping him in place for a little while.  Wouldn’t want him to miss this.”

    Your gaze snapped back to Inkubus.  He’d been peering down at the priest’s body, having approached it and stopped right at the edge of the puddle of blood, but he lifted his head to meet your gaze.  His eyebrows were raised, giving you a pointed, knowing look.

    Unease settled in your stomach.  “Miss what?”

    That soft, smug smile returned.  “Well, you see, I heard your little call for help, and since I was a bit bored, I thought I’d answer.”

    “What call for help?” your fiancé blurted.  You went rigid as his eyes bored a hole in your back.  You didn’t look away from Inkubus.  Didn’t want to.

    Didn’t want to face your fiancé and tell him the truth.

    As if he could sense that – and maybe he could – Inkubus tilted his head, gaze shifting to where your fiancé was still frozen.  “Your lovely little bride-to-be practically begged me to stop the wedding – and I’m being generous with the ‘practically’.  They didn’t want to marry you.  A ‘mistake’, you called it, yes?”  His gaze briefly flickered to you.

    Panic rose in your throat.  You whirled around to your stricken fiancé.  Your heart broke at the look of betrayal on his face.  “No, sweetie, please, it’s not like that, it has nothing to do with you – I’m sorry I just–”

    He deserved better he didn’t deserve this how could you be so cruel how could you be so disloyal –

    “Now, now, enough of that.”  Your entire body jolted when a cold, gentle hand landed on your bare shoulder and set every nerve ending alight.  “He doesn’t deserve your pity, not after what he’s done.”

    Ohhhhhh what a leading question that was.  You knew he wanted you to ask him.  And once again, you didn’t want to.



    You could practically feel the smile that curved across his face.  You stared at your fiancé’s horrified, wide-eyed expression as Inkubus spoke.  “Well, I suppose it’s less of a question of what he’s done and more of who. Your sweet, loyal, perfect little husband hasn’t been following the no-sex before marriage rule that you’ve so diligently followed.  No.  No, he’s been seeing quite a few ladies on the side.  Including that friend of yours who was sitting in the front row, right by your mother.”

    Your stomach plummeted.

    “No, he’s lying!”  Panic consumed your fiancé’s face, and his whole body started shuddering, as if he was desperately trying to escape whatever hold Inkubus had over him. “Babe, please, believe me, I’d never – he’s just trying to – he’s a fucking demon, you can’t believe anything he says–!”

    “Lying is a sin, you know.”  Inkubus’ hand slid up to your neck, fingers brushing against your stuttering pulse.  “So is lust.  Wouldn’t you agree, my dear?”  His breath caressed your ear.

    Your fisted the fabric of your dress.  Your lovely, very expensive, blood-stained dress, which you’d picked out because you’d known your fiancé was going to love it.

    He could be lying.  He was a demon.  He was probably lying.

    …But what if he wasn’t?

    “Is it true,” you ground out.

    “No – babe, how could you – you’ve gotta be fuckin – babe, I’d never I swear!”

    Oh God, he really was lying, wasn’t he? You knew his tells.  You’d been with him for too long, and you were too observant.

    He’d really been cheating on you.  He’d been sneaking behind your back and having sex with other women.  When had he done it?  Was it those nights he’d said he was going out for drinks with the guys?  Were those lies?  What about that time he’d been called away to work because of an emergency?  Was that a lie, too?  How had you not noticed the way he eyed your friend like that?  How had you not noticed how she looked at him?  How had you never put two and two together?

    You felt sick again.  But the nausea quickly turned into something else – something hot and bitter and broiling.

    How fucking dare he.

    “You fucking asshole,” you hissed.  Your fiancé stared at you in shock.  “How fucking dare you?!?  You lying piece of shit.”

    “Babe, no please, I can explain –”

    “Fuck you!”  You tore the polished gold wedding ring off your finger and threw it at him.  He flinched as it bounced off his suit and fell to the ground with a muffled tink.

    It wasn’t enough.  Rage still boiled in your gut.  How could he? How could he?

    You wanted to throw something else at him.  Wanted to get back at him.  Wanted to get back at him and rub it in his face so that he couldn’t ignore it, wanted to make him feel as shitty and mortified as you felt.

    But how…?

    “I have a few ideas.”  The whisper brushed against your ear, soft and sweet and seductive.  “And I’m sure you do, too.  Don’t you, love?”

    You shivered as Inkubus’ fingertips traced along your collarbone.  His touch was feather-light.  Your body ached for more, but you tried desperately to push that thought away.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

    “Now, now, no need to lie.  I’m an incubus, my dear.  I can sense every little thought going through your head.  Every desire.  Every little thing that makes your heart skip a beat.”  As he said it, his fingers slid back up to curl around your neck and he squeezed, just a little.  Your breath caught and… and your heart skipped a beat.  Heat flooded your body, and you were only half-aware of one of your hands coming to rest atop his, as if to ensure it stayed there.


    “You know you want to.”  His other hand skimmed along your back, exposed by the wedding dress.  “I know you want to.  So why not? Don’t you want to show your faithless little fiancé what he’s missing?  Don’t you want to show him how it feels to be betrayed?  And how it feels to enjoy it?  Don’t you want to choose what you do?  Don’t you want to let go, just for once, to do something you want?  And do something sinful?”

    His fingers brushed against the edge of your dress, skimming against the skin of your lower back.  You arched, just a bit.

    You did… you wanted all of that.  So badly.


    But… what?  What had restraint earned you?  A disloyal fiancé who hadn’t hesitated to cheat on you?  A lifetime of dissatisfaction, of yearning?  Constant, quiet suffering, simply to be told you were good and perfect and pure in the eyes of others?  Of your family?  The Church? God?

    What had that been worth?

    Didn’t you deserve to do something for yourself?  Just for once?

    You must’ve said the last part out loud – or maybe you didn’t – because Inkubus murmured, “Of course you do.  You’ve been so very patient.  You should get to indulge yourself every now and then.”

    You were so very aware of his fingers on your neck and your back, of his breath against your cheek and his lips not quite skimming against your skin.  He gave off no body heat, but the urge to curl into him was overwhelming.

    “What do you get out of this?”

    A breath of a laugh.  “I get to indulge myself, as well.”

    Right… incubus.  Why was it so hard to keep a thought in your head?

    “So… what do you say?”  His lips brushed against your cheekbone.  “Wanna have some fun?”

    “Yes.” Your answer fell from your lips before you could even consider stopping it – not that you wanted to, not when Inkubus was already spinning you around and capturing your mouth in a kiss.

    You immediately melted, curving into him and clutching at the soft, stiff fabric of his coat to pull him closer against you.  His hands slid over your body, exploring every line and curve with a touch that was almost reverent in its gentleness.  He kissed you with just as much fervor as you kissed him.  The scrape of his teeth against your bottom lip had you quivering, and when he coaxed your lips apart and pressed his tongue against yours, a slight moan escaped you.  That just made him more eager.  It was as if he was intent on devouring you, and you didn’t have the will to stop him. Didn’t want to.

    He explored your mouth steadily, thoroughly, seeking out every corner and dragging little desperate sounds of pleasure from you.  One of his hands came up to your chin, tilting your head just so to allow him better access to you.  Your head swam, and you could barely keep yourself upright.

    He had done nothing but kiss you, and you were already so, so needy for him.

    So desperate for more.

    As if he could tell – and hell, he probably could – Inkubus ushered you backwards as he kissed you.  Back through the slick wetness staining the carpet and tile.  Back till your spine was pressed against the altar and he had you captured against it, caging you in with no escape.

    But why would you want to escape?

    Inkubus diverted to skim his lips across your cheekbone, then down your jawline. You tipped your head back, eyes fluttering shut as he trailed gentle kiss after gentle kiss down your throat.

    Why would you want to leave when he was lavishing you with more passion and tenderness than you own fiancé ever had?

    The thought took root in your mind.  You forced yourself to open your eyes, and as Inkubus pressed his mouth to your fluttering pulse, you locked eyes with your fiancé – who stood there, frozen to the spot, mouth gaping open and eyes bugged out like a startled fish. Like he couldn’t believe there was a demon kissing his bride-to-be on his own wedding day.  Like he wanted desperately to jump in, to say something, to do anything.  But he couldn’t.  He couldn’t do anything but watch.

    Heat curled low in your gut at the thought.  At the thought of Inkubus pinning you to the altar, sinning with you as your fiancé stared helplessly.

    Fuck.  Your thighs clenched.

    “Oh you like the thought of someone seeing you be so sinful, don’t you?”  You gasped as Inkubus fondled one of your breasts through your wedding dress, feeling your nipple harden under his touch.  God, that alone felt incredible.  Arcing into his touch didn’t do anything.  You needed more.  Desperately.


    “Yes, darling?”

    “Pleeeeease,” you whined.

    He pulled away to look at you, silver eyes sharp and lustful.  “Such a lovely little thing, asking so nicely.”  His thumb brushed across your bottom lip.  “Be a dear and get on the altar, would you?”

    Nervous excitement fluttered in your stomach as you did as you were told. Fuck, you were doing this.  You were really doing this.  It was so bad and forbidden and blasphemous, but God if that didn’t send heat coursing through you. You hoisted yourself up onto the altar, scooting backwards so you were seated better.  Inkubus came around to the other side and guided you to lie down. The altar’s surface was hard and unforgiving against your back.  But fuck it. You didn’t care.

    You were doing something for you.  Not for your friends, or your family, or even God.

    Purely for you.

    Inkubus peered down at you, one hand braced by your side, the other just barely brushing against the skirt covering your legs.  “Ready?” he murmured.

    “God, yes,” you breathed.

    An odd expression crossed his face, one you couldn’t quite put a name to, but it made you shiver with anticipation nonetheless.  “Believe me, God has nothing to do with this.”  He glanced up at your fiancé, who was watching what unfolded before him with a look of horror.  “I do hope you enjoy watching, pretty boy.”

    Neither you or your fiancé had time to respond before the hiss of metal filled the air and that silver blade flashed out from Inkubus’ sleeve.  Pure fear shot through you, and before you could react he sliced the fabric of your blood-stained skirt in half, exposing you to him.  You squealed and squeezed your legs together on instinct, as if to hide your immodesty.

    “Ah, ah, ah – no need for that.”  Inkubus’ hand was cool against your leg, and you shivered, just a little.  “No need for self-consciousness.  I want to see you – and every part of your lovely body.”

    For a moment, you hesitated.  Your stomach fluttered nervously as you slowly opened your legs, inviting him to touch but afraid to say it aloud.  He didn’t need any encouragement, though.  His hand skimmed up the inside of your thigh, feeling the soft flesh there and sending fire curling through your veins.  Your breath hitched as he stopped at the apex of your thighs.  So fucking close… so fucking close to that forbidden little place.

    His finger brushed against the edge of your panties.  You didn’t dare look at him.  But you could feel his gaze locked on you, measuring your every response and reaction as he fingered the lace of your pure white bridal lingerie.  The urge to squirm, to wiggle and nudge his fingers closer to you core, was almost irresistible.

    You wanted him to touch you – really touch you, unabashedly and shamelessly, so badly.  You were aching for it.

    He dragged his index finger along your clothed slit, and you choked on your own breath.

    Holy –

    “So very eager, are we?” he purred.

    Your body felt like it was on fire.  As he swept his fingers along your folds, it was impossible to ignore how fucking wet it was down there.  How you, as untouched and inexperienced as you were, had become drenched with nothing more than a few touches and words from him.

    Inkubus wasted no time.  He didn’t bother sliding the panties off of you, instead hooking his fingers around them and nudging them to the side before sinking a finger into you.  The church’s vaulted ceilings made your sharp gasp echo.  He pulled that finger out briefly, then pressed back in, deeper.  He repeated the motion.  Again.  Again. Pressing deeper each time, thumb flicking against your clit as he did so.  Pain prickled your abdomen, but it was tempered by the heat simmered through your veins.  Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation.

    Oh God, was this was what you’d missed out on?  Was this what was so sinful, the pleasure curling in your gut, the wetness pooling between your thighs, the sharp delicious stretch when Inkubus added a second finger and pumped them inside you?  You arced against the altar, moaning, spreading your legs further, baring yourself to him and wiggling your hips to urge him on.

    “Oh there you go, that’s it.  You’re doing so well.”  The praise only added to the heat sluggishly building inside of you, and you writhed and whimpered pathetically.  “Ohhhh your little fiancé never could’ve treated you like this, could he have?  Hmm?” He curled his fingers inside you at that, eliciting another shameless moan from you.

    “No,” you gasped.  “No.”

    “Why don’t you go ahead and tell him that?”

    You let your head loll to the side, looking at your fiancé through your lust-addled haze.  He was trembling.  His expression was horrified, angry, confused.  And yet his gaze was fixed to where Inkubus’ fingers had plunged into you. As if he couldn’t look away.

    “He – he does it –”  You cut yourself off with another pathetic noise when Inkubus ground his thumb against your clit.  “He does it so much better than you ever could have.”

    “Good little angel.”

    Fuck.  You instinctively clenched around his fingers, almost crying at how good it felt. You were so fucking hot and aroused and on fire, you craved him so fucking much, you felt like you were going to lose your mind.

    And then you almost did cry when Inkubus pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you wet and achingly empty.  But then Inkubus regarded the wetness coating his fingers and tasted it.  Fire shot straight through your core.

    “Be a dear and clean this off for me, will you?”  He pressed his slick-covered fingers against your lips, and you didn’t even hesitate before doing as told.  The act should have revolted you, but you found yourself having to clench your thighs together at your own heady taste.  At the feeling of his fingers invading your mouth and pressing against your tongue.  Your fiancé made a horrified little noise in the background, and Inkubus slid him an utterly self-satisfied look.

    When he was pleased with your work, Inkubus pulled his fingers out of your mouth and gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.  “Do you trust me?”

    Considering what he was, you really shouldn’t have.  But you found yourself nodding anyway, not caring in the slightest, yeses and pleading words falling from your mouth.

    Inkubus pulled away, disappearing from your vision, his hand releasing your jaw to trail down your front.  And as he did so, something… shifted.  In your mind. The world got a little fuzzy.  And suddenly everything else felt so much sharper, every sensation was heightened to the point of being overwhelming.  The slightest brush of fabric on your skin was torture, the air of the church was frigid, the building heat inside of you was so much hotter, burning and scorching and consuming.  The feeling of his fingers trailing against your skin, down the valley of your breasts, had you writhing and arcing and moaning.

    Now you really did feel like you were on fire. Like you were drowning in sensation.

    Everything was too much and yet not enough.

    You ran your own hands along your body, desperate for even the slightest bit of friction to fuel the burning heat inside you.  You shoved the front of your dress down, exposing your breasts to the suddenly-frigid air, and groped yourself, teasing your own nipples, chasing the white-hot pleasure that coursed through your veins.  You were so lost in yourself that you even dared to slip a hand between your legs, fingers fumbling and poorly trying to imitate what Inkubus had been doing to you.  You might’ve moaned his name.  You weren’t sure.

    Silken fabric brushed against your skin, and a body enveloped your own, pressing against you, above and around and everywhere.  Piercing silver eyes peered down at you through the haze of sensation and pleasure.

    “Shhhhh don’t worry,” he murmured, voice soft and honeyed and sweet.  “You’ve done such a beautiful job.  Let me take care of you now.”

    Inkubus pulled your hand away from yourself and shifted.  You were too lost to really register what he was doing. But the sound of a zipper being dragged down skittered along your nerves and into your bones.  You shivered, body tingling with anticipation.

    The head of his cock pressed against your soaked folds.  You bucked on instinct, gasping, but his hands clamped around your hips and pinned you against the altar as he slowly, slowly pressed into you, filling you inch by inch.

    It was agonizing.  It was delicious.  Too much. Not enough.

    You couldn’t breathe.  Sweat clung to your skin.  Your body hummed, nerves vibrating, entire body on edge as he stilled and waited for you to adjust around him.

    You took in a shaky breath.  Exhaled. Again.  He watched you closely as you breathed.

    Then, as your body started to relax around him, he leaned over, cock shifting inside you as he did so, sending sparks of pleasure through your abdomen. His lips brushed against yours, breath intermingling.

    “Put on a good show for everyone watching.”

    Everyone watching.  As if the weight on your skin wasn’t from your fiancé’s gaze alone, but the gaze of saints and angels and God Himself, all waiting, watching, judging.  Observing your every sin.

    Oh God.

    Oh Hell.

    Inkubus slid out, letting his cock slowly drag against your walls.  Then he snapped his hips against yours, filling you again in a sharp, smooth motion.  You arced, mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure, hands scrabbling at the altar. When he did it again, the noise you made was small, broken, needy.  His pace was slow and agonizingly deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him as he rutted in and out of you.  The stretch was almost painful, and each thrust sent a flurry of heat through your body. Tears pricked at your eyes as you writhed and cried beneath him, begging him to keep going and repeating his name like it was a sinful prayer.  And in return, Inkubus fed you sweet words of praise and affection, telling you how perfect you were, how lovely, how tight and wet and receptive.  How you were doing so well, so perfectly.  His voice both soothed you and drove you closer to an unknown edge.

    You let out a long, pathetic moan when he maneuvered your hips so that his cock now hit some sensitive spot deep inside you, some place you hadn’t even been aware existed.  Your eyes rolled back in your head.  That heat inside of you built up further still, and you locked your legs around his waist.

    You were so fucking desperate.  You still needed more.  You cupped both of your breasts, groping and pinching your nipples and fueling the fire inside of you as Inkubus deeply fucked your body and maneuvered you around like his own personal ragdoll.

    Release crashed into you with no warning.  You clenched around Inkubus and cried out, voice echoing with the acoustics of the church, tears spilling across your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure he steadily, mercilessly wrought out from you.

    Why had you resisted so long when sin felt as good as this?

    Inkubus’ movements became sharper, more painful, his grasp on your hips bruising. His breath came out in uneven huffs. Your limp, overstimulated body trembled as you sobbed from the perfect pain.

    “Such a sweet thing,” he purred.  “My lovely little angel, you’ve done so well.  Just – a little more, and–”

    His hips snapped against yours once more before he spilled himself inside you, filling you up until you were hot and wet and full of his seed.  He sighed, long and satisfied.  Sated.

    Slowly, the fuzziness cleared from your mind.  The hypersensitivity of your body settled.  Whatever Inkubus had done to you, whatever demonic power he’d used, faded and ebbed until you were left exhausted and spent.

    Inkubus bent over, and even as spent as you were, the shift of his cock inside you made your breath catch.  He captured your lips in a heated kiss that had you melting beneath him.  And mourning when he finally pulled away. But he didn’t go far, brushing his nose against yours and cupping your cheek.  You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

    “My perfect, lovely little angel.  How was that?”

    You laughed breathlessly.  “It was…” God, what could you say? Sinful?  Addictive?  The best thing you’d ever experienced?

    Judging by the chuckle and the soft smile curving across his face, Inkubus seemed to understand.  “Good.” He pressed another gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away from you – and pulling out.  The gush of liquid made your skin heat again, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care about the mess.

    Inkubus tucked himself back in and adjusted the scarf coiled around his neck before slipping off the altar.  He looked just as put together as he had been when he’d first interrupted your wedding. Fuck, that felt like forever ago. Look at where you were now – sprawled on the altar, wedding dress soaked in blood, your skirt split in half and bunched around your waist and your bodice shoved down to expose your breasts. And that wasn’t even mentioning your cum-filled cunt.

    “Well, your fiancé certainly seemed to enjoy it.”

    Oh fuck, you’d almost forgotten about him.  He was still frozen in place.  Horror and embarrassment seemed permanently etched into his strained features. Understandable.  After all, he’d just watched his perfect Christian bride get fucked and tainted by a demon in the House of God.

    You glanced down his form.  Oh.

    There was a sizeable tent in his pants.

    You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.  “Did you get a good view, honey?” you asked, your voice overly-sweet and pleasant.

    “I certainly think so,” Inkubus answered for him.  The demon strolled over to your fiancé.  Your fiancé seemed to shrink into himself, eyes wide, and Inkubus regarded him for a long moment.  “Hmm. Shame you won’t get a chance to do anything about it.”

    And then his blade was buried in your fiancé’s gut, breaking him out of whatever hold he’d been under so that he could jerk and gasp as the blade twisted deep into him.  His eyes bulged.  His mouth was open in a silent scream.  His gaze wandered to you, begging you, imploring you, do something.

    You didn’t.  You felt nothing for him.

    With a wet noise and a spray of blood, Inkubus ripped the blade back out.  Your fiancé lifelessly crumbled to the ground, spilling more blood across the polished tile.

    Then the demon turned to you.

    And for a moment, your stomach went hollow.  Your body went cold.  And you wondered if Inkubus was about to do the same to you.

    But the blade slid back into his sleeve, and when he came back over to you, his touch was a caress against your cheek.

    Still. You had to ask.

    “Are…” You swallowed.  “Are you going to do the same thing to me?”

    “Of course not, love.”  His other hand skimmed up your thigh and brushed against your soaked folds.  When he pressed his thumb against your clit, you squirmed.

    “No,” Inkubus purred, his voice low and deceptively soft.  “I have some other ideas for the two of us.”

    #ace writes#inkubus #inkubus x reader #notsft #such an underrated character #deserves so much more writing #so once again i am supplying myself with what i want to see
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