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She'd placed the Lament Configuration on her bedside table. She expected it to be gone in the morning. Whisked away by dark spirits to be passed off to another curious fool. Something to remember him by. No, it wasn't her wretched excuse of a husband she was remembering...not him at all.
Kirsty tried to shove it from her mind. Went to go shower thoroughly under hot water, clean her hands of her hellish revenge, wash her husband right out of her hair. Went to bed exhausted, falling into a dead sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Dreamt...dreamt someone....not Trever...was beneath the covers with her.
The Hell Priest.
His wrists and ankles nailed down into her mattress, crucified before her. All for her. At her mercy. He stares withput emotion with his black sharklike eyes. Waiting for her to take what she wants so badly, yet continously denies herself.
Dream logic places her naked atop him, straddling the Hell Priest's hips. Her panties shoved in his mouth to shut him up. He did love the sound of his own voice far too much. Kirsty knew he'd been craving this desperately for years now. Would make him suffer a bit longer. Rocked down against his hardness, and when he tried to roll up against her cunt, she'd pause, wait for him to obediently still, while scratching cruel red lines down his exposed chest. His black vinyl is wet with her fluids and sweat.
Not yet Elliot, she crooned saw unease flash in his eyes at the long-lost human moniker.
When she rips at his vinyl robe with grasping greedy hands to free his straining cock, she finds it pierced with pins in the same pattern as the ones adorning his skull. Except these pins had been pushed into his shaft, blunt side first, the sharp points sticking out.
It doesn't stop her. No not at all. Engulfed him with her throbbing wet cunt anyway and she feels the dozens of barbs tear at her insides. Gasps with agony at the horrible pain, positions herself so one of the sharp needle points attacks her swollen clit. He's so still. Perfectly behaved. Letting her take her pleasure from his prone body. He's obedient sure, but she doesn't care. Needs to punish him anyway.
As she rips herself to shreds bucking up and down on him, her hands cradle his face. Pulls one pin from his skull, watching as yellow pus and dark blood oozes deliciously from the fresh wound. He gasps wetly through the panties in his mouth, eyes glistening dark.
Begins to slowly torturously remove them all, one by horrible one. Some are stuck more firmly then others and removing them is like pulling from quicksand. Gluggy, slurping and slow. His face is spurting blood, down his neck, over his vinyl where it joins her own from her torn cunt. It feels sacred, the mixing of their blood. Binding them together for eternity.
Soon he is surrounded by pins like glittering teeth that she arranged in a fan on either side of the raw meat of his head. An unpleasant swirl of trypohobia attacks her. His face is a mass of bloody pulsing holes. The revulsion blends with her aching pain in a delicious slurry.
All at once she sticks every one of her fingers into the holes in his face. Pushes in deep, then out, hearing the deep guttural cry from the darkest recesses of him. Fingerfucking his flesh. Feeling the cheekbones and skull underneath her thrusting digits. The pin jabs at the destroyed flesh of her clit, his cock pulses helplessly inside her. He's blinded by the blood in his eyes, can't see her only feel her. The bed like a virgin's honeymoon baptized with their bodily fluids. Blood and ejaculate and sweat and pus.
In one shocking movement, he wrenches his wrist free of the nail binding him down. Grabs a handful of pins that once adorned his face. He swings them brutally into the pointed nipples of her tit, piercing the sensitive flesh, driving down deeper, deeper, he was going to hit her heart, he was going to rupture the precious meat, oh she was there, there, there, nothing had ever felt so good, fuck, fuck, fuck....
Kirsty awoke with a gasp in her empty bed. Her thighs were drenched with come, her whole body sweat sodden, as if she were in the depths of fever. Never had a dream like that. Never in her life.
She looked around. The Lament Configuration was still at her bedside table, hadn't disappeared at all. Waiting patiently for her to give in to temptation.