Archive: Devilish Thoughts

[luna65]

 

 

From where do those intensely sexual fantasies come from, strolling across the stage of your imagination, revolving and evolving in ever more perverse and passionate forms?  Did the Devil make you do it?!  You might think so once your slather yourself with our wickedly wanton fragrance...blackest berries and benzoin are fallen to the Infernal Realms, where they are tormented by insensual dusky musk and a few precious drops of ornate Indian patchouli.

 

BLACKBERRY ~ Healing, money attraction, protection. Considered holy by some, and a food of the Fae.
BLACK CURRANT ~ Aids success in love affairs, and a magical representation of blood.
BLACK MUSK ~ Self confidence and strength, sexual attractant, heightens passions and arousal.
PATCHOULI ~ Soothes and uplifts; sensual, sexually stimulating, lust, fertility, money. Meditative and transforming.
BENZOIN ~ Prosperity, astral projection, purification.

 

Created by: Mara Fox

Description: Julie (luna65)

Label art: vintage

February 2015

 

Review Thread

 

from My Little Demoness: a Savannah Finch adventure
by Julian Lune

“You know what I always say?” Louis asked me as we sat in Frankie’s Tiki Room awaiting one of his snitch buddies.  You know, people like to say it’s a dry heat in Vegas, but screw that - if I’d wanted to feel like dehydrated fruit leather, I’d go live in a shack in the desert. The real desert, not this whored-out high-roller purgatory. I took another slurp of my Nakalele Knockout.

“No, Louis, please, enlighten me.”

“There’s a pervert turned every hour by some little demon somewhere.” He cackled at his own ersatz wisdom.  

I rolled my eyes, but nodded. It was true, especially here in the Lap of Sin, as it is sometimes called by its greater denizens. And I don’t mean the locals, or the gamblers, or the people who like to line up for the free buffet. No, Las Vegas is simply crawling with demons, you can’t swing a dead - whatever - and not hit three or four. And I was on the hunt for the prize of the Pearl: the succubus who called herself Antiqua Phinazee. She was a very naughty little Hellspawn, having skipped out on her boss and the devoted clientele who filled the coffers of New Orleans’ infamous demonic brothel.

So imagine my surprise to witness Antiqua stroll into the joint just then, all burnished glowing skin and fiery hair, tail twitching as if she were some kind of eldritch cat. Of course, not everyone could see her true form, but glamour or no she was gorgeous. She moved with the lithe grace of a Mob-era showgirl and as she came toward us, I could smell the thick odor of her kind: honeyed sex and brimstone. It’s actually more attractive than you might think. But she had tried to mask it with perfume that reminded me of a type of incense I used to use for ritual work - it was called Purple Passion. This brought visions of Sebastian Flambe to the forefront of my mind, and I winced. Damn it, focus! I chided myself.

“Louis,” she purred to my companion. “Your circle of acquaintance is in need of reevaluation.”

He cheerfully raised his glass. “I’m a cheap date, Tique. You buys the drinks, you gets my time!”

She examined blood-red claws, suddenly transforming into a bratty mallrat armed with Daddy’s credit card. “Did She send you?” she snarled at me, flashing fangs, molten golden eyes turning their full unearthly glare in my direction.

I didn’t flinch. I’d experienced far worse. I smiled, even.

“Why yes, Ms. Phinazee. Your employer is most anxious for you to return from this, uh, road trip of yours and get your fiendish personage into your lavish quarters to continue sucking the life out of the souls and bank accounts of those foolish enough to seek entrance to the Pearl.”

“I’m on vacation,” she said, just barely-repressed fury setting fire to her words. It’s like I could smell them burning. Amid the miasma of booze and smoke and sex and money, something weird occurred to me, weirder than the weirdness which defines my life.

She could see me.

Madame T. had chosen me specifically because succubi usually didn’t register women at all, we weren’t worth the effort to snub, metaphysically-speaking, so who better to track a wayward demoness than me? And then I saw it, hanging around her neck, and realized why Tenebrous had really hired me.

When you manage to snatch a genuine demonic artifact, something truly unique in all the mundane world - where do you dump it? Why, the capital of Kitsch, of course.

“Antiqua, bless your heart...you actually thought you could get away with stealing the Star of Babalon?” I drawled in a primarily rhetorical fashion.  

She paled - well, as much as a succubus with deep red skin could pale, that is - and she snarled again, her voice lowering in that rumbling way the creatures of the Pit can achieve when they want to. It’s the way they sound in their natural realm.

“I will suck the marrow from your bones,” she threatened.

The jewel around her neck flashed in tandem with her emotions, and everything seemed to slow around us, even as Antiqua moved towards me with mayhem in her glowing eyes.

“That bauble must be clouding your vision, girlie,” I chided. “Because every monster knows I’m marked as Hell’s Tithe and if you even think about having me as a snack, the Architect of the Pit will rise up and swallow you whole.”

Granted, I didn’t sound as scary as she did, but it did the trick: she frowned, stepped back, then with a gesture of supreme sass, jutted out her hip and snapped her fingers.  Some random guy passing by stopped cold, and he was actually kinda cute.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” he said to Antiqua, acting like she was his long-lost love.

“Of course you have,” she responded, patting his cheek. “Let’s go.”

“Whether it’s me or someone else, your boss is going to take back that bauble, girlie,” I called after her. She flipped me off before allowing the door to hit her on her luscious ass.

“She’s a pip, ain’t she?” Louie said, signaling for the waitress. “That Tique, she knows how to swing!”

“A Hell of a woman,” I agreed with a smirk.