Damien ran his claws along the edge of her halter and skirt, then ripped the material away. He sank his teeth into her boots, then tore them off as well. She was totally naked, bare beneath him in the grass. She was on her stomach, body trembling as he lightly ran his claws over her body. One pound of pressure and he could cut her skin. One bite could crush bone. She was so fragile...but he planned to test the boundaries of that fragility.

He nosed between her legs. Clara stiffened and tried to close them. Damien placed one huge, clawed hand on her back and flexed it in warning, the points of each claw biting into her skin lightly. She stopped struggling but her body remained stiff. Damien nosed between her legs again, scenting her fear and arousal. Fear was the overriding emotion, so he decided to change that. His tongue snaked out and lapped at her. She jerked, shock and pleasure making her move despite her fear of what would happen if she did. Damien merely increased the pressure of his hand on her back and licked at her again.

*

Clara couldn't help the moan that was torn from her throat. Her body didn't have any fight left. All her energy had been expended running from him and now she couldn't struggle and she couldn't deny her body's natural reactions. He licked her again and her back bowed in pleasure. He lapped at her, his tongue rubbing against her clit sometimes softly, sometimes roughly. As he did, he lifted her to her hands and knees, positioning himself behind her.

When he lifted his head and mounted her, her fear returned. Clara knew he was too big. There simply wasn't any way he would fit inside her… and clearly he was going to try. She thought about begging, about pleading for him to stop. But even as she turned her head to speak, he growled and pushed her head down. The sometimes charming man was still inside there somewhere, she knew, but for now, the beast was in charge.

*

Damien struggled to control himself. He wanted to bite her neck and mark her. He wanted to thrust himself all the way inside her and rutt against her until he came. Despite his desire to test her strength, though, he had no desire to physically break her. Her neck could snap under his jaws. And her body simply couldn't accommodate his cock in this form. Maybe someday, if they had centuries to prepare for it... But if he forced himself into her now, he would cause serious damage. With a few growled words in demonish, he shrank the size of his cock until it would fit without tearing her. It would burn and stretch, impale her, but not break her.

As he positioned his cock at her cunt, he let his fangs hover over the crook between her neck and shoulder. That tender spot had always called to him so sweetly. His teeth rested against her skin with only the barest of pressure. It held her perfectly immobile. He growled low, not a warning but a sign of pleasure as he thrust forward and the tip of his cock pushed inside her. She gasped and started to squirm away. He bit down a little harder. His fangs pierced the fragile skin of her shoulder and two pinpricks of blood welled up. As she froze, he ran his tongue over the drops, savoring them. In this form he didn't thirst for blood, but he certainly had a taste for it. She froze again and he buried another inch of his cock into her.

By the time he was all the way inside of her, Clara was panting with exertion. The burn and stretch of him filling her was painful but somehow not unbearable. The stress of fear made her feel weak, and Clara feared she would collapse, but Damien held her still with his fangs against her skin. The fur of his tail swished across her calves each time he moved. The hair on his legs rubbed against her thighs roughly. To her horror, once he stilled, she felt pleasure building within her.

Damien pulled back and thrust forward again with all his might. The force of it drove the breath from her and jerked her body forward, sending his fangs once more into her skin. She cried out as equal measures of pleasure and pain ran through her.

As if something within him broke at hearing her scream, Damien let the beast loose. He started fucking her hard, hips slamming against her ass as he drove his cock into her over and over again. Clara could only brace her hands against the grass and let him ride her. She was stretched around his girth, forced to submit as he rutted within her. Her hair fell forward around her face like a curtain. She closed her eyes and tried to summon enough will to fight her body's blossoming reaction to his bestial fucking.

Instead of falling, the tide of pleasure in her only rose. It consumed her as he continued to pound into her, growling and groaning his pleasure at the feel of her stretched around his cock. His pace increased, hips jerking in a frenzy against her. The burning throb between her legs became inescapable, the sensation of that one little spot on her body becoming the focus of every nerve she possessed. Damien snarled against her skin and drove himself deeply into her, causing her to explode in pleasure. She screamed and writhed, making his fangs sink into her shoulder but not caring as the white hot licks of pleasure scorched through her.

*

Even in his wild lust, Damien drew his fangs back enough not to do more than pierce her skin. That last taste of blood, though, sent him over the edge. He erupted, thrusting brutally into her and forcing his seed deeper within her. She was still screaming in pleasure as he bucked against her, wringing the last drops of bliss from them both. Finally, when she stopped squeezing around him, he withdrew and she collapsed in the grass.

He lay next to her for a while, watching her. Her breath started to even back out, her muscles relaxing slowly. He leaned over her and licked away the last tiny drops of blood from her shoulder, then healed the small punctures.

Clara turned her head to look at him, her eyes roving over his body. For the first time, he wondered what she thought of it. Did she only see a wild animal? Or could she see him inside? Then he shook his head, smirk returning. What did it matter? The Prince of Darkness certainly didn't care what a mere mortal thought of his forms, especially when she was only there to service his desires.

"Is this your true form?" she asked after several moments of silence. Damien considered not answering her at all. He didn't chat with a steak before he ate it. Why should he converse with his whore after he fucked her? But there was only so much the King of Lies could lie to himself.

Clara was so much more than that.

"True form does not hold much meaning to me. I take whatever form I wish, and hold that form for as long as I wish. What is true is only what I wish to be true."

"But what form were you born in?" she persisted.

Damien watched her carefully, trying to discern any snideness or malice in the question. He found none, so he shrugged, then changed forms. He took the body of a man again, this time with pale skin and a white suit. His hair lightened to blonde and lengthened to his shoulders. From his back two enormous white wings erupted. The only things that remained the same were those black irises.

*

Clara gasped, awed at his ease of transition and at the mere normalcy of his look. It was exactly what she expected an angel would look like, except wearing a suit instead of a robe.

"If you believe the stories, this was my native form," he said formally. Clara stared at him for a moment longer, then blinked to break the spell.

*

"The stories? What do you mean? Don't you know for sure?" She seemed honestly puzzled. Damien watched her curiosity peaque and felt the desire to open himself to her. Despite his strong words of toys only present for his pleasure, deep down he knew the truth. She had within her the twin to his own soul. She matched him. And he had nothing to hide from her.

"Actually, no. I do not know. My first memory is awakening in hell. Of knowing that I was the Prince of Darkness and my right was to rule all of damnation. I arrived in this form," he switched back to his original look, dark hair, black suit, "but with the ability to take any form I wished, several seeming native to me. Whether I spawned from the creator or was simply spat into existence by pure evil, I do not know. If the Holy Father is my father, then he is a silent one. I know he exists, but I have never heard him speak."

*

There was a long silence as Clara digested the information.

"Are you evil?" she asked quietly. It seemed an insipid question- after all, he was the devil. But he hadn't seemed evil so far. Twisted and dark, but not evil. Even still, his words wouldn't stop echoing in her head. 'spat into existence by pure evil.' Was he the product of all the evil in the world incarnate?

Damien sighed and rolled onto his back.

"Is pride evil? Is lust evil?" He spoke up to the dark sky, but Clara knew he meant the questions for her.

She considered, trying to form an honest opinion. Finally she shrugged. "There are some who would say so."

"But?"

"But I wouldn't say those things are inherently evil. They're sins, if you're following the book. But I don't think they make a person evil."

"Wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, pride, lust and envy. The seven deadly sins. What would you consider a person who had all of them?"

"In a way, I think everyone has a little of each of them."

"Imagine that, but not just a little. All of it. They say God is love. Well I am wrath. I am sloth and greed and gluttony and pride and envy. I am lust. They are my basest natures. If they are evil, then I am evil. I incite them in man, I encompass and revel in them as a being. I am whatever that makes me." He turned on his side once more to look at her. The simple answer was that he did not consider himself evil. He no longer believed in evil. He believed in fault and sin and vice, but not pure evil. There were no concrete answers, though. Did the evil think themselves evil? Would he even know?

*

Clara thought about his words carefully. Did she think him evil? Did what he told her make him so? She wasn't sure. She wanted to say yes, to point at him and declare him wicked for all the things he'd done to her so far. But deep down, on her basest levels, she'd loved it. She'd taken pleasure in that wickedness. So if he was evil...did that make her evil as well? She wasn't ready to face the question. Didn't think she would ever be ready. Instead, she arched a brow at him.

"Gluttony? Sloth? You're much too fit to be those sins." Her matter of fact tone made a smile turn up his lips.

"Oh there are many forms of gluttony and sloth, Clara. I am a glutton for sex. And you are a glutton for punishment." His smile became that devilish grin. "But for now, let sloth take over. Sleep." The amusement in his voice broke any remaining tension. Clara yawned, realizing she was utterly spent. She nodded weakly, let her eyes close, and drifted off to sleep.