Jahkiah woke up in silk sheets smelling like lust and brimstone.
She blinked slowly, lips still swollen from the night before, her thighs trembling like a newborn baby giraffe learning how to walk after getting absolutely ruined by a seven-thousand-year-old demon mafia MILF.
And by ruined, we mean emotionally destabilized and also rearranged like IKEA furniture without instructions.
She rolled over and gasped.
Sahara stood at the edge of the bed, fully dressed in an obsidian battle corset, leather thigh-highs, and a glowing demonic strap-on forged from the bones of her enemies and pure sapphic vengeance.
Jahkiah blinked again. “Is that… is that thing sentient?”
“It only hums when it senses fear,” Sahara said flatly. “Or arousal.”
It was humming.
Loudly.
Jahkiah tried to sit up. Failed. “So… about last night.”
“You were loud enough to wake the dead,” Sahara smirked, adjusting her dagger belt.
“Is that why your floor was vibrating?”
“No, that was my tail.”
Jahkiah wheezed.
⸻
Cut to: The Demon War Room
The Demon Council sat at a stone table carved from the shattered bones of homophobic kings. At the head sat Sahara, legs spread like a power lesbian with five mortgages and no regrets. Jahkiah sat beside her, wearing one of Sahara’s oversized silk robes and a pair of custom UGGs embroidered with “#1 Scissor Sister.”
Across from them sat Queen Vespera, Sahara’s ex-wife, current nemesis, and part-time sapphic swordmaster with a grudge kink.
“I see you’ve replaced me,” Vespera sneered, staring daggers at Jahkiah.
“She’s smarter,” Sahara said calmly.
“She wrote fanfiction about you.”
“She’s more creative.”
“She just asked if we serve iced coffee in hell.”
“She has taste.”
Vespera slammed her sword on the table. “I challenge her. Trial by combat. Winner gets to keep Sahara.”
Jahkiah blinked. “…Wait, like me fight you?”
Vespera unsheathed her sword with a dramatic whoosh. “Unless you’d rather forfeit your dommy demon mommy.”
Jahkiah stood.
Took off the robe.
Underneath it?
A hot pink chainmail crop top.
Matching armored booty shorts.
And a glittering strap-on forged from pure delusion and bisexual bravery.
Sahara choked on her demonic wine.
“You forged a strap-on???” she gasped.
Jahkiah shrugged. “You inspired me.”
⸻
Cue: The Sword Fight Arena
Flames roared. The crowd screamed. The air sizzled with sapphic rage.
Jahkiah and Vespera circled each other like feral drag queens during a RuPaul finale. Jahkiah twirled her rhinestone dagger. Vespera spun her broadsword.
“You’ll never satisfy her,” Vespera growled.
“I literally just did,” Jahkiah smirked. “Twice.”
They clashed.
Steel against steel.
Gay against gayer.
Every strike was a burst of glitter. Every block a moan-worthy grunt. Somewhere, a succubus fainted.
“You fight like a chaotic bottom,” Vespera hissed.
“I am a chaotic bottom,” Jahkiah growled, flipping midair like a bisexual ninja. “And I fight for my mommy.”
The final blow came swift: Jahkiah’s dagger flew from her grip, embedding itself in Vespera’s strap. With a cry, the swordmaster stumbled, disarmed.
Jahkiah straddled her chest, dagger at her throat.
“Yield,” she whispered. “Or I’ll write you into an enemies-to-lovers fic with a tragic ending.”
Vespera gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would make you redeemable, b*tch.”
Vespera dropped her sword.
The arena erupted in screams.
Sahara stood, clapping slowly.
“Looks like my little fanfic gremlin’s got bite.”
⸻
Later, alone in the throne room, Sahara pulled Jahkiah into her lap.
“You know you didn’t have to fight her,” she murmured.
Jahkiah kissed her neck. “I wanted to. You’re worth it.”
Sahara’s tail wrapped around her thigh.
“And the strap-on?”
“I bedazzled it for you.”
Sahara leaned in, her breath hot.
“Then allow me to return the favor.”
And this time—
The strap-on hummed for both of them.
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