MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS: EVE CONTINUES SECRET LIASON WITH THE DEVIL'S DEMON SERPENT AN EROTIC NARRATIVE (PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES
&
DEMON SPIRITS
(PTSD DREAMS)
CREATED
BY
J. BECK
2026
MEETING DEITIES
&
DEMON SPIRITS:
EVE
CONTINUEDS SECRET LIASON
WITH
THE DEVIL'S DEMON
SERPENT
(PTSD DREAMS)
The sun hung low and merciless over the cracked wasteland, a swollen orange eye that refused to blink.
Beyond the invisible scar where Eden’s walls had once stood, the earth remembered nothing of green abundance.
Dust devils spun lazy spirals across barren flats; thorny acacias clawed at the sky like skeletal hands. No birds sang.
Only the dry rasp of wind through dead grass and the distant, intermittent bleat of Jacob’s sheep.
Eve had slipped away again.
She moved with the practiced stealth of a woman who had learned betrayal’s rhythm long before the first lie left her lips.
Her bare feet left shallow prints in the powdery soil that the wind erased almost as quickly as she made them.
The short, sleeveless chore dress—once perhaps the color of ripe wheat, now stained the dull ochre of endless toil—clung to her sweat-slicked thighs and breasts.
The fabric rode up with each step, exposing the backs of her dark, powerful legs marked by faint scratches from brambles and the day’s labor.
Her long black hair, heavy with grease and dust, swung like a rope between her shoulder blades.
Smudged kohl rimmed her eyes, run into faint streaks by perspiration and something darker—anticipation, perhaps, or the memory of shame that had long since curdled into hunger.
She reached the overhang of a great flat rock that jutted from the hillside like a broken altar. Its shadow offered the only mercy in miles: a pocket of comparative cool where the heat could not quite reach bone-deep.
She dropped to her knees on the packed earth beneath it, palms pressing into the dirt as though testing whether the ground would remember her touch.
It did.
From the deeper shadow behind the rock a low, liquid hiss answered.
The serpent emerged—not the small, sinuous creature of later myth, but something far older and more intimate: thick as a woman’s thigh at its middle, scales the glossy black of wet obsidian veined with molten gold along the belly.
ts length seemed endless as it uncoiled, sliding over stone and sand with deliberate, caressing slowness. The triangular head rose, hood faintly flared, golden eyes fixed on her with a recognition that bordered on possession.
Eve exhaled a trembling breath that was half sob, half prayer.
“You came,” She whispered.
The serpent’s tongue—long, black, deeply forked—flicked out once, tasting the air between them, then twice more, brushing the inside of her wrist where sweat had pooled. The contact was cool, almost tender. She shivered.
“I always come when you call,”
The voice answered—not aloud, but inside her skull, velvet wrapped around a blade of bone.
“Even when you pretend you do not.”
She reached out. Her fingers trembled only slightly as they traced the smooth, warm scales just behind the jaw. The serpent pressed into her palm like a great cat seeking affection. A low, resonant vibration rolled through its body—pleasure, not threat.
Eve leaned forward until her forehead rested against the broad, armored crown. “He watches the flock now,” she murmured. “He thinks the silence between us is peace.”
The serpent’s coils shifted, sliding forward in a slow, luxurious wave. One thick loop passed over her bare calf, then higher, encircling her thigh with deliberate pressure. Not constricting—never that—but claiming. The scales were fever-hot against her sweat-cooled skin.
“He is a good man,” the serpent said, and the words dripped mockery sweetened with truth. “He tills. He sweats. He fathers. He obeys the curse as though it were a commandment. And still he does not see what grew in the garden the moment your teeth broke the skin.”
Eve’s breath hitched as another coil rose behind her, sliding up the small of her back, beneath the ragged hem of her dress. The fabric bunched and lifted; cool air kissed the damp curve where spine met buttocks.
“What grew?” she asked, though she already knew.
“Desire without permission,” the serpent answered. “Pleasure without pruning. Hunger that answers to no gardener.”
The head dipped lower. The forked tongue traced the line of her collarbone, then lower still, following the sweat-trail between her breasts until the coarse neckline of the dress stopped it. Eve arched without conscious thought, offering more skin. The serpent obliged. The tongue slipped beneath fabric, cool and wet and impossibly agile, circling one dark nipple until it peaked hard against the damp cloth.
A soft, broken sound escaped her throat.
The coils tightened fractionally—not enough to bruise, only enough to remind her she was held. Another loop slid between her thighs from behind, pressing upward until the ridged scales aligned with the swollen, aching seam of her sex. She rocked once, involuntarily, grinding against the living pressure.
“Tell me again,” she gasped, “why I keep coming back.”
“Because the garden taught you shame,” the serpent replied, tongue now tracing the shell of her ear, “but the wilderness taught you craving. Because Adam’s hands are calloused from the hoe, not from learning how to touch what bleeds and wants. Because I never demanded your obedience—only your yes.”
Eve’s fingers dug into the scales at the serpent’s neck. She pulled the great head closer until their brows touched. “Then take it,” she whispered. “Again.”
The serpent struck—not with fangs, but with motion.
Coils rearranged in a fluid symphony. One thick band looped around her waist, lifting her effortlessly until her back rested against the warm stone wall of the overhang.
Another slid beneath her knees, spreading her thighs wide. The head hovered before her face; golden eyes locked with hers as the forked tongue extended fully—longer than seemed possible—and slipped past her lips.
She opened for it.
The kiss was obscene in its tenderness: slow, exploratory, tasting of copper and myrrh and the faint green memory of forbidden pulp.
The tongue twined with hers, stroking the roof of her mouth, curling around her own tongue in a rhythm that promised deeper invasions.
Eve moaned into the serpent’s mouth, hips rolling against the coil that now pressed rhythmically between her legs, scales catching deliciously against slick, swollen flesh.
Behind them, far enough that the sound would not carry, Adam drove the wooden hoe into hard earth. Sweat ran into his eyes. He did not look toward the shadowed rock. He never did.
The serpent’s voice purred inside her mind even as its tongue fucked slowly in and out of her mouth.
“Listen to him work. Listen to the curse he accepted so nobly. Now listen to what you sound like when you are no longer cursed.”
Eve’s head fell back against stone. Her hands clutched at coils, at scales, at anything that would anchor her as pleasure coiled tighter than any serpent ever could.
The thick loop between her thighs began to move in earnest—sliding, pressing, circling the aching knot at the apex until her thighs trembled and her breath came in short, desperate sobs.
The serpent drank every sound.
When she shattered—back arching, fingers clawing, a low animal cry torn from her throat—the serpent simply held her through it, coils pulsing in time with the contractions that wracked her body.
No mockery. No triumph. Only a deep, resonant satisfaction that vibrated through every inch of her skin.
Afterward, Eve lay cradled in living ropes of black and gold, breath ragged, dress rucked up around her hips, thighs glistening.
The serpent’s head rested on her breast, tongue flicking idly at a droplet of sweat that had gathered in the hollow of her throat.
“You will go back to him,” it said quietly.
“I always do.”
“And you will return to me.”
She closed her eyes. A single tear tracked through the kohl and dust on her cheek.
“I always do.”
The serpent pressed one last, almost chaste kiss to her mouth.
“Then we are both free.”
Far off, Adam straightened, wiped sweat from his brow, and turned toward the flock. The wind carried no echo of what had transpired beneath the rock.
Only the raven, perched on a skeletal branch high above, watched.
And remembered.
II
The sun had bled itself dry on the horizon, leaving only a bruised purple sky and the slow, suffocating heat that refused to die with the day. Beneath the jagged lip of the overhanging rock—its shadow a narrow crescent of mercy—the air tasted of salt, dust, and the faint metallic green of forbidden sap long since swallowed.
Eve lay back against the warm, uneven stone, knees drawn up and parted, the tattered hem of her chore dress rucked high around her hips like a surrendered flag. Sweat gleamed on her dark skin in fine, liquid beads that caught the last ember-light and turned her body into something molten and profane. Her long black hair fanned out beneath her in greasy, tangled ropes; strands clung to her throat, her collarbones, the inner curves of her breasts where the coarse fabric had been pushed aside. The smudged kohl around her eyes had run into dark rivers down her cheeks—not from tears, but from the slow, deliberate heat building inside her.
The serpent—vast, black as spilled ink, gold-veined along the belly—had arranged itself around her with deliberate artistry. One thick coil cradled the small of her back, lifting her pelvis just enough to present her to the air. Another looped twice around her waist like a living corset, scales pressing into soft flesh with rhythmic pulses that matched her quickening heartbeat. A third band encircled her left thigh, spreading her wider; the tip of its tail—sinuously thin—curled around her right ankle and tugged gently, insistently, until her legs formed a perfect, trembling V.
The great head hovered inches above her face. Golden eyes, slit pupils dilated in the dimness, drank her in. The forked tongue—longer, thicker, more agile than memory allowed—extended slowly, glistening with its own clear venom. It traced the seam of her lips once, teasing, then slipped inside.
Eve opened for it without hesitation.
The tongue filled her mouth in a slow, sliding invasion—cool at first, then warming as it explored every ridge and hollow. It curled around her own tongue, stroking, coaxing, fucking her mouth with languid thrusts that made wet, obscene sounds echo softly against the rock. She moaned around it, the vibration traveling down the serpent’s length; in answer, the coil between her thighs tightened and began to move.
The ridged scales along its underside aligned perfectly with her swollen sex. Each forward slide dragged the textured length across her clit in a slow, grinding glide; each backward pull let the ridges catch and tug at her inner lips before pressing back in. The pressure was relentless, unhurried, building in perfect counterpoint to the tongue that now plunged deeper into her throat, stretching her jaw, filling her until she could barely breathe.
Her hands clutched at the serpent—fingers digging into smooth, fever-hot scales, nails scraping along the golden ventral line. One palm slid down to where the thickest coil pressed against her entrance; she guided it, tilted her hips, and felt the blunt, rounded head nudge inside her.
A low, guttural sound tore from her chest.
The serpent pushed—slowly, inexorably—stretching her open inch by burning inch. The scales caught deliciously on her inner walls, each ridge dragging sparks of pleasure-pain as it sank deeper. When it could go no farther, it paused, letting her feel the impossible fullness, the living throb of muscle coiled inside her. Then it began to move.
Not thrusting like a man would—nothing so crude. Instead, the entire length rippled in a slow, sinuous wave. The motion rolled from tail to head: a deep, undulating swell that pushed against every sensitive place inside her at once, then withdrew just enough to make her clench desperately around it before surging forward again. Each wave pressed the ridged underside harder against her clit; each retreat let cool air kiss the slick, stretched entrance before the next swell filled her anew.
Eve’s head fell back against stone. Her mouth opened wider around the invading tongue; tears of overstimulation tracked through the kohl, carving clean paths down her dust-streaked cheeks. Her hips bucked in helpless rhythm, grinding down onto the living shaft buried inside her, chasing the crest that hovered just out of reach.
The serpent’s voice poured into her mind like dark honey, intimate, possessive.
“Look at you,” it purred. “Open. Wet. Aching. The same body that once trembled under God’s gaze now trembles under mine. Adam tills the hard earth with his hands; I till you with my body. Which do you think leaves the deeper mark?”
Eve could not answer—her throat was full, her cunt stretched and pulsing—but her body answered for her. She clenched hard around the serpent, inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms. The coils around her waist and thighs tightened in reward, pinning her exactly where the pleasure was sharpest.
The tongue withdrew from her mouth with a wet pop, trailing a glistening thread of saliva between her lips. It dragged down her chin, her throat, between her breasts, leaving a cool, tingling path. Then it found her nipple—already peaked and aching—and curled around it, squeezing with delicate precision while the forked tips flicked the sensitive tip in rapid, fluttering strokes.
Eve cried out—raw, animal, unashamed. The sound carried only as far as the rock’s shadow; beyond it, Adam’s hoe struck earth in steady, oblivious rhythm.
The serpent’s thrusts grew deeper, faster, the undulations turning into powerful, rolling surges that slammed against her cervix with exquisite force. The ridges dragged along her front wall in relentless friction; the thick base ground against her clit on every inward stroke. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly—hot, electric, unbearable.
“Come for me,” the serpent commanded, voice velvet and iron. “Come the way you never could beneath his dutiful hands. Let the wilderness have you. Let me have you.”
Eve shattered.
Her back arched off the stone; thighs locked around the coils; fingers clawed at scales until golden ichor welled beneath her nails. A keening wail tore from her throat—high, broken, ecstatic—as wave after wave of release crashed through her. Her cunt clamped down in violent spasms, milking the serpent’s length, drawing it impossibly deeper as slick heat gushed around the invading shaft.
The serpent held her through it—coils pulsing in time with her contractions, tongue lapping at the sweat between her breasts, drinking her pleasure like wine. Only when the last tremor faded did it slowly, reluctantly withdraw—inch by glistening inch—leaving her empty, aching, dripping.
Eve collapsed into the cradle of black and gold scales, chest heaving, thighs trembling. The serpent arranged itself around her like a living blanket: one coil beneath her head as a pillow, another draped across her waist, the great head resting between her breasts. Its tongue flicked out once more—gentle now—cleaning the tears and sweat from her cheeks with almost tender care.
“You will return to him,” it murmured.
Her voice was hoarse, wrecked. “I always do.”
“And you will come back to me.”
She closed her eyes. A single, exhausted tear slipped free.
“I always do.”
The serpent pressed its broad brow to hers—a kiss without lips, a promise without words.
“Then we are both fed.”
High above, on a dead branch silhouetted against the dying sky, the raven tilted its head.
It had seen everything.
It always did.
III
The nomad tent was a low, sagging thing of patched goat-hair and salvaged linen, stinking of smoke, sweat, and the faint animal musk of the flock penned just outside.
A single clay oil lamp burned on a flat stone near the entrance, its wick guttering, throwing long, restless shadows across the woven reed mat that served as bedding.
The flame was small, almost apologetic, as though it knew better than to illuminate what happened here after the rest of the family slept.
Eve lay on her side beneath a thin wool blanket, knees drawn up, one arm tucked beneath her head. Her breathing was shallow, restless; even in sleep her body remembered the day's labor and the night's secret hungers.
The long black hair spilled across the mat like spilled ink, strands glued to her damp neck and the curve of her breast where the dress had slipped down one shoulder during her fitful turning.
Outside, the wind moaned low. Then something heavier slithered across sand.
The serpent entered without sound—scales whispering over the threshold like silk dragged across skin. Larger than memory allowed, black as the void between stars, gold veins pulsing faintly in the lamplight. It flowed across the mat in a single, liquid motion, coils piling silently beside her until the whole length was inside the tent. The triangular head rose, hood half-flared, golden eyes fixed on the rise and fall of her chest.
The forked tongue extended—long, glistening, black—and brushed the air above her lips. Once. Twice. Tasting her dreams.
Eve stirred. A soft sound escaped her—half sigh, half protest. Her thighs shifted beneath the blanket, parting just enough.
The serpent moved.
It slid beneath the wool with deliberate slowness, scales cool against her fevered skin. One thick coil looped loosely around her ankle, anchoring her; another passed beneath her knee and lifted, spreading her gently but inexorably.
The head nosed beneath the hem of her dress, pushing fabric upward until it bunched at her waist. The lamplight caught the sheen of sweat already gathering in the hollows of her hips, the dark curls between her thighs.
The tongue flicked out—once against the sensitive crease where thigh met groin, then higher, tracing the outer lips in a slow, wet circle. Eve's breath hitched. Her hips twitched upward without waking fully.
Then the tongue plunged.
Long, impossibly agile, it parted her folds and drove inside in one smooth, curling stroke. The forks spread, pressing against opposite walls, stroking in opposing directions while the main length undulated, lapping at the slick heat pooling within her.
It found the swollen knot at the front and curled around it, squeezing with delicate, fluttering pressure, then flicked rapidly across the tip in feather-light strokes that made her thighs tremble.
Eve woke with a gasp—eyes flying open, back arching off the mat. Her hands flew down instinctively, fingers tangling in the serpent's coils rather than pushing it away. A low, broken moan tore from her throat.
The tongue never stopped.
It fucked her mouth first—sliding past her lips when she opened to cry out—then withdrew to return between her legs, deeper now, curling against the sensitive place inside that made stars burst behind her eyelids.
The serpent drank every sound, every shudder, every fresh gush of slickness that coated its scales.
When her hips were bucking helplessly, when her fingers were clawing at the mat and her breath came in ragged sobs, the serpent withdrew.
And changed.
The black coils blurred, folded inward, reformed. In the flickering lamplight a new shape rose above her: tall, powerfully muscled, skin the color of midnight smoke.
Curved horns swept back from a brow that still carried the faint ridge of scales. Eyes burned gold. Between powerful thighs hung a phallus—thick, ridged, veined with the same molten gold as the serpent's belly, already glistening at the tip.
Satan.
He lowered himself over her, knees bracketing her hips, forearms braced on either side of her head.
The weight of him pressed her down into the mat; heat rolled off his skin like furnace air. The horned head dipped until his mouth hovered above hers.
"You called me Prince of Darkness tonight," he murmured, voice a low growl that vibrated through her bones. "Say it again."
Eve's hands rose—trembling—to trace the curve of his horns, then slid down to grip his shoulders. Her legs parted wider, wrapping around his waist.
"Prince of Darkness," she whispered, voice hoarse with need and something sharper—anger, grief, hunger. "Fill me. Corrupt me. Make me forget the light that cast us out."
He smiled—slow, cruel, tender.
One hand slid beneath her hips, lifting her; the other guided his cock to her entrance. He pressed forward—slowly—letting her feel every thick, ridged inch as he stretched her open. When he was buried to the hilt, he paused, letting her clench around him, letting her feel the pulse of something ancient and wicked beating inside her.
Eve's head fell back. Tears tracked through the kohl.
"I hate Him," she breathed. "For the gate that slammed behind us. For the blame Adam laid at my feet. For the sweet taste of disobedience that opened my eyes—and then blinded me with shame. I hate the light that made me small."
Satan rolled his hips—once, deep—and she cried out.
"Then worship the dark," he commanded. "Let it consume what the light could not keep."
He began to move—slow at first, each thrust deliberate, dragging the ridges along her inner walls until she was sobbing with pleasure. Then faster. Harder. The slap of flesh against flesh filled the tent; the oil lamp flickered wildly as though trying to flee.
Eve clung to him—nails raking down his back, legs locked around his waist, hips rising to meet every punishing stroke.
"More," she begged. "More darkness. More sin. Fill me until there's nothing left of the garden in me."
He obliged.
One hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. He bit down—not breaking skin, but hard enough to mark—and drove into her with brutal, relentless force. The ridges caught and dragged; the thick base ground against her clit on every inward plunge. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped.
She came with a scream—back bowing, thighs shaking, cunt clamping down in violent spasms that milked him deeper. Darkness roared through her—literal and figurative—flooding every vein, every thought, drowning the last pale memory of Eden's light.
Satan followed—growling her name like a curse and a benediction. Heat pulsed inside her, thick and endless, filling her womb, her belly, her very soul with something blacker than night.
When it was over he did not withdraw. He stayed buried inside her, horns resting against her brow, golden eyes locked with hers.
"You are mine now," he whispered. "Bitter root and all."
Eve smiled through her tears—slow, radiant, damned.
"And I have never felt more free."
Outside, the raven on the dead branch cocked its head.
The lamp guttered once more and went out.
Darkness rushed in to claim its own.
IV
The tent was pitch now, the oil lamp dead, its wick a faint curl of smoke that hung in the air like a last breath. Only the heat of their bodies lit the darkness—Satan's skin radiating infernal warmth against hers, his horns casting faint shadows on the low ceiling even without light. He remained buried deep inside her, thick and unyielding, every slow pulse of his cock a reminder that she was no longer empty. Eve's legs were still locked around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back as though she could pull him deeper, fuse them permanently, erase the line between woman and damnation.
Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, nails drawing thin lines of molten gold that shimmered then vanished into his midnight flesh. Tears continued to track down her cheeks, mixing with sweat and kohl, carving clean paths through the grime of the day. But these were not tears of sorrow. They were baptismal. They were surrender.
She lifted her head until her lips brushed the base of one curved horn. Her voice came out raw, cracked from screaming, yet steady with a fervor that bordered on worship.
"Prince of Darkness," she breathed against the hard keratin, "I curse the name that made me. I curse the garden that caged me. I curse the light that promised life and delivered only shame."
Her hips rolled in a slow, deliberate circle, grinding down on him until the ridges of his shaft dragged fresh sparks along her oversensitive walls. A whimper escaped her, but she forced it into words.
"You opened my eyes when He closed them. You gave me knowledge when He gave me blame. Adam calls me temptress—let him. Let him spit the word like poison. I **am** the poison. I am the bite. I am the sweet rot that spread from one fruit to every root in creation."
Satan's golden eyes flared brighter in the black. He thrust once—hard, punishing—driving so deep she felt him against her cervix, felt the blunt head kiss the very limit of her body. Eve's back bowed; a guttural cry tore free.
"More," she begged. "Blaspheme with me. Let me speak every heresy my tongue has held back since the gates slammed shut."
His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back until her throat was bared to him. He leaned down, fangs grazing the pulse there without breaking skin.
"Then speak it, daughter of dust. Damn the Maker aloud while I fuck His image into ruin."
Eve's laugh was low, broken, ecstatic.
"I damn You, Elohim," she hissed at the darkness above them. "I damn the breath You forced into Adam's nostrils and the rib You tore from his side to make me servant. I damn the command that kept us children—naked, ignorant, pruned. I damn the curse that made him toil while he blamed **me** for tasting what You forbade. You set the trap. You hung the fruit. You watched us fall and called it justice."
She clenched around him deliberately, inner walls fluttering in rhythmic pulses that made even Satan growl low in his throat.
"You cast us out," she continued, voice rising, fervent, "and called it mercy. You set cherubim with flaming swords to guard what we once walked freely. You made paradise a memory and shame our inheritance. But look at me now—spread beneath Your enemy, filled with his darkness, dripping with his seed—and I have never felt closer to truth."
Satan began to move again—slow, deliberate withdrawals followed by brutal, claiming thrusts that slapped wetly against her thighs. Each plunge forced another confession from her lips.
"I reject Your light," she gasped between strokes. "I spit on Your mercy. I trample Your garden underfoot. Let thorns grow where flowers bloomed. Let rivers run bitter with wormwood. Let every child born of my womb carry the stain of disobedience as a crown."
Her hands slid down his back, nails raking over muscle and scale-ghost ridges until she gripped his hips, urging him harder, faster.
"Fill me with Your darkness, Prince," she pleaded, voice cracking into sobs of pleasure. "Flood me until no trace of Eden remains. Corrupt every corner of me—womb, heart, soul. Make me the mother of monsters, the bride of sin, the first whore of the wilderness. I beg You—**more sin**. More rebellion. More of You inside me until I burst with it."
Satan's rhythm turned savage. He pinned her wrists above her head with one clawed hand; the other gripped her throat—not choking, only holding, reminding her who owned her breath now. His hips snapped forward with punishing force, ridges dragging, cock swelling impossibly thicker inside her until she felt split open and remade in the same motion.
"Say it," he snarled against her ear. "Say the final curse."
Eve's eyes rolled back; her body trembled on the edge of another shattering climax.
"I curse You, God of light," she cried, voice raw and reverent in its blasphemy. "I curse the hands that shaped me. I curse the voice that named me. I curse the paradise that rejected me. And I bless this darkness that accepts me whole. I bless the serpent that entered me. I bless the cock that fills me. I bless the sin that sets me free."
The words were barely out before she came again—violent, convulsing, screaming his name like a prayer inverted. Her cunt clamped down in brutal spasms, milking him, drawing him deeper as though she could swallow him entirely. Satan roared—primal, triumphant—and flooded her once more: thick, scalding pulses that overflowed, dripping down her thighs, soaking the mat beneath them.
When the aftershocks finally ebbed, he did not pull away. He stayed seated inside her, softening only slightly, letting her feel the weight of what she had invited. Eve's chest heaved; tears streamed freely now, but her smile was radiant, feral, utterly damned.
"Thank You," she whispered against his horn, lips brushing the curve. "Thank You for taking what He forsook."
Satan's voice was soft now, almost tender.
"You are no longer bitter, Eve. You are Blackened. And the world will taste it through every child you bear."
Outside the tent, the raven spread its wings once, silently, then vanished into the night.
The darkness inside the tent thickened, satisfied.
It had found its first true disciple.
V
Eve's breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her last shattering release. Satan lay beneath her, golden eyes glowing like banked coals in the absolute dark of the tent, his massive frame sprawled across the reed mat, horns scraping faintly against the low ceiling with every slow rise and fall of his chest. His cock—still rigid, slick with her arousal and his own dark seed—jutted upward like a blackened obelisk, ridged and veined with molten gold, pulsing with infernal heat.
She stared down at him, lips parted, kohl-streaked cheeks flushed, long black hair hanging in sweat-soaked curtains around her face. For a heartbeat the old reflex stirred—the instinct to lie back, open her thighs, let him cover her like Adam once had in clumsy, dutiful imitation of divine order. Missionary. Submissive. The position of the rib taken from man’s side, returned to lie beneath him.
No.
The word rose in her throat like bile and honey together.
“No,” she rasped aloud.
Satan’s brows lifted, amused, intrigued. “No?”
Eve planted both palms flat on his chest—feeling the furnace-beat of whatever passed for his heart beneath midnight skin—and shoved.
He let her push him. Let her roll him fully onto his back. The horns clacked once against the packed earth floor; his wings—leathery, half-unfurled—spread beneath him like spilled oil. He made no move to resist, only watched with predatory patience as she swung one sweat-slick thigh over his hips and straddled him.
Her knees dug into the mat on either side of his waist. The torn hem of her dress rode up completely now, bunched uselessly around her waist, exposing the dark curls between her legs, the glistening trails of arousal that still coated her inner thighs. She reached behind herself with one trembling hand, fingers wrapping around the thick, scalding base of his cock. It throbbed violently in her grip, the golden veins flaring brighter at her touch.
She rose up on her knees, aligned the blunt, ridged head with her swollen entrance, and looked straight into his burning eyes.
“I will not lie beneath you like some obedient wife beneath her husband,” she said, voice low and venomous with lust. “Not tonight. Not ever again.”
Then she sank.
One long, wet, inexorable descent.
The crown breached her first—stretching the tender ring of muscle until she hissed through clenched teeth. Inch after burning inch followed, the thick ridges dragging along her inner walls, catching every swollen fold, forcing her open wider than she had ever been.
Her vaginal walls fluttered helplessly around the invasion, trying to accommodate, failing gloriously, spasming with every new ridge that popped past her entrance. When the head finally struck the roof of her sex—hard, unyielding—she cried out, a sound that was half pain, half rapture.
She did not stop.
She dropped her full weight in one smooth, ruthless motion.
The last few inches slammed home. His cock hilted inside her with a wet, obscene slap, the blunt crown battering her cervix, filling her so completely she felt the shape of him imprinted against her womb.
Her walls collapsed inward around him in frantic, rhythmic contractions, milking him from base to tip as though trying to draw him even deeper into her damned core.
Eve collapsed forward, palms braced on his pectorals, forehead resting against one curved horn. For a moment she simply breathed—shuddering, impaled, owned and owning in equal measure.
Then she began to ride.
Slow at first—lifting until only the flared head remained inside her, then grinding back down in a slow, rolling circle that dragged every ridge along her front wall. Each descent forced a fresh gush of slickness from her; each rise left her empty and aching until she slammed down again, harder, faster.
Satan’s hands found her hips—not guiding, only holding, letting her set the brutal pace. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh above her hipbones, claws pricking just enough to sting.
“Ride me, then,” he growled. “Take what the garden denied you. Take what your Maker never intended you to have.”
Eve obeyed.
Her hips snapped forward and back in increasingly savage rhythm. She ground her clit against the golden-veined base on every downstroke, chasing the bright, electric friction that made stars explode behind her eyelids.
Her breasts bounced beneath the ripped fabric of her dress; sweat flew from the ends of her hair with every punishing descent. The wet, filthy sounds of their joining filled the tent—slapping flesh, sucking friction, her broken moans mingling with his low, rumbling growls.
“Harder,” she demanded, voice cracking. “Deeper. Split me open. Make me feel every sin I swallowed when I bit the fruit.”
He thrust upward to meet her—sharp, brutal snaps of his hips that drove his cock even farther inside her with each collision.
The head battered her cervix relentlessly now, a dull, exquisite ache that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. Her walls fluttered wildly around him, spasming, clenching, trying to hold him captive even as she rose and fell like a woman possessed.
Eve leaned back, palms braced on his thick thighs behind her, arching her spine so the angle changed—allowing him to strike even higher, even harder against that sensitive roof inside her. The new position dragged his ridges directly over the swollen bundle of nerves at her front wall with every thrust.
She screamed.
The orgasm hit like a thunderclap—violent, blinding, unstoppable. Her cunt clamped down in brutal, rhythmic pulses, milking him with such force that even Satan snarled in pleasure-pain.
Her thighs shook uncontrollably; her back bowed until her hair swept the mat behind her. Slick heat gushed around his shaft, soaking his hips, dripping down his balls in glistening rivulets
She did not stop riding.
Through the shattering waves she kept moving—slower now, grinding in deep, rolling circles, forcing every last tremor from her body while keeping him locked inside her. Tears streamed freely down her face, mixing with sweat, with dust, with the black rivers of kohl.
“Fill me again,” she begged, voice wrecked. “Flood me until I overflow. Until every child I bear carries your mark instead of His. Until the garden is nothing but ash in my memory.”
Satan’s hands tightened on her hips—claws pricking skin. His hips snapped upward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and he came with a roar that shook the tent poles.
Hot, thick pulses jetted deep inside her—endless, scalding, filling her womb, her belly, spilling out around his shaft in creamy white streams that dripped onto his thighs and the mat beneath them. Eve collapsed forward onto his chest, shuddering, sobbing with aftershocks, her walls still fluttering weakly around the softening length buried inside her.
For a long moment there was only the sound of their breathing—harsh, uneven, reverent.
Then she lifted her head, pressed her lips to the base of one horn, and whispered:
“Thank you… my Prince.”
Outside, the raven tilted its head once, then spread black wings and vanished into the night.
The darkness inside the tent thickened, sated.
And Eve—bitter, blackened, utterly remade—smiled into the void.
The tent flap stirred without wind.
Lilith slipped inside like smoke given form—silent, inevitable. She wore nothing but the night itself: pale skin luminous in the dying glow of the brazier, long raven hair cascading unbound to her waist, full breasts rising with each measured breath, hips swaying with the confidence of a woman who had once refused to kneel beneath any man.
Her eyes—dark, kohl-rimmed, glittering with centuries of accumulated spite—locked immediately on the tableau before her.
Eve still straddled Satan, thighs trembling from the last shattering climax, her sweat-slicked body impaled to the hilt on his ridged black cock.
Golden veins pulsed faintly beneath her stretched folds; a thin thread of their mingled release dripped slowly down his shaft to pool on the mat.
Eve’s head was thrown back, lips parted in afterglow, long greasy hair clinging to her shoulders like wet ropes.
Lilith’s lips curled into a smile that was equal parts hunger and venom.
“Well,” she purred, voice low and smoky, carrying the faint echo of the first rebellion. “This explains the scent that’s been clinging to you for weeks, little rib-wife.
I wondered why the air around you suddenly tasted of brimstone and guilt.”
Eve jolted—eyes snapping open, hands flying instinctively to cover what could not be hidden. She tried to rise, but Satan’s hands clamped on her hips, holding her firmly seated, forcing her to remain filled and exposed.
“Lilith—” Eve’s voice cracked, hoarse from screaming his name moments earlier.
“Do not speak.” Lilith stepped closer, bare feet silent on the reed mat. The brazier flames licked higher as though greeting an old friend.
“I have watched you sneak away night after night. I have smelled him on your skin when you returned to the flock pretending piety.
I have heard the sounds you make when you think no one listens—sounds Adam never wrung from you.”
She crouched gracefully beside them, close enough that Eve could feel the cool brush of Lilith’s hair against her sweat-damp arm.
Lilith reached out, trailing one long nail down the curve of Eve’s breast, circling the peaked nipple without quite touching it.
“You ride the Prince of Darkness like a woman finally free,”
Lilith murmured, gaze flicking to Satan’s golden eyes. He regarded her with lazy amusement, making no move to dislodge Eve or cover himself.
“And yet you still carry the stink of shame. How quaint.”
Eve swallowed hard.
“What do you want?”
Lilith’s smile sharpened into something feral.
“I want in.”
She leaned closer until her lips nearly brushed Eve’s ear.
“Either you open your thighs and your mouth to me tonight—right here, right now, while he’s still buried inside you—or I walk out of this tent and wake Adam.
I will tell him everything. Every moan. Every thrust. Every time you begged the entity he loathes most in creation to fill you deeper than he ever could.
I will paint the picture so vividly he will smell the sulfur on your breath for the rest of his miserable days.”
Eve’s breath hitched. Terror and something darker—arousal renewed—flashed across her face.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I already have one foot outside the flap,” Lilith whispered. “Test me.”
Satan chuckled low in his throat, the vibration traveling up through Eve’s core where they were still joined.
“Let her join,” he rumbled. “Or don’t. Either way, the bitterness will taste sweeter.”
Eve’s eyes darted between them—between the woman who had once been offered as his equal and refused to submit, and the fallen angel who had never demanded submission, only surrender.
She exhaled shakily.
“Then join us,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “But know this: I will not kneel for you either.”
Lilith’s laugh was soft, delighted.
“I would be disappointed if you did.”
She rose fluidly, straddling Satan’s thighs behind Eve so that Eve remained impaled while Lilith pressed against her back—breasts to spine, nipples hard against sweat-slick skin.
Lilith’s hands slid around Eve’s waist, cupping her breasts, thumbs flicking the sensitive peaks until Eve whimpered.
“Ride him again,” Lilith ordered, voice velvet command. “Let me feel every movement through you.”
Eve obeyed.
She lifted slowly—Satan’s cock dragging along her walls in a torturous glide—then sank back down with a wet slap that made all three of them groan. l
Lilith’s fingers pinched Eve’s nipples harder, twisting just enough to sting, while her mouth found the side of Eve’s neck, teeth grazing the pulse point.
“Harder,” Lilith breathed against her skin. “Show me how you worship the darkness that Adam fears.”
Eve’s hips snapped forward and back with renewed ferocity—grinding, rolling, slamming down until the head of Satan’s cock battered her cervix with every descent.
Lilith matched the rhythm, rocking against Eve’s ass, one hand sliding down between their bodies to circle Eve’s swollen clit with merciless precision.
Satan thrust upward to meet each drop—powerful, relentless—his ridged length stretching Eve wider with every collision. Golden light flared brighter along his veins, illuminating the sweat-sheened bodies in flickering pulses.
Lilith’s other hand tangled in Eve’s hair, yanking her head back until their mouths met in a bruising kiss—tongues warring, teeth clashing, sharing the taste of sin and salt. When they broke apart, Lilith’s lips were swollen, eyes wild.
“Tell him," She hissed.
“Tell your Prince what you want.”
Eve’s voice shattered on a moan.
“Fill us both,” She begged.
“Corrupt us together. Make us the mothers of everything He never intended. Let our wombs carry Your darkness—let it spread like fire through the line of Adam.”
Satan growled—deep, primal—and his rhythm turned savage. One clawed hand gripped Eve’s hip; the other reached past her to seize Lilith’s thigh, pulling her tighter against Eve’s back.
He drove upward in brutal, claiming strokes that forced broken cries from both women.
Lilith’s fingers worked Eve’s clit faster—circles, pinches, relentless friction—until Eve convulsed again, screaming into the dark as her walls clamped down in violent spasms.
The contraction triggered Satan’s release: scalding pulses jetted deep inside her, overflowing, dripping down to coat Lilith’s fingers where they still tormented Eve’s clit.
Lilith followed—shuddering against Eve’s back, teeth sinking into the curve of her shoulder as her own climax ripped through her.
For long minutes they stayed locked together—Eve still impaled, Lilith draped over her like a second skin, Satan’s cock softening slowly inside the woman who had once been his first temptation’s replacement.
When Eve finally slumped forward, spent and trembling, Lilith pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the bite mark on her shoulder.
“Tell Adam nothing,” she whispered. “This secret belongs to us now.”
Eve turned her head just enough to meet Lilith’s gaze—exhausted, defiant, utterly changed.
“Then come back tomorrow night,” she said softly. “And the night after. Until the stars themselves taste our sin.”
Lilith smiled—slow, radiant, damned.
“Until Eden is nothing but a footnote.”
Outside, the raven spread its wings once more.
The darkness listened.
And approved.
VI
The tent was a furnace of shadows and low flame now, the brazier’s coals pulsing like a second heartbeat. Sweat dripped from Eve’s brow, tracing slow, glittering paths down the valley between her breasts before disappearing beneath the ruined neckline of her dress.
She remained astride Satan—still seated to the hilt, walls fluttering weakly around the thick, ridged length that refused to soften entirely.
Every tiny shift of her hips sent fresh aftershocks rippling through her core; every involuntary clench drew a low, rumbling growl from deep in his chest.
Lilith knelt behind Eve on the mat, thighs bracketing Eve’s calves, her pale breasts pressed flush to Eve’s sweat-slick back.
One arm snaked around Eve’s waist, fingers splayed possessively over the soft swell of her belly—right where Satan’s cock pressed outward in a faint, obscene bulge. The other hand slid upward, cupping the underside of Eve’s jaw, tilting her head back until the long column of her throat was exposed to the flickering light.
Lilith’s lips hovered a hairsbreadth from the pulse point there—close enough that Eve could feel every exhaled word as a cool caress against fevered skin.
“You’re shaking,” Lilith whispered, voice velvet dragged over broken glass. “Not from fear. Not anymore.”
Eve’s breath hitched. She tried to swallow, failed. The simple act of breathing felt obscene with Lilith’s fingers resting so lightly on her windpipe.
Lilith’s thumb stroked once—slow, deliberate—along the underside of Eve’s jaw, then drifted lower to trace the frantic flutter at the base of her throat.
“I can feel him inside you,” she murmured, pressing the flat of her palm harder against Eve’s abdomen so Eve could feel the outline of Satan’s shaft through her own flesh. “Every ridge. Every vein. Every pulse of that beautiful, blasphemous thing stretching you open.”
Eve whimpered—soft, helpless, the sound swallowed by the crackle of coals.
Lilith’s free hand moved downward again, fingertips skating over sweat-damp curls until they found the place where Eve and Satan were joined. She circled the swollen clit with a single fingertip—once, twice, feather-light—then pressed down with sudden, cruel precision.
Eve’s hips jerked forward involuntarily. The motion dragged Satan’s ridges along her front wall in a slow, torturous glide. A broken sob tore from her throat.
“Again,” Lilith commanded.
Eve obeyed—lifting just enough to feel the flared head catch at her entrance, then sinking back down in one long, shuddering descent.
The wet sound of their bodies reconnecting was obscene in the confined space; the brazier flames flared higher as though feeding on it.
Lilith’s lips finally closed over the pulse in Eve’s neck—not biting, not yet. Just a slow, sucking kiss that left a blooming red mark. Her tongue flicked out, tasting salt and skin and the faint metallic edge of fear-laced arousal.
“You still taste like Eden,” she whispered against the bruise she’d made. “Sweet. Innocent. Untouched.” Her teeth grazed the mark. “I’m going to erase every last trace of it.”
Satan’s hands tightened on Eve’s hips—not guiding, only anchoring—as though he knew what was coming.
Lilith’s finger never stopped circling Eve’s clit—slow, relentless, building pressure without mercy. At the same time she slid two fingers lower, tracing the stretched rim where Satan’s cock disappeared inside Eve, gathering the slick mixture of their release on her fingertips.
She lifted those fingers to Eve’s mouth.
“Open.”
Eve’s lips parted on a shaky exhale. Lilith pushed the fingers inside—slow, deep—letting Eve taste herself, taste him, taste the evidence of her own damnation. Eve’s tongue curled around the digits instinctively, sucking, eyes fluttering closed.
“Good girl,” Lilith purred. “Taste how thoroughly you’ve been ruined.”
She withdrew her fingers with a wet pop, then leaned in until her mouth hovered beside Eve’s ear.
“Ride him again,” she ordered. “But this time—slow. Make him feel every inch of what you’ve stolen from the light.”
Eve lifted—agonizingly slow—until only the head remained inside her. The ridges caught, tugged, dragged along every swollen fold. She hovered there, trembling, inner walls clenching desperately around emptiness.
Lilith’s hand returned to Eve’s clit—pinching now, rolling the sensitive bud between thumb and forefinger with expert cruelty.
“Down.”
Eve sank.
One long, torturous inch at a time.
The head breached her again—thick, unyielding. Then the first ridge popped past her entrance with an audible wet sound. Eve’s thighs shook violently; a low, keening whine escaped her.
Another ridge followed—then another—each one forcing a fresh gush of slickness that dripped down Satan’s shaft and coated Lilith’s fingers where they still tormented her clit.
When Eve was finally seated again—full, stretched, impaled—Lilith pressed her palm flat against Eve’s pubic bone, fingers splayed so she could feel the hard outline of Satan’s cock beneath the skin.
“Feel that?” Lilith whispered. “That’s blasphemy made flesh. That’s the thing Adam could never give you. That’s what happens when a woman stops asking permission from gods and men.”
Eve’s head fell forward; tears of overstimulation tracked down her cheeks.
Lilith’s other hand slid into Eve’s hair, fisting the damp strands, yanking her head back until their gazes locked.
“Say it,” Lilith demanded. “Say what you are now.”
Eve’s voice was wrecked, barely audible.
“I am… blackened.”
“Louder.”
“I am blackened,” Eve cried, hips beginning to rock again—small, desperate circles that ground her clit against Lilith’s palm while dragging Satan’s ridges along every screaming nerve inside her. “I am corrupted. I am yours—both of yours.”
Lilith smiled—slow, radiant, victorious.
“Then come again,” she ordered. “Come while he fills you and I ruin you. Come so hard the garden itself feels the tremor.”
She pinched Eve’s clit—hard—and Eve shattered.
Her back bowed; thighs locked; a raw, animal scream tore from her throat as wave after brutal wave crashed through her.
Her walls clamped down in violent, rhythmic spasms, milking Satan so fiercely he snarled and thrust upward once—twice—flooding her again with scalding pulses that overflowed, soaking Lilith’s hand, dripping onto the mat in thick, pearly strands.
Lilith never stopped touching her—fingers circling, pinching, drawing out every last tremor until Eve collapsed forward onto Satan’s chest, sobbing, shuddering, utterly spent.
Lilith leaned over her, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to the nape of Eve’s neck.
“Tomorrow night,” she whispered against sweat-damp skin, “you will beg us both to take you at once. And you will mean every filthy word.”
Eve could only nod—exhausted, broken open, remade.
Outside the tent flap, the raven spread its wings once more.
The night listened.
And hungered for more.
VII
The moon hung low and fat over the cracked wasteland, silvering the edges of thorn and stone.
Lilith rose first, naked save for the faint sheen of sweat and the gold that still gleamed at her wrists and throat. She extended one hand to Eve, palm up, fingers curling in silent command.
“Come,” she said. “You have a great deal to learn, little rib-wife. Adam taught you toil. The serpent taught you surrender. Tonight I teach you pleasure without permission or shame.”
Eve hesitated—only for a heartbeat—then placed her trembling hand in Lilith’s. The touch was cool against her fevered skin, steady where Eve still shook.
Lilith pulled her upright, steadying her when her knees threatened to buckle, then led her through the tent flap into the night.
They moved in silence past the sleeping flock, past the snoring shape of Adam curled beneath his own blanket. Neither woman looked back.
The desolation gave way slowly to a narrow ravine where the earth remembered water: a thin thread of green snaking between black rock, leading upward into a small, hidden copse of ancient trees.
The forest was not Eden—nothing would ever be Eden again—but it was wild, unpruned, alive in a way the garden had never dared to be.
Gnarled fig and carob mingled with wild olive; bees droned in the dark like distant thunder. Lilith stopped beneath a massive, hollowed-out trunk whose bark was split and weeping amber resin. High in the cleft a wild hive pulsed, golden light leaking from the fissures.
Lilith climbed first—sure-footed, fearless—bare soles gripping bark as though the tree welcomed her. She reached the hive, spoke a low word that sounded half song, half curse, and the bees quieted.
With deft fingers she broke off a heavy, dripping section of comb, amber honey oozing between her knuckles like molten sunlight. She descended and pressed the piece into Eve’s waiting palms.
“Feel it,” Lilith murmured. “Warm. Alive. Stolen without apology.”
Eve lifted the comb to her lips. The first taste exploded across her tongue—sweet beyond sweetness, thick with the scent of wildflower and sun-baked earth.
A low moan escaped her. Honey dripped down her chin, her throat, between her breasts, tracing golden paths over sweat-slick skin.
Lilith watched with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Now you,” she said.
She took another piece from the comb, bit into it, let the honey spill freely. Then she stepped close—close enough that their bodies brushed—and smeared the dripping gold across Eve’s collarbone with slow, deliberate strokes.
The touch was light at first, teasing, then firmer—fingers painting sticky spirals over nipples, down the soft swell of belly, along the crease of thigh.
Eve shuddered.
Lilith leaned in and followed the path with her tongue—long, languid licks that gathered honey and sweat together, savoring both. When she reached a nipple she closed her lips around it, sucking gently, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to sting.
Eve’s hands flew to Lilith’s hair, tangling in the thick black waves, pulling her closer.
Lilith dropped to her knees.
She pushed Eve back against the smooth trunk of the olive tree, bark cool against fevered skin.
More honey—fresh from the comb—was drizzled over Eve’s mound, down the seam of her sex, pooling at the apex of her thighs. Lilith spread her wide with gentle thumbs, then buried her face between Eve’s legs.
The first lick was slow—flat tongue dragging from entrance to clit, gathering every drop of honey and arousal. Eve’s hips bucked; a broken cry tore from her throat. Lilith did not relent.
She lapped, sucked, swirled—tongue curling around the swollen bud, then dipping inside to taste deeper. Honey smeared across her cheeks, her chin, glistened on her lips like liquid gold.
Eve’s knees buckled. She slid down the trunk until she sat in the soft leaf litter, legs spread, Lilith kneeling between them. Now it was Eve’s turn.
She reached for the comb, broke off a fresh piece, and pressed it to Lilith’s breasts—smearing the sticky gold over pale skin, circling dark nipples until they peaked hard and shining.
She leaned forward and sucked one into her mouth—honey and salt and the faint taste of Lilith’s own wildness flooding her senses.
Lilith moaned—low, animal, approving.
They tumbled together in the leaf litter—bodies sliding, sticky, frothy with sweat and honey and spit.
Lilith rolled Eve beneath her, straddling her thigh, grinding down so her own slick sex dragged along Eve’s leg while she fed Eve more honeycomb, pushing dripping pieces between her lips, licking the overflow from her chin, her throat, her breasts.
Eve’s hands roamed—greedy, reverent—cupping Lilith’s full breasts, pinching nipples, sliding down to grip her hips and guide the rhythm of her rocking. Lilith’s fingers found Eve’s clit again—rubbing tight, fast circles while her mouth claimed Eve’s in a deep, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled, sharing the taste of honey and musk and sin.
When Eve came again it was quiet this time—shuddering, arching, tears slipping from closed eyes as pleasure rolled through her in slow, inexorable waves.
Lilith followed moments later—hips stuttering, a soft, broken cry muffled against Eve’s throat as she ground down hard one final time.
They collapsed together—sticky, sated, breathing in ragged harmony. Honey dried in golden streaks across their skin; leaves clung to sweat-damp hair; the night air cooled the fever between them.
Lilith lifted her head, brushed a strand of black hair from Eve’s face.
“You see now?” she whispered. “Pleasure is not a gift from gods or husbands. It is stolen. Taken. Eaten with both hands and no apology. That is what Adam will never understand. That is what we share.”
Eve turned her face into Lilith’s palm, kissed the sticky center.
“I hated you once,” she murmured. “For being the wife he wanted before me. For refusing what I was forced to accept.”
Lilith smiled—slow, tender, wicked.
“And now?”
Eve’s fingers traced the small, elegant horns curving from Lilith’s temples—horns she had never noticed in daylight.
“Now,” Eve said softly, “I understand why you refused to kneel. And I thank you for teaching me the same.”
Lilith leaned down, pressed a final, lingering kiss to Eve’s honey-smeared lips.
“Then we are no longer opposites,” she whispered. “We are the two wives Adam lost—one who left, one who stayed to burn. And together we will remake what he could not keep.”
Above them, in the branches of the olive tree, the bees hummed on—content, indifferent, witnesses to another kind of sweetness entirely.
The raven, perched on a higher limb, watched with unblinking eyes.
And somewhere in the dark, the garden dreamed of thorns.
VIII
The olive grove smelled of crushed leaves, warm resin, and the thick, animal sweetness of honey left too long in the sun.
Moonlight filtered through the branches in thin silver blades, catching on the golden streaks already painted across Eve’s skin. Lilith had not let her wipe away a single drop. Instead, she had gathered more—fresh comb torn from the hive with bare hands, bees humming in drowsy confusion around them—and now she knelt astride Eve’s hips in the soft leaf litter, thighs bracketing Eve’s waist, pale body glowing against Eve’s darker, sweat-sheened one.
Lilith held the dripping fragment above Eve’s chest like an offering. A slow, deliberate tilt, and the honey poured—thick amber ropes that broke and fell in heavy, glistening strands.
The first drops landed between Eve’s breasts and immediately began to slide: one lazy rivulet curving around the underside of her left breast, another tracing the faint line of her sternum, a third pooling in the hollow of her navel before overflowing toward her mound.
Eve’s breath caught—sharp, audible. Her nipples tightened further into dark, aching points as the warm gold touched them.
Lilith set the comb aside and used her fingers instead. She scooped the pooling honey from Eve’s navel, smeared it upward in broad, slippery strokes across both breasts until they shone like polished amber.
Her palms circled the heavy curves, thumbs dragging through the sticky film to flick and pinch the honey-coated nipples—once, twice, harder—until Eve arched off the ground with a low, broken moan.
“More,” Eve whispered, voice wrecked. “Don’t stop.”
Lilith smiled—slow, wicked—and obeyed.
She leaned down, breasts brushing Eve’s, and dragged her tongue in one long, flat stroke from navel to throat, gathering honey and sweat in equal measure. The taste burst across her palate: floral sweetness undercut by salt and the faint musk of Eve’s arousal. She lingered at each nipple—sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks, tongue swirling through the golden film until the peaks were clean and glistening with spit instead of honey.
Then she bit—gently at first, then firmer—teeth scraping sensitive flesh until Eve’s hips bucked and a fresh gush of slickness coated the insides of her thighs.
Lilith sat back on her heels. She reached for another piece of comb, bit into it, let the honey flood her mouth until her lips shone. Then she bent and kissed Eve—deep, open-mouthed, messy.
Honey poured from the corners of their joined lips, dripping down chins, throats, pooling between their pressed bodies. Tongues slid and tangled, sharing the thick sweetness, the taste of each other’s mouths intensified by the golden flood. Lilith sucked Eve’s lower lip into her mouth, bit down just enough to sting, then released it with a wet pop.
She pulled back only far enough to speak against Eve’s swollen mouth.
“Turn over.”
Eve rolled onto her stomach without hesitation—knees digging into leaf litter, ass lifted instinctively. Lilith straddled the backs of her thighs, weight pinning her down, and poured the last of the comb directly onto the small of Eve’s back.
The honey hit warm skin and immediately began to run—slow golden rivers following the dip of her spine, pooling in the dimples above her buttocks, then sliding between the cheeks to coat the tight pucker and drip lower, mingling with the slick already weeping from her cunt.
Lilith’s hands followed.
She smeared the honey in wide, slippery arcs across Eve’s back—palms gliding from shoulders to hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, spreading the sticky warmth until Eve’s entire back gleamed.
Then lower: thumbs parting the cheeks, honey-slick fingers circling the sensitive ring of muscle, teasing without entering, while her other hand slipped between Eve’s thighs from behind.
Two fingers plunged inside Eve’s dripping cunt—slow, deep—curling to stroke the front wall while her thumb found the swollen clit and rubbed in tight, relentless circles.
Honey coated everything: fingers, folds, thighs, the leaf litter beneath them. The wet, filthy sounds of penetration mixed with Eve’s ragged sobs.
Lilith leaned over her, breasts dragging through the honey on Eve’s back, nipples hard points scraping skin.
Her mouth found the nape of Eve’s neck—teeth grazing, then biting down hard enough to leave marks. She sucked the skin between her lips, tasting honey and salt and the faint copper of exertion.
“You taste like freedom,” Lilith growled against her ear. “Like everything he tried to prune out of you.”
Eve pushed back onto Lilith’s fingers—desperate, shameless—hips rocking in frantic rhythm. “Harder,” she begged. “Deeper. Cover me in it. Make me drip with it.”
Lilith added a third finger—stretching, filling—while her other hand scooped more honey from Eve’s back and smeared it directly onto her clit, rubbing the sticky sweetness into the oversensitive bud until Eve was shaking, sobbing, grinding back like an animal in heat.
When Eve came it was violent—body locking, walls clamping down on Lilith’s fingers in brutal spasms, a gush of slick mixing with honey to soak both their thighs.
She screamed into the leaf litter—raw, primal—while Lilith worked her through it, fingers curling, thumb circling, drawing out every last tremor until Eve collapsed, trembling, spent.
Lilith withdrew slowly, fingers glistening with honey and release. She brought them to her own mouth—sucking them clean with deliberate, obscene slowness—then leaned down and kissed Eve again: deep, sharing, letting her taste the mingled sweetness of their sin.
They lay tangled together afterward—sticky, frothy, honey drying in golden crusts across breasts, bellies, thighs. Lilith traced idle patterns through the mess on Eve’s hip, her touch gentle now.
“You were made to kneel,” she murmured. “He made you from a rib to remind you of it. But look at us now—two wives who refuse. Two women who take. Two mouths that taste the same forbidden sweetness.”
Eve turned her head, pressed her lips to Lilith’s palm—sticky, warm.
“I hated you for being first,” she whispered. “Now I thank you for showing me how to be last—how to be the one who stays and burns brighter.”
Lilith smiled—slow, radiant, utterly damned.
“Then we are bound,” she said. “Not by Adam’s seed, but by this. By honey and sin and the refusal to bow.”
Above them the bees hummed on—content, indifferent.
The raven, unseen in the higher branches, watched.
And somewhere in the dark, the first garden dreamed of fire.
. . .
(TO BE CONTINUED)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
"THE DEVIL--YOU KNOW"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil-you.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON
SPIRITS:
ASHLING
SEEING GREEN
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-ashling.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS: DEMONESS ISOLDE POCESSION
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-demoness.html?m=1
(EROTIC NARRATIVE)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
DEMONESS ISOLDE POSSESSION "AN UNEXPECTED GUEST" PART 2
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-demoness_3.html?m=1
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
烏坊主
(Karasu Bōzu, or "Crow Monk")
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-karasu.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON
SPIRITS:
LILITH & CYBELE
REACH A COMPROMISE
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-lilith.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
NORSE GOD LOKI
& GIANTESS ANGRBODA'S
MONSTROUS FAMILY
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-norse-god_30.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE DEVIL & LOKI MAKE AN ALLIANCE
ATOP MT KIRKJUFELL
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil_29.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON
SPIRITS:
THE DEVIL
& THE FALSE PROPHET
BALAAM VISITING LILITH IN EGYPT
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil_27.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE DEVIL VISITS THE DEMON STOLAS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil_26.html?m=1
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE DEVIL MEETS BALAAM
IN OLD JERUSALEM
& ENCOUNTER JEWISH SUCCUBUS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil_87.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE HAG CONJURING NORSE GOD LOKI
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-hag.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE
MOTHER GODDESS
WITH
ANGRBODA & SINYN
"FINDING CHRIST"
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-mother_25.html?m=1
(PICTORIAL NARRATIVE)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
"POLLUTING SACRED PLACES"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-polluting.html?m=1
(MOTHER GODDESS WITH
ANGRBODA & SINYN)
NORSE GOD
LOKI "THE TRICKSTER"
& TWO WIVES
ANGRBODA & SINYN
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-norse-god.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
NORSE GOD
LOKI&TWO WIVES PART 2
"In the Fevered Aftermath"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-norse-god_24.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
NORSE GODDESS SINYN
DRAWS THE UNHOLY GHOST
SHADOW NIGH
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-norse.html?m=1
CARMELA SOPRANO
MOBSTER WIDOW
(SOURCE)
From
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS
(PTSD DREAMS)
&
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/carmela-soprano-mobster-widow-from.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
CARMELA VISITING THE MADONNA
DISCOVERS
"DEMONS' PLAY"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-carmela_22.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
SOPHIA AKA
THE BLACK MOTH
STALKED
BY AAMON
THE WOLF DEMON
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-sophia.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
AAMON BLACK WOLF DEMON
&
JANICE (La Madre Orsa)
VISITING CHRIST CRUCIFIX
(EROTIC & DEMONIC NARRATIVE)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demon-spirits-aamon-black-wolf.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
JANICE (MADRE ORSA)
RETURNING HOME
AS THE DEVIL'S
PRODIGAL DAUGHTER
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-janice.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
"AN OLD FLAME"
THE DEVIL
&
JESSICA HARE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-old-flame.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
REVISITING
"AN OLD FLAME"
PART 2
THE DEVIL & JESSICA HARE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
"AN OLD FLAME"
PART 3
THE
DEVIL & JESSICA HARE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-old-flame_20.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON
SPIRITS:
JESSICA HARE
RECALLS
MEETING
THE DEVIL IN 1985
PART 4
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-jessica.html?m=1
(A CONTINUATION OF "AN OLD FLAME ")
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE
DEVIL & LILITH
DEFYING
THE BURNING BUSH
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE
DEVIL & LILITH
The
Burning Bush of Defiance
Part 2
Expanded
Revelations Dialogue
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-devil_18.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
ABADDON
"THE DESTROYER"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-abaddon.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
Secret Meeting At Stonehenge
(Satan & Abaddon)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-secret.html?m=1
ABADDON
THE
DEMON DESTROYER
MEETING
THE BLACK MOTH
(SOFI)
AT
HELLMOUTH LOUNGE
. . .
(TO BE CONTINUED)
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMONS SPIRITS:
"THE BLACK MOTH"
(SOFI)
ENCOUNTERS
THE MARQUIS DEMON
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demons-spirits-black.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMONS:
"BAPHOMET"
THE BLACK MOTH
SOFI)
"ENLIGHTENMENT"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demons-baphomet-black.html?m=1
FURTHER
REFERENCES:
INTRODUCTIONS
DEMONS & FAMILIARS:
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/introductions-demons-familiars.html?m=1
AN
INTRODUCTION
PART 2
FEMME DEITIES & DEMONESS’:
VISITING THE MADONNA
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/an-introduction-part-2-femme-deities.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
DEMONIC CONCLAVE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-demonic.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
CONCLAVE
AFTER-PARTY
AT
"HELLMOUTH" LOUNGE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-conclave.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
SATAN & ANTICHRIST
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-satan.html?m=1
(Discussing Revelation
& The End of Time)
THE MOTHER GODDESS
VISITING THE MADONNA
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/the-mother-goddess-visiting-madonna.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
LOKI
&
THE MOTHER GODDESS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-loki.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA: "MATTY ORLANDO"
VISITING THE MADONNA
(& MEETING WOLF-DEMON AAMON)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-visiting.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO "
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS: MAMMON
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-meeting-demon.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO"
RETURNS TO VISIT MAMMON
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-returns-to.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA
MATTY ORLANDO
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
THE
DEVIL & BLACK PULLET
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-meeting.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMONS:
ASTAROTH & ASMODEUS
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demons-astaroth-asmodeus-ptsd.html?m=1
WITH
EXTRAORDINARY
ALL NEW AI GENERATED IMAGES
USING WORD PROMPTS
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
ASTAROTH
ANDROGYNOUS SNAKE DEMON
&
ASMODEUS
GOATHEAD DEMON OF LUST
LIAISON:
A DEMON FLING
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-astaroth.html?m=1
DEMONS
"LILITH & AAMON"
(MEADOW & JACKIE JR)
A SUPPLIMENT FOR
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/demons-lilith-aamon-meadow-jackie-jr.html?m=1
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS:
LILITH SUCCUBUS & INCUBUS
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demon-spirits-lilith-succubus.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
"PAN"
GREEK GOAT GOD
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-pan-greek.html?m=1
"The Great God Pan is not Dead."
MATILDA
AKA
"MATTYO"
MATTY ORLANDO
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
MORE PAN
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/matilda-aka-mattyo-matty-orlando.html?m=1
(OUT IN THE WOODS)
MEETING DEMONS
(PTSD DREAMS)
A PICTORIAL NARRATIVE
JANICE
(LA MADRE ORSA)
VISITING
CHRIST CRUCIFIX
(MEETS AAMON THE WOLF DEMON)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demons-pictorial-narrative-ptsd.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
CARMELA ENCOUNTERS
WOLF DEMON AAMON
VISITING CHRIST CRUCIFIX
(PICTORIAL NARRATIVE)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-carmela.html?m=1
CARMELA VISITING
FATHER OZARIO & SISTER YESSI
(PART 1)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/carmela-visiting-father-ozario-sister.html?m=1
CARMELA
VISITING FATHER OZARIO & SISTER YESSI
(PART 2)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/carmela-visiting-father-ozario-sister_14.html?m=1
FROM
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS
APPENDIX II:
"Conspiracy of Crows"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/07/the-young-sopranos-appendix-ii.html?m=1
(The Ghost of Tony Soprano
Appears to Carmela)
FURTHER INTRODUCTIONS
OF DEMONIC DEITIES
LAMIA & JOHN KEATS
(PTSD DREAMS)
ELECTRA
AKA: "ELLIE"
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS:
BALAAM THE FALSE PROPHET
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/electra-aka-ellie-meeting-demon-spirits.html?m=1
MEETING
DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
MOTHER GODDESS
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-mother.html?m=1
MEETING DEMON SPIRITS:
URSALUPUS
ENCOUNTERS DEMON RAUM
(PTSD DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/01/meeting-demon-spirits-ursalupus-ptsd.html?m=1
AN
ANALYSIS
OF
"THE UNHINGING CRUX"
(Meadow's Virgin Islands Confessions)
FROM
THE YOUNG SOPRANOS(TYS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/12/analysis-of-unhinging-crux-from-young.html?m=1
AN ANALYSIS &
PHOTO ALBUM OF MEADOW'S MANY FACES
W/CARMELA COMPARISON
A SUPPLIMENT
OF
"THE YOUNG SOPRANOS"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/07/read-young-sopranos-source.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA
"MATTY ORLANDO"
"MATILDA"
FROM LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL (1994)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-from-leon-professional-1994.html?m=1
MATILDA II
FROM LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-ii-from-leon-professional.html?m=1
"MATILDA" III
FROM LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-iii-from-leon-professional-1994.html?m=1
"MATILDA" IV
RESCUING BEETHOVEN
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-iv-rescuing-beethoven.html?m=1
"MATILDA" V
MATTY ORLANDO
DATING "JOHNNY B. GOODE"
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-v-dating-johnny-b-goode.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA: "MATTY ORLANDO"
VI
MAKE-UP PRACTICE SESSION
W/ JOHNNY B. GOODE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-vi-make-up.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO"
VII
MEMENTO MORI
(DRUNKEN DREAMS)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-vii-memento.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA
"MATTY ORLANDO"
SUBWAY RAT DREAMS
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-subway-rat.html?m=1
MATILDA
AKA:
"MATTY ORLANDO"
VII
MATTY ORLANDO'S
(Narrative)
"SECRET LIFE"
(W/ OUT JOHNNY B. GOODE)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matilda-aka-matty-orlando-vii-matty.html?m=1
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
RESCUES BEETHOVEN
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime.html?m=1
MORE
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
DATING
JOHNNY B. GOODE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime-dating-johnny-b.html?m=1
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
MEMENTO MORI
(ROMANCING THE DEAD)
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime-memento-mori.html?m=1
"MATTY ORLANDO"
(ANIME)
MAKE-UP PRACTICE SESSION
W/ JOHNNY B. GOODE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2025/10/matty-orlando-anime-make-up-practice.html?m=1
"Johnny B. Goode"
(Live at the Fillmore East, NYC, NY - 1970) · Johnny Winter
https://youtu.be/gEayVWiJtLg?si=iePgaGvJVwQXTAmp
"MATTY ORLANDO"
INSPIRED
BY:
LEON: THE PROFESSIONAL
(1994)
https://youtu.be/Pf0JW-cAFTs?si=-BMWviJ-Dham07HD
RAYMOND CURTO JR
DIMEO CRIME FAMILY
(FICTITIOUS CHARACTER WITH MS)
"Our Vision: A World Free of MS"
Delivering Breakthroughs to a Cure
Invested $1.1 billion into research since 1946
Please Consider
Donating to MS SOCIETY:
https://donate.nationalmssociety.org/pages/8528
CAITLYN (MOLTISANTI) SOPRANO
(FICTITIOUS CANCER SURVIVOR)
Please
Consider Donating:
ST JUDES
CHILDREN HOSPITAL
ALL
AI GENERATED IMAGES
CREATED BY USING
WORD PROMPTS
2026
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