For as long as I can remember, I had been drawn toward things that made other people uneasy—forgotten graveyards, abandoned churches, places where something ancient seemed to linger just beyond sight. Every warning only made me more curious. It often felt as though something was calling to me, not from the world I knew, but from somewhere deeper.
I was twenty-three when it finally answered. The town marketplace was crowded that afternoon, loud with merchants and customers, yet I normally hated being there—too many people, too much noise, too much life I had no interest in. That day, something pulled at me anyway, a quiet pressure at the edge of my thoughts that led me through the crowd.
It brought me to a corner of the square where an old woman sat beneath a faded black canopy. Her table was covered with dried herbs, carved bones, and cloudy bottles. When our eyes met, she smiled like she had been expecting me. “Hello, Mona.” A chill ran through me. I had never seen her before. “There you are,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d arrive.”
Before I could question her, she reached beneath the table and produced a wooden box. Inside were old candles. The moment I saw them, a strange warmth spread through my chest, an attraction I couldn’t explain. “You feel it,” she said. I nodded before I could stop myself. “Good.” She closed the box and pressed it into my hands. “Take them to the abandoned church on the far side of town. Light them after sunset, then wait.” “Wait for what?” I asked. She only smiled. “What you’ve always been waiting for.”
It sounded crazy, but I went anyway. The church door opened too easily, as if it expected me. Inside, the altar stood at the far end beneath a rusted chandelier. I didn’t question why I was there anymore—I simply placed the candles where they felt right, some along the altar, others in the chandelier above.
When I lit the last one, the air changed. The silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural, and even the dust seemed to hesitate before falling. Then I saw the wax. It wasn’t behaving normally. It slid down the candles in slow, unnatural streams, gathering on the stone floor in glossy pools that absorbed the light instead of reflecting it.
More wax followed—from every flame at once—spreading and merging until it covered the space beneath the altar. The scent rose thick and sweet, like burning honey left too long in the dark. The wax began to rise. It pulled itself upward as if remembering form, shaping itself into something vast and unstable.
Limbs suggested themselves. A spine. Horn-like shapes that dripped and reformed endlessly. Candle stubs surfaced within it, still burning from inside the mass. Then it turned toward me. But I didn’t run. I stepped closer.
The creature towered above the altar, shifting as it spoke. “Mona.” My name filled the church as if it had always belonged there. Wax ran down its face in slow streams, revealing and hiding features that refused to stay fixed. “I have been waiting for you,” it said. “Longing for you, as you have longed for me.” Its hand lowered toward me, wax stretching like living thread between its fingers. “Let us connect, together, in flame and darkness.”
I stepped closer, drawn in. The heat of it should have burned, but instead it felt familiar. Its hand hovered near my face. “I can feel your dark desires,” it whispered.
I didn’t hesitate for a second. I closed my eyes and leaned in. Its mouth found mine. Heat flared between us, not burning, but deep and consuming. Our tongues twisted around each other. My fingers dug into its wax skin, leaving furrows that sealed instantly, trapping my hands inside it. It felt so wrong. So good. So right.
Then its mouth was everywhere. Wax spilled down my collarbone, pooling between my breasts before its tongue dragged through the mess, reshaping the spill with every slow lick. Heat bloomed wherever it licked me, the wax hardened just enough to tease before melting again. My nipples stiffened in the open air, aching, and it groaned against them like it understood hunger better than flesh ever could.
I grabbed its horns—hot, slick—and pulled its head lower. “More.” The word shuddered out of me, half-desperation, half-demand. The demon obliged, as it dragged its mouth down my stomach. Wax dripped onto my thighs, searing and perfect, and when its tongue finally slid between my legs, I arched off the ground with a cry.
It didn’t just lick my pussy—it devoured it. Its tongue was molten silk, curling deeper than anything human could. Every muscle in my body tensed as its twisted tongue dragged over my clit with a slow, deliberate, calculated cruelty. The wet heat of its mouth was obscene. I could have cummed in that instant. But it didn’t let me. Not yet.
It pulled back, the loss of its mouth was agony. But only for a heartbeat. Its cock was now fully formed, big, hard, and veined with burning wicks. A flame at its tip danced. “Take it,” it rumbled. And I obeyed.
The flame guttered out with a hiss as I wrapped my lips around the shaft. Wax dripped onto my tongue, hot and sweet, thick as syrup. I swallowed it greedily, moaning around the intrusion. My fingers dug into its thighs as I bobbed my head faster.
I took it all in, as far as I could. Its cock throbbed against the back of my throat. The demon’s groan shook the church—dust rained from the ceiling. I gagged as it pushed deeper, my eyes watering, but I didn’t pull away. The struggle was part of the pleasure.
I pulled back, gasping, my lips slick with wax, my pussy soaking wet. “Please,” I gasped, barely coherent, my voice raw with need. “Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
I bent over the altar, fingers scraping against cracked stone. Wax pooled beneath me as the creature stepped closer. Its hands dug into my waist. It pushed inside me with a hard thrust, molten silk splitting me open.
The rhythm was brutal from the start—no teasing, no mercy. Each thrust sent waves of heat through me, the embedded candles in its chest flickering wildly with every snap of its hips. The altar groaned beneath me. I arched as far as I could, pressing back against the impossible heat, screaming, begging to fuck me harder.
Then it pulled out and flipped me onto my back like I weighed nothing. My legs spread instinctively, heels hooking behind its shifting hips as it loomed over me. “Now I shall fully consume you,” it growled.
It slammed so hard inside my cunt, the impact cracked the altar beneath us. Wax hands pinned my wrists above my head, fusing to the stone, while its cock carved deeper than before, burning wicks inside me flaring with each brutal stroke. I arched, screaming, my vision blurring, savouring each burst of pain that immediately turned into pleasure.
Above us, the chandelier swayed violently, candles reigniting on their own, dripping wax that rained down on me. The stinging pain was bright, perfect. It was too much for me to handle.
The orgasm hit like a church bell tolling midnight—a shuddering, molten wave that started deep in my belly and radiated outward until my eyes rolled back. Darkness unfurled inside me, thick as spilled ink, hot as a wick’s first spark. The creature roared above me, wax surging between us like a tidal wave, and I felt its fire pour into me—not just in my cunt but in my veins, my marrow, the hollows behind my eyes.
I was gone for minutes, lost in pleasure. When my senses slowly came back to me, I felt the demon slowly dissolving. It collapsed onto the ruined floor, wax pooling beneath it. I moved before thought could catch up, straddling its waist with knees pressed into cooling puddles, fingers digging into its chest where candle flames flickered weakly. “No,” I growled, voice raw with smoke and want, rocking against it as its body slowly melted under me. “Keep fucking me.”
I rode its cock fast, desperate, chasing the dissolving shape of pleasure, nails scraping across its ribs where candles guttered inside translucent wax. But the dissolution continued. The creature groaned and its fingers slipped through mine, melting mid-grip. Its chest collapsed inward, wax pouring into the hollow between my thighs as candle stubs guttered out one by one. The last thrust never finished—its hips bucked once, twice, then slumped beneath me as its cock melted inside me, wax flooding my pussy in thick, hot pulses that spilled down my thighs before hardening into glossy scales.
A year has passed. I still visit the marketplace every week, looking for the old woman, but the stall is never there. “There’s never been anyone like that here,” one of the regulars told me. It would have been easier to accept it as a dream. But dreams don’t leave marks that linger like this.
So what’s more fun than taking that well-loved symbol of hope and flipping it completely upside down? 😏 In this series, the candle doesn’t stay as a gentle source of light, oh no, it turns into a creature of darkness instead. I placed it inside a church specifically to push that contrast further. A holy space being defiled by the very material that’s supposed to represent devotion just hits differently. 😈
To better understand the feelings of our damsel in distress, I also did a small field test this time and try out some wax play myself. 🥵 I have to admit, there’s a certain thrill in watching the wax slowly gather and form a drip, building weight drop by drop, anticipating the moment it finally falls onto your skin causing a short moment of pain. So I guess you could say this has been a more messy design process than usual! 🤭💦 I’m gonna keep that footage for myself, but here’s an early sketch instead for you to check out. See you next time with a new wick-ed piece! 🤟
