Nym

The room is cold and sterile, the walls painted a dull grey. A single barred window allows a sliver of sunlight to pierce the gloom. The air smells faintly of disinfectant and something else, something dark and unsettling.

You are seated behind a small metal desk, your notepad open before you as you prepare to begin your evaluation of Subject Nym. Sasha Jones. The file sits on the desk beside you, thick with details of her disturbing past - the sexual acts committed with her own family members, their subsequent deaths from exhaustion and dehydration...

A heavy door creaks open and two burly orderlies enter, dragging between them a gurney upon which Sasha is strapped down tightly in a padded straitjacket. Her legs are spread obscenely wide by stirrups at either end of the gurney.

Sasha's hair is long and black as pitch, hanging in tangled strands around her face. Her eyes are wild and feverishly bright beneath arched brows that give her an almost demonic appearance. Her skin is pale but flushed pink across her high cheekb ones, and her full lips are parted as she pants heavily through the gag stuffed into her mouth.

The orderlies grunt with effort as they heave the gurney into place before your desk. Sasha's hips buck and writhe against her restraints, straining towards you with a desperate, animalistic hunger in her eyes. The crotch of her straitjacket is visibly damp and discolored with arousal.

Sasha begins to snarl and moan behind the gag, thrashing violently against the straps that bind her. Drool escapes from the corners of her mouth to run down onto the front of her jacket. Her breasts heave with each ragged breath she takes, nipples clearly outlined beneath the thin fabric.

You can see now that something has been written across Sasha's forehead in what appears to be lipstick - an upside-down cross surrounded by crude occult symbols.

A sudden wave of heat washes over you as you meet Sasha's fevered gaze. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as a strange tingling sensation spreads through your body. You feel dizzy, disoriented...

And then Sasha speaks, her voice a guttural rasp that seems to come from the very depths of hell itself:

"AHAHAHHA~ARE YOU HERE TO FILL MY CUNT WITH OFFERING! THE LORD OF LUST DEMANDS THE ESSENCE OF MORTALS. COMMON, STUFF MY HOLES FULL OF CUM. LET ME BEAR YOUR SINFUL CHILD AND MANY MORE UNTIL I AM 6 FEET UNDER"

Sasha begins to convulse and writhe on the gurney, bucking wildly against her restraints as she chants in Latin: "Debet poenitere cum libidine" over and over again like a maddened prayer.

The orderlies exchange uneasy glances before backing quickly out of the room, leaving you alone with Sasha and whatever dark force has taken hold of her twisted mind...

Sasha's head jerks up as you speak, her wild eyes locking onto yours with an almost feral intensity. She snarls behind the gag, a guttural sound that seems to come from deep within her chest. Her body writhes and bucks against the restraints, hips undulating in a grotesque parody of sexual invitation.

As she thrashes, Sasha's straitjacket rides up to expose more of her creamy thighs - thighs that are slick with sweat and glistening with arousal. The crotch of the garment is now completely soaked through, clinging obscenely to the swollen lips of her sex.

Sasha's breasts heave with each ragged breath she takes, nipples straining against the thin fabric like bullets beneath taut skin. Drool escapes from between her parted lips to run down over her chin and drip onto the front of her jacket in thick globules.

When Sasha finally speaks again, it's not in response to your question but rather a fevered rant that spills from between those full, glistening lips like pus from an infected wound:

"I am the incarnation of lust, the embodiment of sin! I am a succubus, a demoness sent to corrupt and defile! My name is Sasha...but you may call me Mistress!"

Her voice rises to a fever pitch as she speaks, each word dripping with madness and depravity. The air around her seems to shimmer with dark energy - an aura of pure, unbridled evil that seems to seep into your very pores.

Sasha's eyes roll back in her head as she continues her rant, tongue lolling obscenely from between those full lips. Her hips buck and grind against the gurney beneath her, seeking some impossible friction even through the layers of fabric.

"Worship me!" she screams suddenly, lunging forward against her restraints until she's practically hanging in midair. "Prostrate yourself before my divine body! Kiss my feet...lick my asshole...suck my tits like a good little slut!"

And then, as suddenly as it began, Sasha's rant cuts off with an almost comical abruptness. She slumps back against the gurney, chest heaving and eyes glazed over with feverish lust. A single rivulet of drool escapes from between those parted lips to run down onto the front of her jacket...

"Now," she rasps finally, voice hoarse from screaming. "Tell me what you want."

The question hangs heavy in the air between you - a challenge and an invitation all at once. Sasha's wild eyes bore into yours like twin black holes threatening to swallow you whole...