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    "Fuck," she muttered under her breath, shifting her weight as the platform heels wobbled beneath her. "These things are a death trap."nnThe demon girl crouched low, one hand braced against the slick obsidian floor for balance, the other absently tracing the curve of her left horn. The blackened points jutted from her wild mane of hair like gnarled branches, but her wings—those incongruous, feathery appendages—twitched with restless energy behind her. A bead of sweat rolled down the valley between her breasts, catching for a moment on the edge of a silver nipple ring before disappearing into the shadowed dip of her navel.nnHer reflection in the polished floor showed more than she intended. The heels weren't just tall—they were architectural, a precarious scaffold of transparent acrylic that lifted her ass high enough to expose every inch of glistening pink. She watched, fascinated, as another slick strand stretched from her folds and finally snapped onto the black stone beneath her. The scent of musk and salt thickened the air.nnThat's when the reflection blinked.nnHer own dark eyes had been staring back—until they weren't. A ripple passed through the mirrored surface, distorting her sprawled legs, the sweat-slick hollow of her throat, the way her tongue now flicked out to catch the metallic tang of anticipation on her lips. The obsidian wasn’t just polished. It was *alive*.nnShe jerked upright, heels skidding, wings flaring wide—and something *pulled*. Not at her body, but deeper, like hooks sunk into the marrow of her bones. The sensation dragged a gasp from her lungs, sharp enough that her nipples tightened against the humid air. The floor wasn't blinking. It was *breathing*.nnBeneath her, the obsidian shivered. Tendrils of black smoke curled up between the cracks, viscous as oil, wrapping around her ankles before she could scramble back. They didn't burn—they *licked*, hot and insistent, sliding over the arches of her feet where the heels left her exposed. She kicked out, but the tendrils only tightened, dragging her down until her knees hit the stone. The impact jolted through her, rattling the silver rings piercing her labia, and the sound that escaped her wasn't fear. It was a moan, low and thrumming, as the smoke split into dozens of writhing tongues.nn
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