MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS: EVE ENCOUNTERS DEMON BEELZEBUB "THE LORD OF THE FLIES"
MEETING DEITIES
&
DEMON SPIRITS
AN
EROTIC NARRATIVE
(PTSD DREAMS)
CREATED
BY
J. BECK
2026
MEETING DEITIES
&
DEMON SPIRITS:
EVE
ENCOUNTERS
DEMON BEELZEBUB
"THE LORD OF THE FLIES"
(PTSD DREAMS)
EVE
ENCOUNTERS
DEMON
BEELZEBUB
"THE LORD OF THE FLIES"
(PTSD DREAMS)
The forest was unnaturally still, as though the trees themselves held their breath. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in thin, silver blades, catching on the sweat that glazed Eve’s dark-tanned skin and turned the long, greasy strands of her black hair into wet ropes that clung to her neck, shoulders, and the tops of her breasts.
Her short, sleeveless chore dress—once pale cotton, now stained with dirt, tree sap, and streaks of golden honey—had ridden up her thighs. The thin fabric was soaked through in places, outlining every curve and hollow of her body.
Around her small, exposed cleavage crawled a living shroud of bees: hundreds, perhaps thousands, their golden-black bodies pulsing in slow, hypnotic waves.
They did not sting. Not yet. They simply covered her there, a trembling, buzzing veil that rose and fell with each shallow breath she took.
She stood frozen before the hollow oak, one hand still clutching the torn fragment of honeycomb she had not managed to drop. Golden syrup dripped from between her fingers, sliding down her wrist in slow, obscene trails.
Opposite her, leaning one shoulder against the massive trunk, stood Beelzebub.
He wore the face and body of a man who had once been beautiful and had chosen, long ago, to let that beauty curdle. Long, lank black hair hung past his shoulders, unwashed and gleaming with its own oils. Several days’ stubble shadowed the hard line of his jaw. The brown leather suit—jacket, vest, narrow trousers, tall boots—was expensive, tailored, and deliberately ruined: seams splitting at the elbows, cuffs frayed, lapels darkened with old smoke and newer ash.
A cigarette dangled from his lips; the ember flared each time he inhaled, throwing brief orange light across the sharp planes of his face. Balthazar Getty at fifty-one, if Balthazar Getty had spent the last three decades drinking brimstone instead of bourbon.
He exhaled a long plume of smoke that drifted toward Eve and mingled with the faint, sweet stench of disturbed bees and fermenting honey.
“Little thief,” he said. The voice was low, amused, gravel dragged across velvet. “You didn’t even wait for the moon to clear the ridge before you started prying at my tree.”
Eve’s throat worked. She tried to speak, found her mouth too dry. The bees shifted minutely across her chest; a few crawled higher, tracing the delicate ridge of her collarbone.
“I—I didn’t know it was yours,” she lied.
Beelzebub laughed once, a short, barking sound that made the nearest bees rise in a brief, angry cloud before settling again.
“Everyone knows whose it is.”
He flicked ash from the cigarette; it fell into the leaf litter without a sound.
“The moment your fingers broke the wax seal, every wing in this wood felt it. You think bees answer to mortal queens?” He tilted his head, studying her the way a butcher studies a cut of meat.
“They answer to me.”
He pushed off the tree and took one slow step closer. The air around him seemed to thicken—hotter, sweeter, carrying the faint metallic bite of old blood beneath the honey. Eve’s knees trembled, but she did not step back.
“You’ve got my property dripping down your wrist,”
He continued.
“And my children wrapped around your tits like a jeweled corset. That’s two debts already.”
Another step. Close enough now that she could smell the tobacco, the leather, the faint sulfur that clung to his skin like cologne.
“I could let them sting you until your heart stops. Or I could let them crawl inside you—every crevice, every fold—until you beg for the venom just to feel something.”
Eve’s breath hitched. A single bead of sweat rolled from her temple, slid along the dark liner smudged beneath her eye, and fell onto the living carpet of bees. They quivered in response.
“But I’m feeling generous tonight,” Beelzebub said. He reached out, slow enough that she could have flinched away, and caught her honey-smeared wrist between thumb and forefinger.
He lifted it to his mouth. His tongue—longer than it should have been—slid out and dragged a deliberate line from pulse point to fingertip, collecting every drop. His eyes never left hers.
They were black, bottomless, and faintly luminous, like oil on water under moonlight.
He released her wrist.
“So here is the proposition, Eve.”
The name sounded obscene in his mouth.
“You keep what you stole—every sweet gram of it. You walk out of this wood tonight with your skin intact and your cunt still virgin to real pain.”
He smiled, showing teeth that were too white against the stubble.
“In exchange, you give me seven nights. Not seven fucks—though we both know that’s where it ends.
Seven nights where you come to me, exactly as you are now: filthy, sweating, greedy, marked by my bees. You let me taste what you taste. You let me teach you what hunger really means.”
He stepped even closer. The bees on her chest parted just enough to let his leather-clad knuckles brush the upper swell of her breast.
The contact sent a visible ripple through the swarm; wings fluttered in frantic unison.
“Or ?!”
He Whispered:
“I can have the bees finish what you started. They’ll fuck you with their stingers until your thighs shake and your voice breaks.
They’ll fill you until every breath is a prayer. And when they’re done, I’ll still take the seven nights—only then you’ll already be ruined for anything human.”
Eve’s lips parted. A soft, involuntary sound escaped—half sob, half moan.
Beelzebub leaned in until his mouth hovered a heartbeat from hers. Smoke curled between them.
“Choose, little thief,” he murmured.
“The Honey… or the Hive.”
One bee detached from the mass at her cleavage and crawled slowly up the column of her throat. It paused at the corner of her mouth, wings shivering. Eve felt the delicate brush of its legs against her lower lip.
She closed her eyes.
And then, very quietly, she whispered,
“Seven nights.”
Beelzebub smiled against her skin.
“Good girl.”
The bees surged—sudden, ecstatic motion. Not stinging. Worshipping. Crawling higher, lower, slipping beneath the hem of her ruined dress, tracing every inch of sweat-slick skin as though mapping new territory.
He caught her chin between thumb and finger, tilted her face up, and kissed her.
It tasted of honey, tobacco, and something darker—something that burned going down and promised to burn forever.
The forest watched.
And somewhere deep inside the hollow oak, the last untouched comb began, very slowly, to weep golden tears.
The forest exhaled.
A slow, collective sigh moved through the leaves as though the trees themselves had been waiting for her surrender.
The bees responded first—less a sound than a feeling, a sudden thickening of the air around Eve’s body.
Their wings blurred into a low, throbbing hum that vibrated straight through her ribs, down her spine, and settled hot and heavy between her thighs.
Beelzebub did not move at once.
He simply stood there, cigarette still smoldering between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward like incense offered to something older than sin. His eyes—those oil-slick black pools—held hers without blinking.
He let the silence stretch until it felt like a physical pressure against her skin, until every shallow breath she took pushed her sweat-slick breasts harder against the living, crawling corset of bees.
Then, very deliberately, he lifted the cigarette to his lips again. Inhaled. The ember flared bright enough to paint the underside of his unshaven jaw in momentary hellfire orange. He held the smoke in his lungs for a long count—five heartbeats, six—before leaning forward and exhaling directly against her mouth.
The plume was warm, bitter with tobacco and something sweeter underneath, something that tasted like burnt sugar and brimstone on the back of her tongue. It coated her lips, slipped between them when she couldn’t help but part them on a soft, involuntary gasp. She tasted him before he ever touched her.
“Good,” he murmured, voice so low it felt like it came from inside her own chest. “You’re already learning how to breathe me in.”
One gloved hand rose—slow, unhurried—and cupped the side of her face. The leather was warm from his body heat, supple yet unyielding. His thumb traced the smeared edge of her dark eyeliner, dragging it farther down her cheek in a deliberate, filthy streak. Then lower.
He followed the path of a single bead of sweat that had rolled from her temple, down the side of her throat, over the frantic pulse there. The pad of his thumb pressed just hard enough to feel her heartbeat stutter.
The bees reacted instantly.
A ripple passed through the swarm at her cleavage—thousands of tiny bodies lifting and resettling in perfect synchrony. Several dozen broke away from the mass and began a slow, exploratory crawl upward along her throat, following the exact path his thumb had just traced.
Their legs were impossibly delicate, yet every step sent tiny electric shocks skittering across her skin. One paused at the hollow beneath her jaw, wings shivering, as though tasting her fear-sweat. Another ventured higher, brushing the lobe of her ear. A third traced the seam of her lips.
Eve whimpered—small, broken, helpless.
Beelzebub smiled against her mouth. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just the barest graze of his lower lip against hers, enough to let her feel the rough texture of his stubble, the heat radiating off him like a furnace door left ajar.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s them learning you. Mapping every place your body betrays you. Every place you’re already wet for punishment.”
His free hand moved to her waist—fingers splaying wide over the filthy cotton of her dress. He didn’t grab. He simply rested there, letting her feel the weight of his palm, the faint tremor of restraint in his grip. Then, millimeter by millimeter, he began to slide the hem higher.
The fabric dragged against her thighs—sticky with honey, sweat, forest dirt. Higher still. Cool night air kissed the newly bared skin an instant before the bees did.
A vanguard of them flowed downward in a golden-black tide, slipping beneath the rising hem, crawling along the sensitive crease where thigh met groin. They did not sting. They stroked. Tiny legs brushing, wings fluttering against inner skin so delicate it made her knees buckle.
She would have fallen if his hand at her waist hadn’t tightened—hard enough to bruise, gentle enough to promise worse.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Her lashes fluttered open. His face was inches away now, eyes burning with something that was hunger and ownership and dark amusement all at once.
“I want you to remember this moment,” he said softly. “The exact second you realized the hive wasn’t just covering you.” His thumb brushed her swollen lower lip, parting it farther. “It was claiming you.”
A single bee—bolder than the rest—crawled out from beneath the neckline of her dress and onto the upper swell of her breast.
It paused there, wings trembling, then dipped its head and dragged its proboscis across the taut skin in one slow, deliberate lick.
The sensation was obscene—wet, warm, impossibly intimate. Eve’s back arched on instinct; a choked moan tore from her throat.
Beelzebub caught the sound with his mouth.
The kiss was not gentle.
It was invasion—his tongue sliding past her lips like he already owned the territory, tasting honey and salt and the faint metallic edge of her fear.
He kissed her the way a man starves: deep, ruthless, unhurried. One hand tangled in her greasy black hair, fingers twisting at the roots, angling her head exactly how he wanted it.
The other remained at her waist, holding the dress bunched high enough that the bees now had unrestricted access to the soft skin of her lower belly, the tops of her thighs, the shadowed cleft between.
They explored without mercy.
Tiny bodies slipped beneath the edges of her underwear—if she still wore any; the fabric was so soaked and torn it barely mattered. They traced the seam of her sex through the thin cotton, wings beating in frantic rhythm against the most sensitive nerves.
One found the swollen bud at the apex and settled there, vibrating, stroking, never quite enough to tip her over but more than enough to make her sob into his mouth.
He broke the kiss only long enough to speak against her lips.
“Seven nights,” he reminded her, voice wrecked with want. “And every single one starts like this—filthy, trembling, dripping for me while my children fuck you with their wings and their legs and their hunger.”
He dragged his stubbled jaw down the side of her throat, teeth grazing the place where her pulse hammered. “You’ll beg before sunrise. Not for mercy.” His tongue flicked out, tasting the sweat pooled in her collarbone. “For more.”
A fresh wave of bees surged upward from beneath her dress, crawling over her ribs, between her breasts, circling her nipples through the thin, ruined fabric until the peaks stood painfully hard beneath the living shroud.
Eve’s hands—shaking, honey-sticky—finally moved. Not to push him away.
They clutched at his leather lapels, fingers curling into the worn material as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.
Beelzebub laughed—low, dark, triumphant—against her skin.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Hold on tight, little thief.”
Because the night was only beginning.
And the hive had all the time in the world.
The first night began the moment the word “yes” left her lips—not as surrender, but as hunger finally given voice.
Beelzebub did not rush her deeper into the forest. Instead he simply turned, leather creaking softly, and walked toward a narrow path between the oaks that Eve had never noticed before.
The bees followed as one organism—some clinging to her skin, others rising in a slow, golden cloud that framed her like a living halo, lighting the way with the faint bioluminescence that only appeared when they were truly aroused by their master’s will.
Eve walked behind him. Barefoot now—her cheap canvas sneakers lost somewhere in the leaf litter during the earlier struggle—each step pressed damp earth and pine needles into her soles.
The short dress rode high on her thighs with every movement; the hem dragged across the tops of the bees still swarming her lower body, making their wings flutter in frantic protest and pleasure. Honey dripped steadily from between her fingers, marking her trail like obscene breadcrumbs.
They reached a clearing that should not have existed in this part of the wood. A perfect circle of ancient beech trees, their trunks smooth and pale as bone under moonlight. In the center stood a low stone altar—rough-hewn, moss-covered, stained dark in places that might have been blood or honey or both. No fire burned, yet the air was warm, thick with the scent of blooming night jasmine and fermenting comb.
Beelzebub stopped at the edge of the circle. He flicked the last of his cigarette into the undergrowth; it vanished without a spark. Then he turned to face her.
“Strip.”
The command was quiet. Absolute.
Eve’s hands shook as she reached for the thin straps of the dress. The bees did not leave her; they simply parted like obedient courtiers, crawling higher up her shoulders, down her arms, forming living gauntlets around her wrists as she drew the fabric over her head.
The cotton peeled away from sweat-slick skin with a soft, wet sound. When the dress fell to the ground, the bees surged back immediately—covering her naked breasts in a quivering mantle, tracing the undersides, circling the dark, hardened peaks until she gasped at the sensation of a thousand tiny tongues tasting her at once.
She stood bare except for the swarm and the streaks of honey and dirt that painted her like war markings. Her long, greasy black hair clung to her neck and shoulders in wet ropes. Dark eyeliner had run into smoky trails down her cheeks. Her lips were swollen from his earlier kiss, parted on shallow breaths.
Beelzebub circled her slowly, boots silent on the moss. He did not touch her yet. He simply looked—taking inventory of every tremble, every flush of heat beneath her dark-tanned skin, every place the bees chose to linger longest.
“You’re already dripping,” he observed, voice rough with satisfaction. “Not just sweat. Not just honey.”
He stopped behind her. One gloved hand settled lightly at the small of her back—barely contact, yet the leather felt scalding against her spine. He leaned in until his mouth brushed the shell of her ear.
“Spread your legs.”
Eve obeyed before the command finished registering. Her thighs parted; cool air kissed the slick heat between them an instant before the bees did.
A deliberate squadron detached from her breasts and flowed downward—crawling over her belly, dipping into her navel, then lower still. They traced the seam of her sex with maddening delicacy, wings beating against her swollen clit in tiny, vibrating pulses.
One bee—larger, bolder—slipped between her folds and settled there, its body thrumming like a living vibrator while its legs stroked the sensitive inner walls.
She moaned—low, broken, shameless.
Beelzebub’s hand slid lower, cupping one ass cheek, fingers digging in just enough to spread her farther. “They like you here,” he murmured. “They can smell how badly you want to be filled.”
He guided her forward until her thighs pressed against the edge of the stone altar.
“Bend over. Hands flat. Ass up.”
Eve folded herself over the cool, moss-slick stone. The surface was uneven; it pressed against her nipples through the shifting carpet of bees, sending sharp sparks of pleasure-pain straight to her core. Her breasts flattened against the altar; the bees beneath them buzzed harder, frantic, as though trying to lift her.
Behind her, she heard the slow, deliberate sounds of leather parting—jacket sliding off shoulders, vest unbuttoned, belt buckle clinking. Fabric rustled to the ground. Then the heat of him—naked now except for the boots—radiated against her back.
He did not enter her immediately.
Instead he knelt behind her, gripped her hips, and spread her wide with his thumbs. She felt his breath first—hot, deliberate—against her dripping sex.
Then his tongue: long, rougher than human, dragging from clit to entrance in one slow, claiming stroke. He tasted her like wine—savoring, rolling the flavor of honey and arousal and fear across his palate.
“You taste like sin that hasn’t happened yet,” he growled against her.
Then he stood.
The head of him—thick, ridged in ways no mortal cock ever was—nudged her entrance. Not pushing in. Simply resting there, letting her feel the heat, the weight, the slow, heavy pulse of him.
“Beg,” he said.
Eve’s voice cracked on the first try.
“Please…”
“Louder. And use my name.”
“Please… Beelzebub… fuck me.”
The bees answered before he did. A sudden surge of them flowed between her thighs, coating his length in a living sheath of vibrating bodies.
When he finally thrust—slow, inexorable, stretching her open inch by burning inch—the bees moved with him. They stroked her inner walls as he filled her, wings fluttering against every nerve, legs clinging to the sensitive ridge beneath his crown.
Eve screamed—pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
He did not stop.
Each thrust was measured, deep, deliberate. The stone altar bruised her hips; she welcomed it. The bees never ceased their worship—crawling over her back, between her shoulder blades, along the column of her throat, even slipping into her mouth when she opened it to gasp. She tasted them: sweet, metallic, alive.
Beelzebub’s hands roamed. One tangled in her greasy hair, yanking her head back so he could bite the side of her neck—not breaking skin, just marking her with the perfect imprint of his teeth. The other slid beneath her, finding her clit and circling it with leather-gloved fingers while the bees continued their relentless vibration inside her.
“You’ll come when I say,” he rasped against her ear. “Not before. Not after.”
She sobbed with the effort of holding back. Every thrust drove her closer; every brush of wings and leather and tongue pushed her to the razor edge.
When he finally growled “Now,” the release tore through her like wildfire.
Her body convulsed around him—clenching, milking, shuddering. The bees went wild—wings blurring into a deafening roar as they rode the waves of her orgasm, amplifying it until she thought she might shatter. Honey and slickness and tears mixed on the stone beneath her.
Beelzebub followed moments later—burying himself to the hilt, flooding her with heat that felt endless, infernal. The bees stilled at the exact instant he spilled inside her, as though drinking the moment along with her.
He stayed seated deep, breathing hard against her shoulder. One hand stroked down her spine—almost tender.
“First night,”
He murmured
Lips brushing sweat-damp skin.
“Six more to go.”
He pulled out slowly, letting her feel every ridge, every lingering bee that clung to him and to her.
When he finally stepped back, Eve remained bent over the altar—legs trembling, sex swollen and leaking, body painted with honey, sweat, and the faint golden dust of bee wings.
The swarm settled across her like a blanket—warm, possessive, sated for now.
Beelzebub lit another cigarette. The ember glowed as he exhaled smoke toward the moon.
“Rest,” he told her. “You’ll need it.”
Because dawn was still hours away.
And the hive was already planning tomorrow’s worship.
The Second Night Arrived with Rain.
Not a gentle summer shower, but a sudden, punishing downpour that turned the forest floor to black mud and made every leaf sound like wet leather slapping skin. Eve came alone this time—no coaxing, no summons whispered on the wind.
She simply walked the path she now knew by heart, the one that appeared only after midnight when the moon was hidden behind swollen clouds.
Her chore dress was gone forever; she wore only a thin, once-white slip she’d found in an abandoned cabin on the edge of the wood. The fabric was soaked through before she reached the clearing, clinging transparently to every curve.
Rain streaked the dark eyeliner down her cheeks in fresh black rivers. Her long, greasy black hair hung in heavy ropes that slapped against her bare shoulders and upper back with each step.
Honey from the previous night still lingered in faint golden streaks across her dark-tanned skin—now diluted, running in slow amber rivulets that the rain could not fully erase.
The bees were waiting.
They did not swarm her immediately. Instead they hovered in a low, pulsing cloud above the stone altar, wings catching stray flashes of lightning so that the entire clearing seemed lit from within by golden strobe pulses.
When she stepped into the circle, they descended—not in frenzy, but in deliberate formation. They coated her like liquid armor: shoulders first, then breasts, then down the slope of her belly, finally pooling thickest between her thighs where the slip had ridden up and stuck to her like a second skin.
Beelzebub emerged from the far side of the beech trees. Tonight he wore no jacket—only the leather vest over an open-collared shirt already dark with rain, sleeves rolled to the elbows, trousers tucked into tall boots that squelched softly in the mud.
His long black hair was plastered to his skull and neck; water dripped from the ends and traced the stubble along his jaw.
The cigarette between his lips was somehow still burning, defiant against the deluge. He carried nothing—no weapons, no props—only himself, and the slow, predatory certainty in his stride.
He stopped a few paces away and simply watched her shiver.
“You came early,” he said. The rain made his voice sound closer than it was, as though the words were poured directly into her ear.
“Eager little thief.”
Eve’s teeth chattered, but she lifted her chin.
“I… I couldn’t wait.”
A slow smile split his face—dangerous, pleased. He flicked the cigarette into the mud; it hissed and died. Then he closed the distance in three strides.
This time he did not ask her to strip. He simply hooked two fingers beneath the soaked straps of the slip and tore them downward in one brutal motion.
The fabric ripped away like wet paper, leaving her completely bare under the storm. Rain hammered her skin; gooseflesh rose in violent waves
The bees surged in response, covering her nipples, her navel, the cleft of her ass—forming a living, vibrating shield that somehow made the cold feel hotter.
Beelzebub gripped her by the throat—not choking, just holding—thumb pressed to the frantic pulse beneath her jaw. He backed her against the nearest beech trunk. The smooth, pale bark was cool against her spine; the rough texture of his leather vest scraped her breasts through the shifting carpet of bees.
“On your knees,”
Beelzebub Ordered.
The mud was cold, thick, sucking at her skin as she sank. Rain ran into her eyes, her mouth; she blinked it away and looked up at him. Lightning cracked overhead—white, blinding—and for an instant his eyes flared not black but molten gold, like the heart of a dying star.
He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness. The leather whispered through the loops; the metal clinked. When he freed himself, he was already hard—thick, ridged, glistening with rain and something darker. A single bee crawled along his length, wings trembling, as though anointing him.
“Open.”
Eve parted her lips. Raindrops fell onto her tongue an instant before he did.
He did not thrust immediately. He simply rested the head against her lower lip, letting her taste salt and rain and the faint metallic sweetness that was uniquely his. Then—slowly—he slid forward. The ridges dragged against her tongue; the bees that had followed him buzzed softly against her cheeks, her chin, even slipping between her lips to stroke the underside of his shaft as he filled her mouth.
She moaned around him—vibration that made his hips jerk once, involuntarily.
He tangled one hand in her wet hair, fingers twisting at the roots, and began to move. Not gentle. Not cruel. Methodical. Each thrust deep enough to bump the back of her throat, then withdrawal just far enough that she could draw ragged breaths through her nose before he pushed in again. Rain streamed down his face, dripped from his jaw onto her upturned features. The bees never stopped moving—crawling over her closed eyelids, along her cheekbones, down her throat in a living necklace that quivered with every swallow.
“You look like ruin already,” he rasped. “And we’ve barely started.”
He pulled out abruptly. A thick string of saliva and rain connected her swollen lips to his tip for a heartbeat before it snapped. He hauled her to her feet by the hair—gentle enough not to tear, firm enough that her scalp sang with bright pain—and spun her to face the tree.
“Hands on the bark. Legs apart.”
She obeyed. Palms pressed flat to the smooth trunk; thighs spread wide. Rain sluiced down her back, between her shoulder blades, over the curve of her ass. The bees flowed with the water—sliding into the cleft, tracing the sensitive pucker there, then lower, coating her dripping sex until every fold shimmered with golden bodies.
Beelzebub stepped in close. One hand braced beside hers on the tree; the other gripped her hip hard enough to leave fingerprints in the mud-streaked skin. He notched himself at her entrance—hot, blunt pressure—and held there.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her ear. His stubble scraped the side of her neck; his breath was smoke and sulfur even in the downpour.
“You,” she gasped. “Inside me. Please—Beelzebub—fuck me until I forget my own name.”
Lightning flashed again. Thunder rolled so close the ground shook.
He drove into her in one brutal, claiming thrust.
Eve’s cry was swallowed by the storm.
He did not give her time to adjust. Each stroke was punishing—deep, fast, relentless. The bees inside her moved with him, wings beating against her inner walls, legs stroking every swollen inch of sensitive flesh. One particularly bold insect settled directly against her clit and vibrated—steady, merciless—as though tuned to the exact rhythm of his hips.
Her knees buckled; he caught her around the waist with his free arm, holding her upright while he fucked her against the tree. Bark scraped her palms, her breasts, her cheek when he turned her face to the side so he could bite the slope of her shoulder. Teeth sank in—not breaking skin, but close enough that the threat made her clench around him harder.
“You’re going to come like this,” he growled. “Pinned. Soaked. Filled with my cock and my children. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
She was already close—dangerously close. The combination was too much: the cold rain, the hot friction, the endless tiny strokes of wings and legs, the brutal stretch of him inside her, the leather of his vest slapping wetly against her back with every thrust.
When he reached around and pinched her nipple through the living shroud of bees—hard—the world whitewashed.
Her orgasm hit like the thunder overhead—shattering, deafening. She screamed his name into the storm; her body convulsed, milking him in frantic pulses. The bees went wild—wings blurring into a roar that drowned out the rain—amplifying every spasm until tears mixed with the water streaming down her face.
Beelzebub followed with a guttural curse. He buried himself to the hilt and came in hot, endless spurts that felt like branding her from the inside. The bees stilled at the peak—perfect, reverent silence—then resumed their slow, worshipful crawl across her trembling body as he emptied himself.
He stayed inside her for long minutes, breathing hard against her neck, one hand stroking down her rain-slick spine in something almost like tenderness.
When he finally withdrew, she felt the loss like a wound. Slickness—his, hers, honey, rain—ran down her inner thighs in warm rivers. The bees followed it, licking it clean with delicate proboscises.
He turned her gently, pressed her back to the tree, and kissed her.
This time it was slow. Deep. Possessive. His tongue claimed every corner of her mouth while the rain continued to fall.
“Second night,” he whispered against her lips when he finally pulled back. His eyes were black again—bottomless, faintly luminous. “Five more.”
He stepped away, leaving her leaning against the beech, legs shaking, body painted in mud, honey, and bee-dust.
The storm showed no sign of stopping.
Neither did the hunger in his gaze.
And somewhere in the dark between the trees, the hive was already dreaming of the third night.
Eve’s mind was no longer a quiet place.
It had once been orderly—small thoughts filed neatly beside larger ones like receipts in a drawer. Bills paid. Rent due. The ache of wanting more than this small, sticky life in a town that smelled of diesel and regret. Now those neat compartments had burst open, and everything spilled together in a hot, buzzing chaos that matched the hive crawling over her skin.
On the second night, as the rain hammered down and turned the forest floor to sucking black mud, her thoughts came in frantic, overlapping waves.
*He’s going to ruin me tonight. Not just my body—my mind. I can already feel it fraying at the edges, like wet paper tearing under too many fingers.*
She had walked the path to the clearing knowing she could still turn back. The choice was there, sharp as a blade. Turn around. Run back to the cabin with its sagging porch and flickering bulb. Lock the door. Pretend the first night had been a fever dream brought on by bad honey and worse decisions.
But her feet kept moving forward.
*Why didn’t I run? Because the ache between my legs started the moment I woke up this morning. Because I could still taste him—smoke and sulfur and something sweeter—on the back of my tongue all day. Because when I touched myself in the shower trying to wash him off, my fingers felt wrong. Too small. Too human. I needed the stretch, the burn, the impossible ridges that don’t belong inside any mortal woman.*
The bees descended as soon as she stepped into the circle, and her first coherent thought was almost a prayer.
*Thank God they’re here again. Thank God they remember me.*
She hated that gratitude. Hated how quickly her body had learned to crave the vibration of their wings against her clit, the delicate crawl of legs along her folds like a thousand tiny lovers who never tired, never judged, never asked for anything but to serve. She hated that part of her wanted them to crawl deeper—inside her ears, her nostrils, the corners of her eyes—just to feel more completely claimed.
When Beelzebub tore the slip away and the cold rain hit her naked skin, another thought sliced through the haze:
*I look like something that crawled out of a nightmare and decided to stay. Greasy hair, smeared makeup, honey-streaked thighs, shivering like a drowned thing. And he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever ruined.*
The shame should have burned hotter than the arousal. Instead it twisted together with it until she couldn’t tell which was which. Every time his eyes raked over her—possessive, amused, hungry—her cunt clenched around nothing, slick and desperate.
*Kneel,* he said, and her knees folded before her brain could protest.
*On my knees in the mud for a demon who looks like a man who’s forgotten how to be good. My mouth watering for something that should terrify me. My nipples so hard they ache under the bees. My heart slamming against my ribs like it wants out—or wants him in deeper.*
When he slid into her mouth, slow and deliberate, her thoughts fractured into bright, jagged pieces.
*He tastes like sin that’s been aging for centuries. Like the first cigarette I ever stole from my mother’s purse. Like honey left too long in the sun until it ferments. I shouldn’t want this. I should bite down. I should spit him out. Instead I’m hollowing my cheeks, swirling my tongue, trying to take more. The bees are on my tongue now—tiny, alive, vibrating against the underside of his cock while I suck him. It’s obscene. It’s perfect. I’m going to come just from this—from the taste of him and the buzz in my mouth and the way his fingers twist in my hair like he’s holding the reins of something wild.*
When he pulled out and spun her against the tree, palms slapping wet bark, legs spread wide, the rain running in cold rivers between her ass cheeks, her mind went strangely quiet for one heartbeat.
Then it roared back.
*He’s going to fuck me like I’m nothing. Like I’m everything. Like I belong to him now and always did. And God help me, I want him to. I want the stretch that hurts just enough to remind me I’m still alive. I want the bees to crawl inside me while he’s buried to the hilt, wings beating against my cervix like they’re trying to get deeper than he can. I want to scream his name into the storm until my throat is raw. I want to come so hard I forget there was ever a before.*
When he finally thrust in—brutal, claiming, perfect—her last clear thought before the white-hot pleasure swallowed everything was simple and devastating:
"I’m not stealing honey anymore."
"I’m stealing nights."
"And I’ll keep coming back until there are no nights left to steal."
"Because this—this filthy, trembling, bee-covered surrender—is the only place I’ve ever felt completely seen."
The orgasm that followed tore the rest of her thoughts apart like wet silk.
Afterward, leaning against the beech tree with his come leaking down her thighs and the bees licking it clean, one small, stubborn fragment of her old mind flickered back to life.
Five more nights.
Five more chances to lose myself completely.
And when they’re over…
fWhat will be left of Eve?
She didn’t have an answer.
She wasn’t sure she wanted one.
The rain kept falling.
The bees kept worshipping.
And somewhere deep inside her chest, a new, darker part of her smiled.
The third night came without storm or moonlight—only a heavy, suffocating stillness that pressed down on the forest like a held breath.
The air tasted of iron and overripe fruit. Eve arrived at the clearing barefoot, wearing nothing at all. She had stopped pretending she needed clothes; they only got in the way now.
Her skin was already marked: faint bruises on her hips from the second night’s tree-bark fuck, faint red welts where bees had brushed too roughly against inner thighs, dark smudges of eyeliner that had never quite washed away. Her long, greasy black hair hung loose and tangled; sweat already beaded along her dark-tanned collarbones even though the night was cool.
Beelzebub waited beside the stone altar. Tonight he was stripped to the waist—leather vest discarded, trousers still on but unbuttoned low enough to show the sharp V of muscle disappearing beneath the waistband. His long black hair was tied roughly back with a strip of leather; the stubble on his jaw looked sharper in the dim glow that seemed to rise from the ground itself. No cigarette this time. He held nothing but patience and a terrible, quiet hunger.
He did not speak at first. He simply raised one hand, palm up, fingers splayed.
The hive answered.
From every hollow in the beech trees, from cracks in the stone altar, from the dark undersides of leaves—bees poured out in a living torrent. Not hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. A golden-black river that filled the clearing until the air itself seemed to vibrate with wingbeats. They did not immediately settle on Eve. They formed a swirling vortex around the two of them—man and woman and demon and thief—creating a dome of furious motion that blocked out the stars.
Eve’s breath caught. She felt the first change in pressure against her skin, like standing inside an electric storm about to break.
Beelzebub stepped forward until their bodies were almost touching. His voice was soft, almost reverent.
“Tonight I give you all of them,” he said. “Every single one. They will mark you. They will fill you. They will remake you.”
He cupped her face with both hands—gentle, impossibly gentle—and kissed her once, deeply, slowly. When he pulled back his eyes were molten gold again.
Then he whispered one word.
“Begin.”
The swarm collapsed inward.
The first sting came at the base of her throat—sharp, bright, a white-hot needle that made her gasp into his mouth.
Before she could exhale, another landed on the upper swell of her left breast. Then her right nipple. Then the soft skin just below it. Then her navel. Then the tender crease where thigh met groin.
One by one.
Deliberate.
Never more than a heartbeat apart.
Each sting was a tiny explosion of venom and fire. The pain was exquisite—clean at first, then blooming outward in hot, throbbing waves that sank deep into muscle and nerve.
Eve’s knees buckled almost immediately; Beelzebub caught her under the arms and lowered her to the moss-covered ground beside the altar. He stretched out above her, not entering her yet, simply pinning her with his weight while the bees worked.
They stung her ribs. The undersides of her breasts. The delicate skin behind her knees.
The soles of her feet. The palms of her hands when she reached up to clutch at his shoulders. The curve of her ass when he rolled her slightly to give them better access.
Every sting sent a fresh jolt straight to her clit.
The pain and pleasure braided together so tightly she could no longer separate them. Each new sting pushed her higher—her body arching, hips bucking against nothing, cunt clenching around emptiness.
Venom flooded her system in slow, burning doses; her skin flushed hot, then hotter, sweat pouring off her in sheets. Her vision tunneled; sound became only the roar of wings and her own broken sobs.
“More.”
She gasped against his throat.
“Please--More--Hurt me--Make it Hurt--”
Beelzebub growled low in his chest. He hooked her legs over his hips, spread her wide, and finally—finally—pushed inside her.
The stretch was brutal after two nights of relentless use; her walls fluttered around the thick, ridged length of him even as fresh stings landed on her inner thighs, perilously close to where they joined. One bee crawled along his shaft where it disappeared into her, its legs brushing her swollen clit with every thrust. Another settled directly on that aching bud and—impossibly—stung.
The pain was blinding.
The orgasm that followed was cataclysmic.
Eve screamed—raw, animal, wordless. Her body seized, cunt spasming so violently it nearly pushed him out.
Waves crashed through her: one climax rolling straight into the next, then another, then another. Each sting triggered a fresh peak; each withdrawal and thrust amplified the fire until she was nothing but a live wire of sensation.
She begged incoherently between sobs.
“Again—please—sting me again—don’t stop—fill me—break me—”
Beelzebub fucked her through it all—slow now, deep, relentless—letting the bees dictate the rhythm.
When a particularly vicious sting landed on the hood of her clit she convulsed so hard her back bowed off the ground; he pinned her wrists above her head with one hand and bit down on the side of her neck, adding his own mark to the constellation of red welts blooming across her skin.
The venom built.
Her body temperature soared. Her heart hammered so fast she thought it might burst. Every nerve ending sang with overstimulation. The pain became a warm, liquid glow; the pleasure became something holy and profane at once.
She came again—harder this time—squirting around his cock in a hot gush that soaked them both. The bees lapped at it immediately, proboscises dipping into the slickness, drinking her like nectar.
Beelzebub’s rhythm faltered for the first time. He buried his face against her throat and came with a guttural groan—flooding her, pulse after pulse, until she felt overfull, leaking around him even as he stayed seated deep.
The last few bees delivered their stings—slow, almost tender—on the insides of her wrists, the hollow of her throat, the curve of her lower lip.
Then silence.
The swarm lifted away in a single, graceful motion, rising into the night sky like smoke until only a few dozen remained, gently fanning her fevered skin with their wings.
Eve’s body was a map of red welts—hundreds of them—each one already swelling, already turning her immune. The venom coursed through her veins like liquid gold; she could feel it changing her from the inside out. Her pulse slowed. Her breathing evened. A strange, euphoric calm settled over her wrecked limbs.
And between her legs—where she still throbbed around him—something new.
Beelzebub pulled out slowly. A thick trickle of his come mixed with her slickness followed. He dipped two fingers into her, coated them, and brought them to his mouth.
He tasted.
His eyes flared gold.
“Sweet,”
He murmured, voice wrecked.
“Thick. Golden. Like Honey
Left too long in the Sun.”
He leaned down and licked a slow stripe from her entrance to her clit—savoring, groaning against her oversensitive flesh.
Eve whimpered—too exhausted to move, too full of venom and bliss to care.
She felt his tongue delve deeper, drinking what the bees had helped create: her new essence, smooth and rich and impossibly sweet.
Her last coherent thought before darkness claimed her was simple.
"I’m his salvation now."
"And he’s going to drink me dry for the next four nights."
Her eyes fluttered closed.
The clearing went still.
Somewhere above, the last of the bees settled back into their hollows—sated, reverent, waiting.
Eve slept—blacked out, venom-hazed, honey-sweet—curled against the demon who had remade her.
Four nights remained.
And her body already tasted like paradise.
. . .
(TO BE CONTINUED)
MEETING DEITIES & DEMON SPIRITS:
EVE CONTINUES SECRET LIASON
W/THE DEVIL'S DEMON SERPENT
AN EROTIC NARRATIVE
https://youngsopranos.blogspot.com/2026/02/meeting-deities-demon-spirits-eve.html?m=1
(PTSD DREAMS)
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
Comments
Post a Comment