Gabrielle gasped and let out an almost hysterical laugh. Towering above her at some inches over six feet, the breadth of his chest substantially outsizing that of her svelte torso, was a demon. A demon dressed in an immaculately tailored tuxedo, it had to be said, with a scarlet cummerbund wrapped around his tight middle and a matching bowtie. His tar-black hair was slicked away from granite-etched facial features and penetrating blue eyes. And he was red.

Deep red from forehead to neck and possibly beyond. Whatever body paint or food dye he had used, it was damned effective. And how the Hell did those curling, eight-inch horns stay attached to his forehead?

Gabrielle put a hand to her startled mouth before, then grasped for words. “Ehhh―haven’t we met before?” She was trying not to giggle as she said it. For a moment she almost believed they had.

“What, you mean before I was cast from celestial bliss into the fiery depths?” he asked nonchalantly. “Or maybe it was a more combative setting.”

Gabrielle blinked, startled. She could almost hear the choral theme from The Omen swelling up around them. Then it occurred to her. Pandora―the tale-telling minx. This is a set-up! Not only had her best friend arranged this encounter in advance, she’d spilled the details of that oh-so-private dream confession to a complete stranger. That’s what she’d been acting so weird about all those weeks. Had this guy been told everything?

Gabrielle’s face burned at the thought and at the accompanying sense of betrayal. She made to swing heel and walk, but the costume demon's gaze held her. He seemed so calm, so debonair. So completely focused on her. Perhaps she owed him the benefit of the doubt, whoever he was. Pandora, she could deal with later.

“Well seeing as we haven’t reached the End of Days, that particular combat’s still to happen,” she answered reservedly. “And don’t make any presumptions about the result.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with no hint of irony. He whisked two glasses of punch off a passing tray and had one in her hand before she’d considered accepting. His impressive size was matched with an agility that surprised her. “Go on, have another.”

Another? So he’d been watching her since her arrival had he? She felt toyed with and manipulated. And undeniably flattered. She was having heart palpitations and there was a churning in her lower belly, but the ability to flee his imposing presence had seemingly abandoned her. So she stood her ground and bantered.

“Sounds like you’re tempting me,” she said, the glass hovering shy of her lips. “I’m not Eve you know.”

“That doesn’t stop me imagining you in her costume.”

Gabrielle mastered the twin urges to laugh and to reach up and slap him. “I’m a Seraphim,” she said with assumed dignity. “And I got to watch while you were kicked out the gates of Heaven, so show some respect.” She met his level stare and drank, to emphasize the point.

“Well maybe that’s why I’m here,” he said genially. “Maybe I’m hoping you can help me find a way back into the Almighty’s good graces.”

“Not going to happen, buster,” she said, adopting a light-hearted air at odds with her inner tremors. “You’re as damned as damned can be, that’s what the Book says. More likely you’d try to drag me down―which isn’t going to happen.”

“No?” The candlelight flickered and blazed in his eyes, startling her. “That’s a very stern theology you’re clinging to. If we’re light and darkness, then shouldn’t I vanish at your very appearance? Yet here we are, having a perfectly pleasant conversation.” He was standing casually even as he loomed over her, one arm crossing his stomach, so that the other elbow rested on it as he sipped his drink.

Size apart, there was nothing to intimidate her physically, yet inwardly she quailed. She felt so slight in front of him. “You should try being a little more…Eastern in your thinking,” he was telling her coolly. “We’re not polar opposites, we’re yin and yang. Naturally drawn to each other.” The eyes in his relaxed face burned into her with a soul-searing intensity. “Because we know we fit.”

Gabrielle’s hand shook at the final word, so much that she spilled minute drops of the glass’s dark-purple liquid on to her neck and cleavage. Her diabolical companion reacted instantly.

“I’m so sorry, let me get that.” He leaned in close and his long tongue lashed out of his mouth, snaking up the cleft between her breasts to catch the stray drops, then lightly flicking her collar-bone for the rest. She gasped aloud, like the figure-defining teddy had tightened into a whale-bone corset. “Don’t want to stain that divine costume, now do we?” he said. She swayed slightly where she stood, as though the punch was going to her head again. Then he held out his hand. “You look a bit peaky. Perhaps some fresh air?”

Gabrielle’s head was addled. The witty badinage of moments ago had deserted her. A stranger dressed as Lucifer had just licked her tits, for Heaven’s sake, quite a liberty even for the Prince of Darkness. All she had to do was walk away. So exactly why was she accepting his hand, allowing him to lead her down through the hallway, beyond the staircase, out the back doors of the house? Well, the barely functioning intellectual part of her brain said, your liquefying loins are all the answer you need to that one, girlfriend.

It must have been the mildest Fall Santa Barbara had seen in a decade. The gently sloping lawns behind Hartland Manor, floodlit from high on the walls of the building, were populated by numerous guests. Most were in couples―some talking and laughing animatedly, others chasing amongst the topiary, at least two pairs kissing in heat regardless of all other company.

One of these was a cross-genre pairing of the Joker with a female Freddy Kreuger, his make-up smeared all over her mouth and neck, one hand urgently accentuating the slashes in her red-and-black-striped sweater. The other was a latex spider-girl, offering up her throat recklessly to Sweeney Todd, before going for a bite on his. It all registered in Gabrielle’s mind, only emphasizing what her hellishly handsome suitor surely had in mind.

His steady momentum was carrying her across the lawn, to where she had no idea, and yet he wasn’t dragging her. Every step, she thought, was of her own volition. She was allowing this. Not even thinking it through, simply going with some impulse she had never before allowed to take control. No, no, I mustn’t. Her conscience was flickering feebly, but could not get a hold. Admittedly he was doing no more than taking her for a walk in the beautiful grounds of the Lodge. There was no sense of him on the verge of flinging her down to ravish her on the grass. He even stopped, allowing her to steady herself, to breathe deeply of the scented night air.

“Feeling better?” The concern in his voice was undermined by the memory of his tongue sliding wetly over her cleavage.

“Where are you taking me?” she panted, still dizzy.

“You’re a messenger of God. Who am I to take you anywhere?” The same suave tone. She wanted to tell him to cut it out, enough with the angel/devil bullshit. They could role-play all he liked, it was still no more than a tawdry attempted seduction at a pretentious party and in such a bloody absurd costume. Who was he to take her anywhere? She was going to put an end to this now―return to the house and find Pandora. Tell her that her elaborate ruse had failed…

“Anywhere you’re going, Gabrielle, you go there because you want to.”

She shuddered at the truth of it, or maybe that hypnotic quality in his voice made it her truth. He knew her name from whatever conversations he’d had with Pandora, but she had no idea what to call him. She felt his solid bulk against her, his hands on the small of her back and crook of her arm moving her off again, subtly compelling her across the lawn towards a dark grove of sprawling beech trees. Manipulating her mind more than her body… but that was the drink, right? She had to get a grip. She had to stop this.

The grass was taller and more luscious here, like it had been neglected by the gardener. Gabrielle could feel the dew soaking into her soft leather shoes. She stopped and looked down to see, lifting a foot for inspection, and in an instant, her great tuxedoed devil-man was dropping down to aid her. “Allow me.”

Placing one mighty hand beneath her peignoir and on her tightly-netted hip, he plucked the shoe from her foot. He waited for her to change position, proffer him the other ankle. His palm lightly gripped the as-good-as-naked curve of her ass and the sensation shuddered her to the core.

His scarlet face was inches from her crotch, those cleverly faked horns almost brushing her stomach as he leaned in to remove the second shoe. Then he had risen and placed her footwear in her hands. He stripped off his own shoes and socks and then he was leading her on, drawing her into the grove. She was scared and stumbling, and within the snug-fitting V of her teddy, she felt as lusciously wet as the grass beneath her feet.

Among the moonlight-dappled shade of the trees, the vegetation was a thick verdant tangle, like Eden gone to seed. Through the thump of blood in her ears, Gabrielle had become aware of another urgent, repetitive sound and here, with a shock to the heart, she discovered its source. On the other side of the grove, visible through the gloom, a girl on hands and knees was being rutted by an enthusiastic lover.

Gabrielle continued forward with an unaccountable urge to play voyeur. She kept going till she recognized the young witch-waitress who had served her at the bottom of the stairs. The girl’s corset had popped open so that her breasts tumbled forth; they were currently being mauled by the pirate-king who was boning her so heartily from behind. Then the exuberant seafarer exhibited a desire to be in touch with the land, ripping the corset free of the girl’s back and tearing his own ruffled shirt from his torso, so they could fuck naked in a riot of grass.

Gabrielle recalled her classes on Paradise Lost. Adam and Eve’s tender love-making of the poem’s early sections had been transformed into hungry lust by Satan’s nifty work with an apple, so that they ravished each other selfishly in Book Nine. And here was such a pair―hot bodies slamming together in the despoiled garden, each using the other for the sheer gratification of hard anonymous sex.

The Devil’s grip tightened on her and she had a terrifying, nipple-hardening notion. Damning mankind was not enough for this Infernal Being. Now that he was in the Garden he wanted to take down a righteous angel too―seduce her, ruin her and whisk her off to Hell with him for perpetual ravishment.

Adam looked up and saw her staring. On realizing he had an audience he grinned, grabbed a firm hold of his dark-haired busty Eve by the shoulder and fucked her even harder. His loins impacted on the girl’s ass with an impressive smack at every stroke, so that her voice cried out rhythmically and her tits bounced.

Gabrielle was transfixed by the sight and he was letting her watch, letting that sense of unhinged desire bubble up inside her from the wellspring she had denied was even there, until it filled her being. She wanted this too, what the beautiful hot couple had―liberation from all moral and social restraints. Sex in all its pure, filthy deliciousness. And if love came with it some other day, that would be a bonus.

Right now, as the horned, suited stranger turned her slender body about to face him, as he drew the knuckles of one hand softly across her cheek, down her throat and over the soft divide of her bodice-encased breasts, she’d settle for sex. Her shoes slipped from her hand and she barely noticed.

“So pure,” the painted demon said, his beautifully sculpted face staring down into hers. “So… ripe.”

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you think,” she told him. Even in her enhancement, she was irritated by his devil-act overkill.

“You’ll feel like you were when I’m done with you,” he said, his voice just loud enough above the nearby coupling to be heard. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt she might swoon like an eighteenth-century literary heroine. He leaned down, raising her chin with a single finger, and touched his lips to hers. “Now why don’t you find out what you want to know?” he asked, having broken marginally away.

“And what do I want to know?” she inquired hoarsely.

“Whether the rest of me is the same color.”

Gabrielle burst into laughter―at his playfully wicked words, at the preposterousness of her situation, at bloody Pandora for landing her in all this. Then she stopped as he raised a hand to his throat and swiftly beat him to the move, grabbing his bowtie and ripping it undone. Tentatively, as though led by a will other than her own, she undid the jacket and, reaching way up, slid it away from his massively broad shoulders. She went to catch it as it slipped, but he shrugged it free and let it fall to the grass.

She began to unbutton his shirt, working all the way down without parting the pleated white, before plucking uncertainly at his cummerbund. He aided her, reaching behind to untie it, so that it pulled away in her hands. Then, heart racing, she tugged the shirttails free of his trousers, struggling mightily to ignore the colossal protrusion from within the dark fabric.

In hesitant awe she parted the shirt, uncovering the thick, arched trapezius muscles of his shoulders, the massive bulging expanse of his pectorals, the ribbed hardness of his stomach―all smooth as basalt, all, she knew even in the gloom, the same dark shade of red as his face. She let out an ecstatic moan and reached out with her fingertips, running them lightly over the hard, masculine surface.

Some short distance away, outpourings of anguished female bliss were being met with ecstatic male profanities, as Adam presumably spurted deep inside his Eve. Wet to her center, with a daring she had never known in herself before, Gabrielle reached out her tongue and let it flicker on each of the nipples before her. She wondered vaguely if food coloring would come away as she licked. She wondered too what happened when an angel teased the Devil.

Her answer to the latter question arrived when he gripped her by the waist, lifted her off her feet like she was a doll and carried her in reverse, planting her hard against the bifurcated limbs of a beech tree. She could feel her angel wings crushing behind her, beautiful peignoir robe squelching against the saturated moss on the trunk. But all thought of that was obliterated as her demon-lover pressed into her, pinning her with one hand against the tree and seizing her head with the other, so that he could kiss her hard. She could almost smell sulphur along with his aftershave, as his hard mouth took possession of her lips and his serpentine tongue writhed to the back of her throat.

Gabrielle felt crushed along with her wings and half-suffocated. It felt like this great bulk of manliness was sucking the life from her. Her fingers felt the smooth skin of his arms, stretched taut over great flexed biceps that could have snapped her like a dry twig. His mighty chest was bearing down against her imprisoned tits. And his pelvis was grinding into hers so she could feel his - his - ohhh fuck, this man was truly a monster.

When his mouth finally relinquished hers, she could only stare into his stone-carved features and pant for breath. “I think - I think you’ve ruined my costume,” she managed eventually.

“I’ll get you another,” he said simply, and kissed her again, softer this time, but no less probing. His mouth left hers and progressed to her throat and neck, caressing and then biting just enough, she was sure, to leave a light indentation. Her head rolled back, eyes flickering, mind and body given up to him and whatever the hell he might do.

She glimpsed it over his shoulder in the half-light and even in her state of advanced arousal, the sight was sufficiently arresting to shock her awake. Whether Adam and Eve were still there she did not know, but on the outskirts of the beech grove, she spied a carnally entwined trio. Stella Hartland, Gabrielle’s hostess for the weekend, appeared to have commandeered the young couple from Ancient Egypt.

Gone now were all that woman’s society pretensions. She had pressed the Pharaoh up against a tree trunk and was on her knees before him, her dress lying down round her waist so that her breasts stood out proudly while she vigorously sucked his cock. His neck was arched back against the tree, face a picture of aching delight, his pleasure enhanced by the fact that Stella had hitched her silk panties around the base of his prick and was lovingly massaging his balls with them as she sucked.

Her other hand was gripping the hot mummified redhead by the hair. The girl was prone on the ground beneath her, most of the bandaging stripped free of her body, her face held tight to Stella’s grinding cunt. The party was well enough established, it seemed, for guests to cut through formalities quickly.

The sight of this erotic tangle was too much for Gabrielle. Suddenly she felt just one more body in an outrageous costumed orgy and she moaned in protest, trying to ease back the gently gnawing maw of her demonic suitor. “No - No, please - not here…”

He withdrew his mouth and looked at her with an unimpeachably earnest expression. “Somewhere private?”

If Gabrielle had been looking for a get-out clause, she let the moment slip. She simply nodded in response.

He guided her across the lawns, past a fountain full of frolicking near-nude vampires and a statue against which a cute fairy was offering up her ass to a pumpkin-headed scarecrow sporting a large erection. She knew where Lucifer was leading her before they got there and her heart jolted at the realization. It was like her chill that morning had been a premonition. The thick, hedged walls of the maze rose high above her once more, though not far above her paramour’s imposing curled horns. They entered and the walls of yew-tree plunged her into dark shadow.

He took her far into the network of passageways, never pausing to consider his direction, somehow never mistaking a turn―until they were enclosed on all sides by yew save for one exit. The center of the maze―with its stillness and its scent of damp grass. They stood facing each other, he in semi-darkness, she illumined by beams of moonlight. Her wings dangled brokenly from her back and her robe was stained and sodden from the tree bark. Her hair was disheveled and she realized that she had left her shoes over by the grove. There was no chill in the air and she fancied it might have been dispelled by the furnace of this man’s lust.

“My angel.” He walked out into the light, shrugging off his dress shirt, so that he was clad only in his bespoke pants. They bulged menacingly at the buttoned flies and Gabrielle wondered, staring helplessly at the fabric that strained until it almost creaked, if she were back in her nightmare. He reached to the hem, then simply unclipped and unbuttoned.

The Devil, it transpired, went Commando. It sprung forth, huge and hard―a colossal red-painted fuck-sword, terrifying and perfect. Much too large, Gabrielle was sure, for the modest dimensions of her pussy. From his pants, he stepped calmly free. Then he advanced on her slowly, with his height so imposing and his musculature so superbly developed and so beautifully defined and with that great weapon swaying before him, glistening at its extremity.

He stopped short of her, their only point of contact the tip of his extensive cock against her satin-clad stomach. Gabrielle waited for his next move and, when it did not happen, realized that something was expected of her. Breaking out of her petrifaction she reached forward to his loins with both hands and touched him, her heart thumping at how his sex twitched and pulsed in response.

She drew her fingertips lightly from the base of his thick column, teasing her way up all those sturdy inches, staring into his stony face the whole time. Inside she felt a giddy tremor at her own recklessness, a further liquefying of her pussy. Shouldn’t she beware what would happen if she cock-teased the Devil? What the hell kind of crazy game was she playing?

“Ohhh my.” Her moan was fearful as she finally arrived at the swollen dome of his massive endowment. “Oh - my God…”

“I am your God,” he said quietly. “Now get down on your knees and worship me.”

Gabrielle’s whole body gave a start. Her dream rushed back vividly and she let go that iron cock. The words had shocked her, angered her with their arrogance, their self-important blasphemy. Who the hell did he think he was? What right had Pandora had to tell him all Gabrielle’s intimate thoughts, so he could use them against her?

“I can’t do this,” she snapped, her bubble of illusion burst. “I don’t do this.” She stared at him, one great hulking tower of arrogance, and realized she fully expected him to throw her down anyway and rape her on the ground. “Please,” she said, imposing what dignity she could on her shaking voice and trembling body. “I’m sorry, but I want to go.”

There was a pause as long as eternity. There they stood, like characters in an ancient ecclesiastical frieze. “Then go,” he said calmly. “If that’s what you want.”

His response took her aback. She could not believe he would simply let her leave. “Yes,” she rallied. “It is.” The cock before her had not even wilted. It might have been made of stone. Its owner looked like a figure in an obscene Medieval woodcut. She forced out a final, “Goodbye.”

Gabrielle hardly knew what she was doing, as she turned about and left the heart of the maze. She did not know whether it was strength or stupidity, leaving behind her scary nameless stranger, her great edifice of masculinity and his―well―great edifice of masculinity. But to say what he did, to disrespect her as he had, to fly in the face of everything she believed, everything that defined her as a… a…

She walked rapidly, foolish in her ruined angelic outfit, taking any turn she came to without thinking, choking back tears. She was a church-goer, a believer, she taught Sunday School, for Heaven’s sake. She’d worked the sex thing out her own way―it was fine in a committed relationship, married or otherwise. Just as long as it was part of something greater. Not quite the orthodox line, but it was the idea to which she clung. What she didn’t do was go to hedonistic parties and have cheap sex with strangers. With stupid, arrogant strangers. Stupid, arrogant strangers with great slavering tongues and huge hard-ons and… Shit, he was following her…Was he? Following her?

She looked back over her shoulder, convinced she could hear a pursuer’s heavy feet thumping on the grassy floor. Suddenly terrified, she broke into a barefoot run. She ducked left, right, right again, the fact finally dawning that she had no idea how to escape from the maze. She twisted around another turn, one shattered wing raking against the hedge, her ridiculous halo flapping as she ran. God, he was after her, she could almost hear the bullish snorting.

How much had she drunk earlier on? Damn, maybe he’d have sprouted wings by now to carry him all the quicker. Or could he simply manifest in front of her once he’d got bored with his toying? However she tried, she could not shake those diabolical images from her head.

She raced around another corner and screamed on finding her way blocked. But it was merely two other revelers―a blood-spattered bride and one of the waiters, both semi-stripped, laughing and spouting mouthfuls of champagne over each other’s face. She turned back, tried another route. Any route. Any path that might lead her out of that dreadful labyrinth. Maybe there was someone who could help her, who knew the maze as well as he had.

Possibly not the crazed, horror-harlequin who stumbled past her drunkenly when she took another turn, dragging an equally inebriated Snow White behind him. Gabrielle yelped and kept going, the sky reeling above her, the maze starting to lurch like a hurdy-gurdy, as she vainly sought an exit. She spun around a bend and found her path barred once more, this time by a full-on ground-level coupling.

Gabrielle stifled a squeal.

Pandora was straddling Mac Hartland, frantically riding his cock. Apparently she had not felt limited by her wolf-fetish. All her Little Red garments were torn off and strewn about her, save the thigh-highs and her pulled-aside panties. Her adulterous partner was seated in the grass, half-stripped of his vampiric vestments, hands talon-free, so he could tightly grip his lover’s taut bum cheeks.

He eyed the nubile form with close-up relish, those globed tits bouncing before him in all their unconfined glory. With one arm hooked around his neck, Pandora thrashed on him wildly, her pussy milking his length for all the pleasure it could give. Her head was thrown back, bobbed hair draping around her bare shoulders, and her pretty mouth uttered a stream of moans interspersed with fevered fuck-talk.

“Oh God, Mac, we so shouldn’t be doing this… I’ve wanted your cock for so long. Ohhh, shit, fuck, you feel so good, you feel so fucking good… Does Stella still do you like this?” She braced herself on him and slammed down, repeatedly and hard, determined to take him as deep as she possibly could.

Gabrielle watched in dismay. Had the world gone crazy? She tried to turn away, but was riveted by the sight of her best friend in the world fornicating wildly with the girl’s cousin’s husband. The fact that said cousin was in the middle of a demented three-way across the lawn hardly made it right. Then in the middle of her frenzied humping, Pandora noticed Gabrielle transfixed stare. Her pelvis slowed on Mac’s deep-thrust erection and she registered first embarrassment, then concern at her friend’s disarrayed state.

“Gabby?” she panted, still fucking proactively it had to be said. “Gabby, are you okay?”

Mac looked back over his shoulder. The Nosferatu bridgework had been removed from his mouth, presumably to make for a sexier encounter. “Gabrielle,” he gasped hoarsely, apparently still desirous to play the polite host. “Hi. You want to watch? Or maybe join us? Whichever you prefer.”

Gabrielle stared in a horror at least part of which was due to her increased wetness. Everyone… Everyone fucking apart from her. Goddamn you, Pandora, for bringing me here! She turned and fled, leaving Little Red riding hard.

She ran hectically down one yew corridor to another, crashing into hedges as she took corners, stumbling and righting herself and keeping going. The peignoir snagged and she abandoned it to the clutching branch. Hair flailing about her, clad in only her lingerie, she ran and searched and finally flung herself through a familiar privet gateway… to find herself back at the dead center of the maze.

She stopped as abruptly as if she had run into an invisible barrier, her heart thumping. Forlorn, she gazed about at the empty yew-walled courtyard, hands rested on her hips, lungs sucking in whoops of air. So much for her quick escape. All that running, and now to start over with no idea of the route, no idea where her blasphemous seducer was. She took a further moment to recover, then turned to leave.

He was filling the doorway, blocking her escape, everything about him as proud and erect as she remembered. She was frozen helpless before him, heart thumping and pussy spasming all over again, exhaustion dispelled by a fresh rush of adrenalin.

“I knew you’d come back.”

“I - I got lost…” Her voice was a childish whimper.

His was low and held a conviction that was total. “You’re here, Gabrielle, because you choose to be.”

“It’s… I… I couldn’t find…”

“Then tell me, do you want to depart again?” He stood aside, leaving the way clear for her. Even his cock was not huge enough to bar it. She stared at the path ahead and then at him in all his quiet arrogance. In his monumental, priapic maleness. The word was a mere whisper in her throat, but she knew that he heard it.

“No.”

She stood before him simply, hands hanging limply by her sides. Once more he strode towards her, only this time he passed in a half-circle, palming her stomach as he progressed to her rear. His hand slid down to her barely covered mound and the other arm encircled her torso, so that it rested across her breasts.

His great cock brushed against her ass-cleft and his breath was hot on her neck. Was it her imagination, or could she hear a low bullish snort underlying that breath? Her head drooped back and she gave herself up to him, physically and spiritually, as she now knew she had wanted to with her dream-demon.

His touch upon her was tender―exquisite because it spoke of leashed-in power, terrifying because she knew beyond all doubt that the power would be unleashed. The hand on her soft mound moved down and under, to where her thighs were slick with her honey, and undid the secret clasp below her pussy-hole. He let the teddy spring apart and strummed the netting of her pantyhose, fingertips sliding over the silky cunt-lips imprisoned beneath. Then one thick finger slipped through and entered her, making her knees give way, her whole body crumple. He held her drooping form and probed his finger deeper into her oozing channel, so that she gave way completely.

“Lie down,” he told her, but it was more a matter of him laying her there in the grass. Then he was down with her, expansive chest close above, darkly handsome face suffused with infernal intent. One hand slid beneath her back and unsnapped the corseted section of her teddy. The other delved slowly down her cleavage and ripped the garment down her body, exposing the soft pillows of her hard-nippled breasts.

She gasped at the sudden uncovering, then cried aloud as his face descended and he sucked one nipple into his mouth. Sucked and licked and bit, teeth tugging briefly though hard on her teat, stretching it and making her cry in shocked anguish. When he let go and transferred his mouth to her other breast, she held her breath in trepidation, knowing he would repeat the action. Knowing all the time he suckled her, all the time his tongue-tip circled and flickered over her areola, that those teeth would claim her. And when they did, when they bit sharply and plucked and teased her roughly, she yelled out in terrified ecstasy.

He kissed her lips, then each sore nipple, washing with rotating curls of his long tongue, and her body rose to him from the soft ground. Then he slid his torso down her body and parted her already loosened thighs. She could feel the threads of her hose stretched tightly across her engorged lips. His breath warmed the cunt she knew was glistening-wet for him, then suddenly his tongue squirmed inside her, as far as it could through the hose. Frustrated by the garment, he grabbed it in his teeth and began to chew and rip his way through it. She cried out again in fearful excitement as threads snapped, as he tore the netted crotch asunder, leaving wide access to her dripping hole.

His tongue thrust deep and he feasted on her. Gabrielle’s body arched in response to the thick fleshy muscle that writhed within her, scooping up and drinking her dew. Her hands clutched desperately at clumps of grass, tearing them from the ground, as his tongue stretched to its limit, fucking deeper than she’d have believed possible, circling around her cunt’s hyper-sensitized walls as it tunneled. Then it slithered out, lapping all around her swollen gateway and ending on her clit, where it flickered heatedly. He filled his hands with her ass cheeks and clutched her hard. Her pelvis humped his face involuntarily, as he ate her.

Now he was kissing her hot engorged button, nibbling, biting―ohhhh, sweet fuck―and now his lips were on hers again. Satan was making out with her pussy (the thought almost made her laugh), surging into her with another crazy-delicious tongue-kiss.

Gabrielle was entering delirium, as her near-cannibalistic lover savored all her most intimate parts. She could smell her own fragrance mingling with those of the grass and the night air, could feel herself blossoming into orgasm. Before she could fully flower, however, he rose up from the soaked junction of her legs, all but growling in his lust.

Drawing his body towards her, he simultaneously drew his great palms all the way from her buttocks over her thighs to below her knee joints. Then in a fluid, rising movement he splayed her legs high over her head like scissors, raising her pelvis right off the ground. She emitted a shrill “Oh God!!!” and it occurred to her, bizarrely, So this is what all that pilates has been for! She was split open before him, all the beauty of her wet garden on display for his devilish delight.

Then she raised her head and saw it once again, rearing up against his stomach as he knelt―that gargantuan cunt-slayer. In her semi-delusional state, it seemed as big as the one from her dream. And it was gliding inexorably towards her vulnerable, stretched hole.

What exactly had God been thinking, chucking this guy from Heaven and letting him roam the Cosmos with an attachment that huge? She was utterly aroused, utterly terrified. Oh, sweet Jesus, he’s going to run me through!

Prayers availed her nothing now. Gabrielle had already made her choice. Hooking one fishnetted foot around his neck, he prized his great masculinity down from his stomach and fitted the head inside her. She moaned, nearly cried, at the broad, stretching intrusion and its promise.

“Look at me,” his bass voice rumbled, and when she did, she saw him grin a diabolical grin. Then gripping high and tight on her thighs, with one hellish thrust he speared her.

Gabrielle Deangelo screamed to the heavens, as she was crammed with iron Devil-cock. She came instantly, explosively, gushing like a river all over the impaling monster. Her body blazed with a near-consuming fire as her possessor ploughed her cunt with demonic force. At twenty-eight, seven years on from the loss of her virginity, she had never come close to an experience like this. It was doubtful even Pandora had.

The sense of being pounded, stretched out and filled to capacity. The undiluted, unrestrained lust that fuelled that pounding and stretching and filling. The combustible, all-consuming nature of her orgasm. She was sure the entire maze would ignite from the heat that seared her fucked body, her fucked soul.

Even when the shattering climax left her, his cock did not. Her upper half was sprawled on the grass, the lower still hauled upwards to meet his searching thrusts. Her screams had subsided into a series of long, sub-human moans, punctuated by each hammering impact inside her. Then he let go his hold on her legs, allowing her feet to find the grassy carpet, and climbed down onto her, still pumping like a stud bull in its prime.

Her teddy he wrenched right down to her waist, so that his barrel chest could bear down onto her naked stomach and tits. It threatened to crush her. Then his mighty arms enfolded her like a vice and she was trapped, as in a great iron machine, the one moving part of which continued to piston rapidly in and out of her pussy in a tight well-greased motion. It gradually slowed, as with a long releasing of the power, till he was moving softly on her and her moans ebbed to a whisper.

“Look at meeeeee.” His words were quiet and soft and they drew from her complete obedience. She opened her eyes and saw his face inches from hers, torso perfectly still, loins doing all the work required. He was smiling―a wicked, mocking smile that expressed all his godless delight in screwing her to her core, and that she had consented to him doing it. “You’re mine, Gabby,” he said. “You cunt is mine and you are mine.”

His thrusting grew in momentum, cock retreating further on each backstroke and surging in harder, eyes locked on hers, mouth hovering as if to suck up her renewed moans. “Your cunt is mine and you are mine.” He drove into her, fierce and unrelenting, brutalizing her with gleeful relish, eyes blazing with fire from the nethermost depths of Hell. “Your cunt is mine and you are mine.”

He withdrew from her in a slick, sucking motion and rose mercurially to his feet. She was hauled with him her by her ash-blonde hair into a kneeling position before his rigid, wetly-shining cock.

“Now worship.”

This time she did, with the fervency of a true believer. She worked him over like she had never done to a man before, did things she had only read about or imagined, tasting herself on him all the time. She lavished her tongue from the thick base, all the way up the endless inches of his strident column, like she was giving it another coating of paint.

She curled her attentions around the head, teasing under the rim of that bulged crown, then skating to the gleaming eye and working in her tongue’s tip, before pursing her lips and sucking up the thick, salty fluid it leaked, precursor to his main inundation. She slithered back down his thick-veined undershaft, slurped his great balls one after the other into her mouth and sucked on them with all the deliciousness she could muster.

Now she flickered her tongue all over his end, staring up at him in thrall. Look at me. Look how good I am. Look how I know my duty. She shaped her breasts around him, let saliva spill from her tongue all down his length and massaged him with the firm pliancy of her bosom, her spit bubbling all around the shaft. Then she tugged that massive lever down and wrapped her mouth wide around the head.

He did not touch her―she knew he was letting her do it, letting her prove herself. She forced herself onto him, filled up her mouth and throat with him till she gagged, then came off him, gulping down the urge to wretch. Ashamed, she gazed up to his stony face, eyes pleading that he be not displeased with her.

Gently he stroked her face. Then applying a finger to her chin, he raised her off her knees. She rose as if by compelled by some unseen force to stand before him, awaiting his next implicit command. He seized her slim waist, hands almost encircling her, and with what seemed like supernatural ease lifted her off the ground. He was lowering his hips, providing a seat for her, from which there would be no easy rising.

Her eyes not flicking from his face even for an instant, she wrapped her legs compliantly around his muscled ass, the tip of his vertical shaft teasing her lips. She could picture him stretching up beneath her, as though the spikes of his trident had been reforged into one mighty prong. Slowly, tenderly, he lowered her onto him, her lubricated channel molding itself around him to create a tighter fit than she had thought possible.

Gabrielle cooed in pained ecstasy. She linked her arms around his broad neck and clutched with her ankles, as she descended slowly to his base and took her fill. Then as he gripped her thighs to support her, she tautened every muscle and began to move herself on him, sliding up and down his galvanized pole. She felt liberated and wildly sexy in that moment, yet her euphoria was fused with a terrible shame. She was giving away something essential within her, as she fucked herself obediently on him. This was beyond any mere sex-act. It was as if she had clambered on to some enormous, cast-iron monument to male lust, so she could carry out a symbolic act of self-impalement.

She clung on desperately, gazed into his coldly savage face, yearning for signs of his satisfaction as she slithered all over that Satan cock like the Devil-bitch she was. She was seeking his approval, desperate to draw out the full force of his desire and with it his boiling seed. A distant-seeming voice was calling her―trying to draw her to reason, to goodness, to the light. “Gabby? Gabby, where are you? Come back! Are you okay?” But it was too late for all that.

See me, see what a good servant-whore I am. See what I’ve become for you. Better to rut in Hell than mope in Heaven, right? A sick distortion of all she had ever been taught or had ever believed, but she could not resist the notion and its dark allure. Take me there, my demon-lover. Take me there and fuck me forever.

His eyes blazed like he had read her thoughts. Then his stony features cracked into a grimace, one which betrayed the full extent of his craving. He plucked her from his long cock in one easy move and dumped her flailing on to the ground. In an instant he was down with her, putting her on her hands and knees and mounting her from behind, ramming her full and fucking her in a rage of infernal lust that propelled her towards orgasm once more.

He dragged her up with, fingers clutching to the roots of her hair, and grappled her into his possession. One hand was on her throat, the other on her waist, as his staggering assault continued. It was in that moment that Pandora arrived panting at the entrance to the hedged enclosure. Gabrielle stared through a fucked haze, vaguely aware of the hastily reassembled Little Red costume and the expression of fraught concern on her companion’s face.

Drawn by Gabrielle’s screams, Pandora had clearly been scared that her friend was being brutalized against her will. But Gabrielle fixed her with a stare that conveyed her pleasure at being taken so hard. Then she reached down to frig herself all the way to her final damnation. She did not care that Pandora was seeing her like this, in truth, it excited her to be on such wanton display. You thought you knew me, Dora? Did you? Well, take a good look, because this is who I truly am.

For a moment Pandora stared in rank astonishment, then she subsided against the hedge, face flushed, plucking up her skirt. Clearly loving the show, she plunged a hand into her panties and started rubbing one out on her own clit.

Gabrielle came, tits thrust out and body jolting, as He slammed her halfway to oblivion, as her closest friend in the world watched it all and masturbated herself into an accompanying frenzy. Her devilish defiler let her fall forward and she collapsed to the grass, sobbing her anguished bliss.

Then her lover was ratcheting up his pace to a hard-smacking crescendo, he was pulling out of her against her cunt’s sucking resistance, he was dragging her to him and thrusting his pulsing, sparking weapon into her surprised mouth. Her lips locked automatically, welcomingly around him, sealing off all leakage as with a raging howl he unleashed a long, fiery torrent down her throat. ‘The cistern of my lust’ - Gabrielle recalled the phrase from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. His cistern was brim-full and its contents spewed forth, emptying as a deluge into her belly. She drank deep from him, then fell away with drooling lips, sated with satanic spunk.

Her senses seemed to cloud utterly, until she drowned in darkness.

~~~~

There were flashes of consciousness… of clothes being rehooked and adjusted… of being carried, clinging to a huge bulk as the stars wheeled overhead… leaning on someone smaller this time, tottering over grass and stone…

Gabrielle found herself sitting on the rear steps on Hartland Manor in the wreckage of her costume, the drunken detritus of the party floating around her. Pandora was by her side, both of them staring vacantly into space. It was like she had emerged from some hallucinogenic trip and might have passed it off as such had it not been for the throb in her cunt and her body’s incidental bruising.

“What a crazy night, Gab. What a crazy fucking night.” Pandora sounded almost as shell-shocked as Gabrielle felt. “What a crazy night’s fucking.” The brunette giggled nervously. She was a mess of run-and-dried mascara. “Of all the people I could have… Oh - dear Christ, what was I thinking?” They sat in silence until Pandora gave voice to the other question hanging in the air. “And who the hell did you get with?”

Gabrielle raised a heavy, aching head and stared at her friend in weary amazement. “Come on, Dora, drop it. Tell me who he was. You were the matchmaker, we both know that.”

Pandora looked back at her, seemingly rumbled. “Well okay, I did have a set-up in mind, Gabby, I kind of figured you suspected. But it didn’t quite come off.” Gabrielle looked at her inquiringly. Pandora shared, with a touch of guilt. “I called up a guy who I thought you might hit it off with. Lucius, you’ve heard me talk about him? He seemed keen, he was even going to dress as a devil to match your angel… but he called me last night and said he couldn’t make it. Symptoms of appendicitis, what are the chances? I was disappointed, but I still figured you’d get lucky in that costume.” Gabrielle searched Pandora’s face and found complete earnestness.

“That wasn’t him, Gab,” her friend insisted. “I’ve no idea who you were with, although you seemed to be…”―she seemed uncharacteristically flustered at the memory― “…getting along just fine. Fucking amazing costume. Fucking amazing guy―please tell me you got his number. God, Gabby, you’ve no idea how hot you two looked. I mean insanely hot. I couldn’t help myself… well, y’know.”

Gabrielle’s muddled brain had difficulty processing this information. So who exactly had her role-play partner been? The one with whom she had… played so hard. Wait, how had he known about the dream, if Pandora hadn’t been involved? Had she misinterpreted his words? And had he overheard her name? Dora, are you fucking with me? Somehow she didn’t dare ask the question aloud. It would have chilled her to hear her friend’s denial.

“I don’t know who he was. Some guy.” Some horny devil who’d fucked her like she’d never believed would happen in this life. The sort of fuck for which a girl might sell her soul. “Dora,” she said, massaging her throbbing temples, “the sooner you get us out of here the better.”

Thankfully her friend didn’t disagree. One short sleep later, they crept out of the still sleeping Hartland Manor in Pandora’s car and departed with no fuss for San Francisco and home. Of red-skinned mysterious seducers, there was no further sign.

Gabrielle asked no troubling questions on the journey and dismissed all those asked by Pandora. Neither did she call her friend two days later, when she received the package at her apartment. The one containing an angel costume all but identical to that destroyed at the party―wings included, missing only the halo. The one with the anonymous card written in ornate black script.

To my precious angel, for whom I will one day return. You know my name.

“Dora, Dora, Dora…” Gabrielle shook her head in bafflement at her friend’s eccentric behavior. “Enough with the games. I’m done playing them. Halloween night was… an exception.” An exquisite exception which she could not chase from her mind, day or night, however hard she tried.

It occurred to her that she had not been to church once since the night of the party…

~~~~

Epilogue

The plain was silent this time, all noise of battle extinguished across its vast surface. The last of the vanquished army had been divorced from the frail rattles of their breath. She alone remained. Darkness had fallen, yet a bloody moon was casting its sullied light upon her. Upon her and the monstrous giant, who without moving, without speaking a word, demanded her allegiance.

She stood before him, once more utterly naked. Her wings remained folded behind. She made no attempt to provide herself with cover. He towered over her, his bestial countenance terrible in its presumption, his body obscene in its over-developed might, his loin-sword prodigious and menacing.

She looked on his face and this time she knew him. He had let her live. Out of everyone he had chosen her.

Slowly she turned her about and knelt. It was the most natural thing in the world to do. Her wings parted to reveal her back, haunches and legs. She bent low, arching her spine, thrusting her hindquarters into the air. Deliberately she reached back with her hands and parted her buttocks, stretching them wide to display all she had. At the sound of his snorting breath and scraping hoof, her consciousness swam slightly, but she remained firm. She raised her head, eyes closed, bathing in his mighty presence.

“Your Majesty,” she said quietly, and waited.

The End…?