The Queen of Hell (script fill)

Transcript

What. Is. This.

Who. Dares. Summon me like a common hellhound.

Tell me why I should not kill you where you stand. At once. Silence.

Enough. Your clumsy, feeble words mean less to me than your life. And believe me, that is no small feat.

Your life is but a speck of dust to me, soiling the tapestry of the universe. But. You did summon me.

Here. In your bedchamber. It came.

Here. This device. Yes.

Computer. The incantation. Did you not recite it? Research.

Oh, Virzath preserve me. Another writer. Throughout the millennia, there's always been a few outstanding fools.

That's what you were doing, isn't it? Writing little horny devils for your own pleasure. How utterly pathetic.

I am the mother of all incubi and succubi, those lesser demons you salivate over. Is this how you honor a queen? The empress of hell? By not once mentioning me in your story, but carelessly invoking my presence? This insult will not stand.

So. You're not a complete fool. I sense some protective work has been done here.

No matter. There are ways that I can destroy you without touching a hair on your head. I see the desires you wish to bury deep in the recesses of your soul.

And the fears. I can eat away at your sanity as you sleep. No more pretty stories then.

Or I could make it so you never stop writing. Until your fingertips wear to the marrow and you're a desiccated shell. Eyes unseeing.

Chained to a dead computer. Sitting in your own filth. No, please, I'll do anything.

Would you really? I can feel the arousal warming your sheets. Even in the midst of your terror.

There is something you can give me, mortal worm. An offering. In return for your life.

Nothing you'll miss. Nothing you didn't already give freely to your false demons and demonesses. I'll say it plainly.

Your cum. The energy of your orgasm. Devoted to me alone.

Renouncing all others. My generous offer will not be presented twice. Answer me now.

Do you agree? Do you submit your pleasure to me? Submit your pleasure to your bond.

Praise the other. Praise the other. Give to me.

Give it all to me. Excellent. This is the form you desire, is it not? Predictable.

Flesh to press against yours. Lips and a tongue to taste your stinking sweat. Hands to torture you with the sweetest agony.

It's always the same. Did you think I'd lower myself to touch you? No.

You need to do all of the work yourself. Then I'll take what's mine. What are you waiting for? Begin.

Hardening already. Go on. Play with yourself.

Give in to the overwhelming lust that erases everything else in your feeble mind. So simple. You see an attractive form before you when you just can't help yourself.

No, I don't. Fine. Uncover yourself.

And what? Do you expect me to be impressed? I've fucked Lucifer himself.

I've taken hordes of demons for days on end. You are a single, mortal man. You wouldn't last a minute inside of me, and it would destroy your sanity.

So no, I'm not impressed by your little display. Yes, that's it. I'll give in to it.

Give me what I want. Give me this meager offering. So little as to almost be worthless.

Be grateful that this is all I ask of you. How many nights have you spent like this? Frantically stroking yourself.

Conjuring up flimsy fantasies of demons. Pale imitations of the real thing. Dreaming of the soft hands and warm mouths and hot, wet cunts you long for.

Spilling your seed all over yourself, knowing it's wasted. Or maybe you fantasize about some pretty girl you saw that day. Imagining all the things you would say to her and do with her if you weren't so afraid.

Wishing someone was there to warm your bed, but too cowardly to take a chance. You waste your life, pleasuring yourself into oblivion, but it's never quite enough, is it? No.

You could have more, but you're too afraid. Something in you likes being afraid. Likes feeling worthless.

Pathetic. That's why you like this so much, isn't it? I don't even care about you enough to despise you.

You are nothing to me, but an offering. And you love that. You feel like you're exactly where you belong.

You would spend your whole life like this if you could, wouldn't you? Desperately chasing one more peak of pleasure. Pathetic.

Oh, it feels so good. Do you think I care? This isn't about you.

This isn't about your pleasure. You should be grateful I'm allowing you to live for such a paltry offering. Or is your life truly worth so little? You human men think the world revolves around your cocks and you run around fucking everything up until you die because of it.

I don't care about your cock. I don't care about your pleasure. I don't care about you.

I don't care about you. I just want what is rightfully mine. What I am owed for the audacity to summon me here.

Look at you. So consumed by your own pleasure and need, you don't even care that your fragile mortal life is in danger. You don't care how I insult you.

You don't care that you are meaningless to me. In fact, I think it turns you on, doesn't it? Some part of you loves this.

Knows this is what you were made for. That you are nothing worthless but for what you can give to me and how little you have to give. I have been offered untold treasures.

I have had entire cities sacrificed in my name. I have had thousands upon thousands of lives dedicated to me and me alone. And all you can offer is a single orgasm.

You like that you are nothing to me. You crave being nothing for me, don't you? Yes, I see.

That's it. Stroke yourself harder, faster. I don't care if your wrist hurts and the muscles in your arm burn.

Don't you dare stop until you give me what I want, what I deserve. Do not forget, the costs of displeasing me are high. It doesn't matter if you want to draw it out.

Oh, I know, I know. You want it to last forever. I don't think anything you experience anything you experience after this will ever come close to feeling as good as this does.

And that, that might be the most pathetic part of it all. You will chase it forever and it will never be enough. Oh, you're getting close, aren't you? I can see how your muscles tense, how your movements become erratic.

Oh no, don't even think of slowing down now. You will come for me and you will do it now. Give me your weak offering in exchange for your life.

Come for me. Cry my name. Let it brand your soul.

Yes, that's it. Come for me. Do it.

Now. Give it to me so that you may live. Come for me and me alone.

Collect it in your hands. Present it to me. Hmm.

Surprisingly, not entirely vile. Acceptable. I'll take my leave and you'll keep your life as agreed.

Worm food and carrion. That's all your kind can hope to achieve in your lifespan. But don't you have fun trying to make something of yourselves? Listen well, foolish child.

Pray tonight and every night after that we never and every night after that we never again meet on this plane.