She’d never felt *this* before. Always, she’d been taken dry, unprepared, almost as if John had enjoyed her tight, sometimes bleeding grip, as if ...e’d relished the suppressed whimpers of pain, the salt of her tears as she’d struggled- not with John… she’d have been beaten, and it’d have been worse- but with herself, to keep from shoving him away and bolting for the nearest suicide weapon. ‘OOOHHH,’ she gasped as she matched her stride with his, bucking, rolling her hips, her body tightening. She looks lovely and healthy, while I am a shadow of the woman I was just the day before. I feel frumpy and frail in comparison, not at all like a Queen of Demons. Maybe I’m not, maybe I’m just the King’s breeder bitch and this is the real Queen. Maybe she will be, after the monster inside me sucks away all that I have, my life and then my soul. Maybe I should let it. No, I shouldn’t. I’ve always felt that giving up is the easy way out. I will not let this situation get the best of me. I have. More

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