Satan's Affair

of a woman sits here, rocking her decapitated baby while singing a haunting lullaby.
Timothy finishes the floor first, mopping up the blood, stuffing the rags in a black garbage bag and setting the trash in the corner to take out later. Next, he brings over fresh washcloths and starts wiping the blood off my face and neck.
His touch is gentle and loving. I love when Timothy cleans me, because he stares at me as if I’m his favorite prop. When the blood is clean from my face, he works his way down to my arms and hands. Then, to my legs.
My breath hitches. This is always my favorite part.
Gently, he rubs the cloth on my feet, and works his way up my leg, massaging my calves as he does. I groan, shivers racing up my spine from the mix of pain and pleasure. My pussy heats, juices gathering between my thighs as his hands slowly work their way towards my center.
He lifts my gown, baring my waist completely. I don’t wear panties under my gown. I find them very restricting for my henchmen.
Naturally, I spread my legs wide on the rocking chair so Timothy has full access. He spares me one last glance, making sure he has my permission before darting his tongue out and gliding the wet muscle up my slit.
A gasp leaves my throat as pleasure engulfs me. My little gasp is all the encouragement he needs. He settles in deeper, covering the entirety of my pussy with his mouth and gorging himself on me. His tongue thrusts inside me, little sharp stabs that wring out pure euphoria. When he stiffens his tongue and licks at my clit, I nearly lose it.
My eyes roll and my hips grind against his face. My hand grabs the back of his head, bringing him closer and nearly suffocating the clown on my juices.
Mortis comes back in the room just as my orgasm crests. The oxygen depletes from my lungs as fireworks explode in the back of my eyes. Ecstasy wracks my body, and I can’t control the shuddering that overcomes me as I ride out the waves against Timothy’s face.
Only when the orgasm begins to drift, do I sag against the rocking chair, my body utterly spent. Timothy pulls away, smacking his red-painted lips like he just had the best meal of his life. I smile in appreciation.
He’s so cute.
Glancing up, Mortis already has his pants around his ankles and his cock gripped firmly in his fist. I lick my lips, salivating at the sight before me. Mortis doesn’t bother painting the rest of his body red, just his face. My henchman is a very tall man, though extremely skinny. He has no meat to his body, but I don’t mind—not when he carries all the meat between his legs.
Timothy moves aside, letting Mortis step forward, pick me up and sink in the chair beneath me. He settles me on his lap, his hard ridge cocooned perfectly in my pussy. Timothy prepared me plenty, leaving me dripping wet. I grind my hips, sliding my center up and down his shaft and pulling deep moans from both of us.
Having enough of the torture, he lifts me just enough to pose the crown of his head at my entrance, and then slams me down, lifting his bony hips in tandem.
My head falls back, a long moan releasing from my throat, much like a wolf would howl at the moon. I let Mortis do all the work, basking in his attention and need to take control. Loving the way he owns my body as he pounds into me. The sound of skin slapping, and grunts fill the room as Timothy leaves to dispose of the trash.
I tip my head back, a long moan releasing from my throat. The coil in my stomach tightens. It feels like a rope fraying at the seams, a heavy weight pulling it apart until it just… snaps.
I let loose a scream as another orgasm crashes through me. Mortis grunts from below me, pistoning his hips faster, sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. Soon, he finds what he’s searching for, stilling beneath me and letting out a long groan as his cum fills me up.
A wide smile breaks across my pale face.
I don’t do the jump scares like my henchmen, but I still dress the part in the case I’m seen. I make my face up to look like a dolly with a broken face, cracks and fissures running through my skin. Only at night, do I wipe the makeup clean.
Without it, I’m just a plain jane. Brown hair, brown eyes and an unremarkable face. I’m not ugly, but I won’t be featured on any magazines in my lifetime.
That’s okay. I don’t need to be beautiful when I’m doing exactly what I was created to do.
Not a single soul passes through the threshold of this house without me casting judgment—determining if evil resides in their soul. As they make their way through the maze of my dollhouse, I watch from inside the walls.
They’re all judged. Every single one of them.
If one fails, I sing my songs and my henchmen will lead them away—separate them from family or friends. And when they’re well and truly alone, I strike.
They’re never to be seen again, and I’ve cleansed this world of one less demon.

“Mortis, shush!” I reprimand, slapping away his hand. His hand retreats, but I know it’s going to come creeping back up my thigh in just a moment.
Mortis is the neediest out of the bunch, though you wouldn’t know it unless he wanted you to. It’s because he has severe Mommy issues. She was a crack addict when pregnant with him, and when he was born, she ignored his existence almost completely. Up until she overdosed, and he got put in the system at a young age.
The other four have similar childhoods. All with fucked up parents that abused them in one way or another. Baine was abused