THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN

Chapter Two: The First Ritual.

Seven days crawled by like a slow, filthy tease.

Lara had paid her rent the morning after he left. Then the electricity bill. Then she’d gone to Shoprite and filled a trolley with real food — chicken, rice, fresh tomatoes, even a bottle of cheap red wine that tasted like heaven after weeks of Indomie. She bought herself a new bra and panty set, black lace that made her feel dangerous when she tried it on in the fitting room. And, blushing so hard her ears burned, she’d added one more thing to her cart: a thick, realistic dildo, veined and heavy, the biggest size the discreet little adult section had. She’d named it “practice” in her head and hidden it under her pillow like a guilty secret.

Every night she’d woken up soaked, thighs sticky, dreaming of his tongue and the way he’d stretched her open. Her p***y ached constantly now, a low, needy throb that no amount of frantic fingering could kill. She kept checking her bank app like a junkie, watching the balance stay fat and real. But the cuff around her wrist — invisible, warm — pulsed hotter each day. A reminder. Tonight was feeding night.

She wanted to surprise him.

At 11:47 p.m. Lara stood in the middle of her tiny living room, heart slamming against her ribs. She’d pushed the couch against the wall, rolled up the rug, and redrawn the circle in that same cheap red lipstick. Eight new candles this time — deep red, scented with cinnamon and something darker. The air already smelled like sin and melted wax. Soft R&B played low from her phone, bass vibrating through the floor.

She wore only the black lace. The bra pushed her full breasts up until they spilled over the cups, n*****s already hard and visible through the sheer fabric. The thong was a joke — a tiny triangle that disappeared between her ass cheeks, the front already dark with how wet she was. Her skin glowed under the candlelight, olive and smooth, long dark hair loose and wild down her back.

Lara took a shaky breath, stepped into the circle, and began.

She moved slowly at first, hips rolling to the music, hands sliding up her own body like she was performing for a lover hiding in the shadows. Fingers traced her throat, cupped her breasts, squeezed until she gasped. She pinched her n*****s through the lace, tugging hard the way he had with his mouth. A whimper slipped out.

“Watch me,” she whispered to the empty room. “This is for you.”

Emboldened, she turned, bent at the waist, and slid the thong down her legs inch by inch, letting him — wherever he was — see everything. Her p***y lips were swollen, shiny, a clear string of wetness stretching down her inner thigh when she straightened. She kicked the scrap of lace aside.

Naked except for the bra, she dropped to her knees in the center of the circle. The dildo was already in her hand — heavy, warm from where she’d been clutching it. She licked the fat head once, slow and deliberate, tasting the silicone like it was him. Then she leaned back on one elbow, spread her thighs wide, and pressed the tip against her dripping entrance.

“f**k…” she breathed, pushing it in.

The stretch was perfect. She worked it deeper, eyes half-closed, imagining his thick c**k instead. In and out, slow at first, then faster, the wet schlick-schlick filling the room louder than the music. Her free hand rubbed tight circles over her c**t, swollen and slippery. Her hips started rolling up to meet every thrust.

She was already close. Too close.

But she wanted to be creative. She wanted to earn every single naira he’d dumped in her account.

So she stopped.

Pulled the toy out with a filthy pop and set it aside, chest heaving. She crawled to the edge of the circle, grabbed the little notebook she’d prepared, and tore out seven pages. On each one she’d written a different filthy fantasy in her messy handwriting.

Page one: Him bending her over the balcony at midnight while the whole street could hear.

Page two: Him making her ride his face until she squirted down his throat.

Page three: Tying her wrists with his belt and f*****g her throat until tears ran.

She read them out loud, voice husky and breaking, while her fingers plunged back inside her cunt — three of them now, stretching, curling, f*****g herself messy and loud.

By page five her thighs were shaking. She was on all fours, ass up, face pressed to the floor, slamming her fingers in so deep her palm slapped her c**t with every thrust. Cream ran down her wrist.

“I want you to ruin me,” she gasped between pages. “I want your c*m leaking out of me for days. I want—f**k—I want you to own this greedy little cunt—”

She came on page six.

Hard.

Her whole body locked up, a raw cry tearing from her throat as her p***y spasmed around her fingers, gushing so much it puddled on the floor. She kept rubbing, riding it out, sobbing his name even though she didn’t know it yet.

The candles flared.

He was suddenly there, right in front of her, crouching, amber eyes glowing like embers. Still in that black shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking at the mess she’d made like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Creative indeed,” he murmured, voice rough with hunger. “Look at you. On your knees, dripping, begging without even knowing my name.”

Lara couldn’t stop touching herself. Aftershocks rolled through her, little whimpers escaping every time her fingers brushed her oversensitive c**t.

He reached out, caught her wrist, and gently pulled her fingers free. Then he sucked them clean, groaning low at her taste.

“Call me Kai,” he said against her skin. “And get on your back. I’m going to show you what real creativity looks like.”

She obeyed instantly, legs falling open again. He didn’t even undress fully — just opened his trousers, freed that massive, veined c**k, already leaking for her, and hooked her knees over his elbows.

One brutal thrust and he was buried to the hilt.

Lara screamed, back arching clean off the floor. He felt even bigger than last time, stretching her so wide she saw stars. Kai didn’t start slow. He f****d her like he’d been starving for seven days — deep, punishing strokes that made her t**s bounce out of the bra, made the wet slap of skin echo off the walls.

“Such a good little slut,” he growled, pounding harder. “Preparing all this for me. Writing your dirty secrets. Coming so pretty on your own fingers first.”

She was already building again, impossibly fast. Every thrust ground his pelvis against her c**t. His balls slapped her ass. She could feel him in her stomach.

“Kai—please—harder—”

He gave it to her. Snarled and f****d her so hard the candles flickered. Her second orgasm hit like a truck — cunt clamping down on him, milking, gushing all over his c**k while she wailed his new name like a prayer.

He followed right after, burying himself deep and flooding her with thick, hot spurts of c*m that overflowed instantly, running down her ass and pooling on the floor.

For a long moment the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the low music still playing.

Kai stayed inside her, softening slowly, and brushed damp hair off her forehead almost tenderly.

“Check your phone, little scholar.”

Her hand shook as she reached for it.

Credit Alert: ₦4,200,000

She laughed — breathless, disbelieving, glowing.

Kai kissed the corner of her mouth, then bit her bottom lip.

“Next week,” he whispered, “I expect even better. And I’m bringing toys of my own.”

He vanished.

Lara lay in the circle, covered in sweat and his c*m, p***y still fluttering, already wondering what the hell she was going to do to stop this.