To Hell and Back, Chapters 1-2

Chapter One: A Hell of an Introduction

DANIEL

The crisp November air tickled my face, filling my nostrils with the pungent tang of decay only autumn could bring. The dried maple leaves crunched beneath my feet with each footfall, most of them browned past their red majesty. Indeed, almost all the trees were bare, with only a few stubborn elms clinging to the remnants of their yellowing canopies. It was that period after Halloween and before thanksgiving where Iowans were trying to decide if it was too early to set up Christmas decorations. That time of year where you’re not quite sure if you should wear a jacket or a sweatshirt. Unfortunately for my little sister, she’d chosen a t-shirt and panties.

“Don’t take it out yet!” Emily lamented from behind the screen door.

“You want raccoons?” I asked with a raised eyebrow, “Because this,” I hoisted the carved pumpkin up, “this is how you get raccoons.”

“But I worked so hard on it! Just leave it out for two more days!” Emily insisted. I glanced at the jack-o-lantern, whose face was an odd shape of close-together eyes, a rectangular nose, and a semicircular mouth that bore no space for the upper-lip.

“You worked so hard on this?” I asked with an incredulous eyebrow.

“It’s my masterpiece.” Emily nodded sincerely.

“It’s a penis.”

“And it’s such a very good penis.” Emily grinned, “Just keep it out for a little bit!”

“Is this want you want Mom to see when she walks up the steps?” I asked.

“Oh, Mom will think it’s hilarious, you know that.” Emily waved a hand.

“Why is this the hill you’re choosing to die on?”

“Because my asshole boss scheduled me for Halloween night, and I missed it!” Emily snapped, “You got to go out as an ironic piece of bacon (‘haha, did you notice my name-tag says ‘Kevin?’’) while I was stocking tampons at Target! Now put that fucking pumpkin back, Dan, or you’ll wish raccoons were your worst problem!”

I scowled at Emily, running my eyes over her in a scrutinizing manner. She’d inherited Mom’s strawberry-blonde hair, which hung in disheveled waves from her pale face. A smattering of freckles touched her pointed nose and round cheeks, whose structure gave her portrait a girlish quality that was only complimented by her big, blue eyes and pouting, pale lips. Her chin drew to a point before the slender length of her neck, which in turn, drew to the delicate bones of her collar, whose pale surface was exposed to the shoulders above her cut t-shirt. The garment draped over her petite chest, the cold morning informing the world that Emily was not wearing a bra. The shirt cut off at her midriff, which was smooth and centered with a perfect navel above which two subtle lines drew inward toward her pelvis like beckoning paths, then disappeared beneath the waistband of her pink panties. Her thighs bore only the smallest gap between them, and thickened alluringly as they rose into the smiling crease of her gravity-defying ass.

“Daniel?” Emily asked, the soft inquiry of her voice shaking me from the moment. She peered at me from below that tangled curtain of strawberry-blonde hair, her blue eyes narrowing beneath a furrowing brow.

“Yeah.” I said awkwardly, bowing my head to hide my blushing cheeks, “Yeah, fuck it. I’ll just… I’ll just leave it here by the mailbox.” I clumsily put the pumpkin on the fence post, and hurried toward the street. I heard a yelp, then a splat. I stopped, and had a precious moment with which to take a deep breath, and ready myself for the shitstorm.

“You fucking asshole!” Emily squawked from behind the screen door, “You did that on purpose, I know you did!”

“It was an accident.” I said sardonically, exaggerating my shrug. It actually was an accident, of course, but anything was better than the truth in this moment. Emily’s pale cheeks flushed with anger, then the rest of her face followed suit. She growled, tore open the screen door, and marched after me. God, she was pretty when she was angry.

“Hey, Mrs. Johnson!” I called to the yard beside us.

“You think I’m falling for that shit again?!” Emily growled, her shoulders hunched, her arms straightening to balled fists beside her, “You are nineteen years old, Danny, and you still act like a fucking-”

“Hey Daniel, hey Emily!” Mrs. Johnson waved back from her yard, one elbow resting on her rake, “Good heavens, Emily, aren’t you cold?”

Emily skidded like a cartoon character, and froze in place with the most utterly defeated expression on her face. Her cheeks grew even redder than they’d been before, then she waved awkwardly at Mrs. Johnson, and sprinted back inside, the door slamming shut behind her. I followed her inevitable path to the upstairs window, where she and the house-cat glared at me with identical expressions of contempt from between the curtains. I gave them both a parting sneer, waved my salutations to the laughing old lady that lived next to us, and hopped into my truck.

“Fuck.” I sighed, dropping my head onto the headrest, “Too fucking close, Daniel. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?” I turned the truck over, and peeled out of there with a screech of rubber. Five minutes later, I was on the highway, driving like the accelerator had fucked my sister.

Instead of me. I thought grimly. I didn’t know why this had started happening. Emily and I were only a year apart, and it wasn’t like she’d grown tits and ass overnight. I’d never felt this way about her in high school, but the moment she moved in with me after her graduation, the thoughts just started coming, and they were only getting worse. What had once been glances had turned to full-blown eye-fucks, and simple musings had turned into full-throttle, choke-my-cock-until-I-hate-myself jerk-off sessions. Even now, the fantasies were coming to me, completely unbidden. Emily in a schoolgirl outfit, smiling coyly over her shoulder. Emily in a bathing suit, raising an eyebrow as she sneaks a suggestive finger beneath her shoulder strap. Emily in chains, pulled spread eagle onto the cross, staring at me from bulging eyes above a spit-coated ball-gag. I wrenched the steering wheel to the side, and barely missed the oncoming semi-truck. I swerved through three lanes of traffic, my tires screeching as I struggled to regain control of the vehicle. I finally managed to get on the shoulder, the fading blare of the semi’s horn echoing in my ears, a backdrop to the thundering of my heart, and the rapid intakes of breath.

“That’s it!” I exclaimed, “I’m going to therapy!”

EMILY

My Halloween costume was laid out where I’d put it yesterday, on my bed, waiting for me when I got off my shift. But fucking Ahmed had decided that we were understaffed in the pharmaceutical section, so instead of being a sexy sushi (and don’t worry, I’ll explain that in a second), I was dressed in khakis and a red polo. ‘Corporate slave’ didn’t have the same appeal as ‘sexy sushi,’ but I couldn’t discard my vocational outfit. Daniel had been paying the rent all by himself for two months straight, and I had to chip in. He was already burning through his savings just to make ends meet for us. He was too good to me.

“But he’s still a fucking asshole!” I huffed at the cat, and took her bored glare as a resounding agreement. I folded my arms, and pouted on the bed, glaring at my sexy sushi outfit. Funny-sexy was hard to pull off, but damnit, I did it this year. I fucking nailed it. The headpiece was a California Roll I’d made of foam and tissue paper, the brazier was a salmon color that evoked sashimi with a ‘rice’ frill at the top, and the skirt was a black garment meant to evoke maki, with a little embroidery on the crotch that said, ‘something smells fishy.’ It would’ve been glorious, but alas, it would never see the light of day.

“Well you know what, Cleo?” I prompted the cat, who glared up at me for interrupting her crotch-licking session, “I’m gonna wear it anyway. You and I will just have our own Halloween party! Yeah! Just you and me… just me and the cat… and I’m wearing a fucking sushi outfit that advertises my smelly pussy.” I sighed, and drooped my shoulders, “There’s a cat joke in there somewhere, Cleo, if you want to pick the low hanging fruit.” I mumbled. Cleo answered by licking her crotch.

I stripped to my birthday suit, grabbed my costume, and grumbled to myself as I began putting it on. I scowled when the brazier hung loosely from my chest. My ass was to die for, I knew, but my breasts left something to be desired. They were nice; B-cups and beautifully shaped, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’d been cheated. Mom had a chest that could act as a life raft in case of emergency.

“First-world problems, Em.” I told my reflection, then grabbed my tits, pushed them together, and tightened the corset. There; magic. Nobody knows the better until the outfit comes off, and by then, there’s no turning back. You’re mine, hypothetical male escapade, MINE! Mwhuahahahaha! I hoisted the skirt up my ass, pulled the stockings after, and stepped into the high-heels that forced my ample backside to bulge from atop my thighs. I took out my ‘I-suck-dick’ red lipstick, and applied it liberally and slowly to my parted lips.

“Would you fuck me?” I asked the mirror in my best Buffalo Bill impression, “I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard.” I felt good. I spun on my heel, and strutted toward the cat, who ironically did not appreciate my catwalk. Well, fuck her. I was sexy sushi, and sexy sushi don’t need no cat. I worked my shoulders as I marched lasciviously down the hallway, popping each hip, pretending I was parting the sea of people at a party, and all eyes were on me.

“That’s right, bitches.” I grinned at a poster of Lebron James, “Emily Huston just walked in, and all your thirsty boyfriends wanna get a drink of this pussaaaaAAAAAAAH!” And fate punished me for my hypothetical arrogance by making me forget there were stairs in front of me. I hit each step with a punctuation of breath, tumbling head-over-heels until I was sprawled in the kitchen, my skirt draped over my head, my beautiful California Roll headdress sacrificed to provide cushion for my stupid fucking brain. I lay there for a moment, exposed and in pain, wondering if dying was preferable to getting up from this. A fervent knock on the kitchen door confirmed that yes, dying was indeed the better option.

“Emily?!” Mrs. Johnson’s muted voice screamed from the other side of the glass door, “Oh my god, Emily, are you OK?”

You can kill me now, God. I thought grimly.

REBECCA

I knew I still had it. I was two years shy of forty, and had lived a life of drugs, unprotected sex, and worst of all, rampant tanning, but damn it, I still had it. My skin had hardly aged at all, my hair was still its luxuriant strawberry-blonde, and only the faintest stretchmarks marred my ample bust. I had an ass you could balance a wine bottle on, and I currently had it stuffed into the tightest pair of Levi’s money could buy. Genetics had been kind to me, but that wasn’t how I knew I still had the all-important “it.” No, my retention of “it” was confirmed by the eyes of the junior varsity football team, which seemed to be magnetized to my heart-shaped asset.

“Nothing like good genes, and good jeans.” Lucy chuckled next to me, her lips pursed around a cigarette. The two of us were leaning on a fence at the park, looking at the young bucks like we were still in high school. Of course, Lucy never went to high school; not as a student, anyway.

“I swear, the older I get, the younger I want ‘em.” I sighed to Lucy, taking a pull of my own cigarette, “At this rate, Chris Hansen’s going to be knocking on my door instead of you.”

“Is that how I make you feel, Becky?” Lucy grinned devilishly at me, which I guessed was the only way she could grin.

“You used to show up for fun, now you show up for favors.” I sighed.

“You owe me.” Lucy shrugged.

“I know.” I muttered. I owed her everything. I turned my forearm over, the entire length of it colored with tattoos. My whole body was, from ankle to neck, with a few spaces between the pieces, but not many. I’d gotten most of them almost two decades ago, but despite the sun exposure, none had faded. But it wasn’t the tattoos I was looking at; it was the scar that ran from wrist to elbow.

“Are you my friend, Lucy?” I asked her softly.

“I like to think I am.” Lucy said wrapping an arm around my waist, “I like to think we’re more than just that.”

I stared at her. She had wavy black hair that came together in a slight widow’s peak, a chiseled jaw, lush, red lips, and hazel eyes. Her cheekbones were so dramatic that I once wondered if they were prosthetic, and her brow seemed to dip slightly inward, giving her portrait a look of subtle menace. Below her portrait was a pale body of perfect curves and smooth flesh, and she displayed it generously in her plaid skirt and midriff-revealing shirt. She was beautiful, and still looked every-bit the teenager I’d known in high school. But it was all a lie.

“I feel like your toy.” I muttered. Lucy smiled broadly, her eyes alighting with mischievousness, and something darker. I knew the expression well, and it made my heart race. My eyes slackened to begging ovals, and I sank my teeth into my lower lip, signaling my want. Lucy’s hand snaked under my waistband, and a single, long finger trailed down the crack of me. Her touch was barely a caress, but it became the focal point of my very being. I felt the skin rise and prickle beneath her brushing fingertip, felt my body grow languid like it had been conditioned to, felt my pussy flush and drip with anticipation. My head fell forward, my breath caught, and I eased myself back, my spine arching behind me, my cheeks spreading in their denim constraints. Lucy’s breath was on my cheek, then on my mouth when I turned to face her. Her fingertip found the dirty aperture of me, and she slowly circled the rim. Oh, she knew my weaknesses. She knew them well.

“The football team is staring at us, Becky.” Lucy said, her eyes cast downward at me, an imperious, controlling stare, “They’re not even pretending to practice anymore. They’re all just staring at you while I tease your slutty little shithole.” Lucy’s lips brushed mine, but never pressed, “If you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll pull your pants down, and fist you in front of everyone.” She pushed her finger inside, my tightness uncoiling around her advance, then hugging her as she sank each knuckle. My head dropped in surrender, my mouth opened, and a low whine rose from me. Lucy’s parted lips breathed their covetous control on my neck, “You are my toy, Rebecca Huston. And you fucking love it.”

“Yes!” I gasped, bending further, pressing my breasts to the back of my hands, which grasped the fence before me. My shirt slid up my back with each inch I lowered myself, revealing the tattoos than ran alongside my spine. My glutes parted with the deepening bend, spreading as far as they could for Lucy’s invading finger. My anus seemed to hunger for the violation, my entire body teeming to be used, humiliated, and disgraced. I looked over my shoulder, and saw the gawking faces of the football team, their youthful complexions wrought with confusion and desire. Look at me, I thought, look at the debased whore who bends over for it in public. You can all have me. All at once. Make a bridge of my body and fill me until I spill continuously from my gaping holes.

You’re getting worse, Becky. Lucy’s voice echoed teasingly in my mind.

You made me like this! I mentally moaned back.

I made you to be so much more, but you’re coming along nicely. Lucy replied, the cruelty mixing with the affection in her tones.

Am I ready? I asked, giving her big, hopeful eyes, eyes wrought with vulnerability and submission, just like she wanted. Just like I wanted. Lucy smirked at me, her red lips pursing around a cigarette, the smoke tumbling slowly from them. I didn’t have to be told what to do. I unbuttoned my shirt with one hand, and pulled a breast free. A woman walking her dog stopped and gawked at me. A jogger did a double take, then slowed down to do the same. They watched me as I grabbed my breast, and tilted it so that the nipple faced Lucy. It was pink and erect, contoured with gooseflesh, circled with tattoos and pierced with a golden ring. It longed for the heat. Lucy pulled her cigarette from her lips, exhaled the smoke through her nostrils, then lowered the orange embers to my chest, and extinguished them on my presented nipple. I cried out, my voice wrought with delight and agony. Oh, the pain was absolutely exquisite. It seemed to burn a line from my tortured node to my defiled anus, both senses heightening the other, both senses only intensified by the thrill of my humiliation. She’d ruined me, ruined me long ago.

You’re almost ready. Lucy said, You just have to do one thing.

Anything! I mentally screamed, beyond desperate. I was undulating now, my hips rocking lecherously, my chest jutting forth before the deepening arch of my back.

“You have to give me your children.” Lucy breathed against me, her supple body pressing its tantalizing warmth, hinting at the pleasure it could provide. And the pain.

“No.” I whispered back, brow furrowing as I strained to keep control of my mind. The lust had my body completely, and the masochistic whore it compelled to the surface almost had the keys to the driver’s seat.

“No?” Lucy giggled, “I believe the contract you signed meant your soul belonged to me.”

“But not theirs!” I moaned, my hips rotating to the twist of Lucy’s finger, shifting to the will of the puppeteer.

“When you make a deal with the devil, you should know you’re going to get fucked, Becky.” Lucy put our foreheads together, and I watched her irises change from hazel to gold, and the pupils change from circles to reptilian slits.

“Why do you want them?” I asked, my mind hazing with pleasure.

“I’ll tell you when the time comes.” Lucy crinkled her nose, “I’ve always been one for theatrics, after all.”

“I’ll die for them.” I hissed hoarsely, my crotch damp.

“Oh, you will, Becky.” Lucifer licked my parted lips with her snake-like forked tongue, “But it’s too late to save them; they’re already waiting for us.” I didn’t see the knife that killed me.

DANIEL

The low fall sun had disappeared behind the clouds, dulling the view. Barren fields strewn with spent corn stalks blurred past me, the occasional derelict farmhouse interrupting the landscape. Interstate 80 was usually pretty busy at this time of day, but I hadn’t seen a car for miles. Not since my near-miss with the semi. The radio had gone dead, only playing static. Fucking antenna was malfunctioning again. I passed a billboard for a strip club, the sign peeling and faded from years of neglect. I could barely make out the image of a devil woman arching her back from a pole, with font meant to evoke neon below it. Welcome to Hell was the tagline for the venue, Located off exit 666.

“Huh.” I mused aloud, “There’s no exit 666. Those dumb fucks are gonna lose customers for that pun.”

Three miles later, I approached a road sign marking the upcoming rest stops and gas stations. Perdition Gentlemen’s Club, Beelzebub’s Burgers, The Inferno Inn, Brimstone Tires. Exit 666, all lanes.

“All lanes?!” I exclaimed, “Then it’s not a fucking exit, is it? Goddamn it, am I even on I-80 anymore? Of course not. No wonder there’s no fucking cars. Must’ve accidentally veered into an onramp when I missed that truck.”

I pulled onto the shoulder, and took out my phone. No signal, of course. This was starting to feel like a Stephen King novel. I sighed, and rummaged through my glovebox, trying to find the GPS.

“You lost, Sugar?” a sultry female voice asked from my window. I jolted upright, my heart blasting against my breastbone. She was leaning against my driver’s side door, a pair of hazel eyes staring amusedly, and a pair of pale tits barely concealed by a generous neckline.

“Nice cheekbones!” I stammered, my malfunctioning brain projecting the observation.

“Thanks, Sugar.” The woman winked, long lashes closing over her smirking eye. Holy shit, she was hot. No one would ever look at this brunette and say she was ‘beautiful,’ though she certainly was, but her posture, expression and attitude created an aura of sex so vulgar, that she could only be described as ‘hot.’

“Do you know how to get to I-80 from here?” I asked, realizing as I spoke that I was yelling each word.

“I can get you to where you need to go, if you give me a ride.” The woman grinned, displaying sparkling white teeth beneath lush, red lips. Oh, those lips had been in some naughty, naughty places, I could tell just by the evil quirk of her smile. There was a promise in her hazel eyes, a promise I knew she’d keep if I let her in, but I couldn’t. Mom had just gotten out of rehab again, and I needed to pick her up. If I abandoned her for my own desires, then I was no better than her, and I’d sworn I’d never be like her.

“I need to get to I-80.” I reaffirmed, more to myself than the woman.

“No, you don’t.” The brunette’s grin broadened.

“Excuse me?” I said, taken aback.

“Your Mom’s not waiting for you outside of Better Lives Rehabilitation Center.” The woman chuckled, then glanced down the highway, “She’s waiting for you there.”

I gawked wordlessly at the woman, then followed her gaze, and looked through my windshield. The highway lead down an immense decline that narrowed to the horizon, and the horizon was on fire. The sky was a great ceiling of rock, the clouds were black fumes spewed from calderas, and the landscape was a treachery of jagged peaks and sheer cliffs. All around the brimstone ground, naked bodies bathed in red light were writhing together in a horrific orgy, the debauchery stretching as far as the eye could see. The cracks of whips, the clanking of chains, the slaps of flesh and the rub of leather all created a terrible percussion beneath the droning symphony of screams and wails. And though the tones of the damned were agonized, they were also dripping with some terrible euphoria, some pleasure too great for mere vocal cords to exalt.

That truck killed me, didn’t it? I thought.

“It did.” She answered from the passenger’s seat. I looked to her, and wasn’t surprised at all to see a woman of black hair, crimson flesh, golden eyes, and onyx lips. Curved horns protruded from her wavy mane, her elegant spine continued into a tail above her succulent backside, and her eyes bore slit pupils. She licked her lips with a serpent’s tongue, then produced a cigarette, and lit it with a flick of her thumb.

“Drive.” The devil commanded softly. I didn’t feel like arguing.

“How did Mom die?” I asked as I shifted in gear. My beat-to-shit pickup had turned into Lamborghini Diablo, of course.

“She’s been on borrowed time for nineteen years. Now her debts are due.” The devil said, the smoke from her lips forming an inverted cross in the air.

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out.” The devil flashed her dazzling smile at me. The wheel jerked in my hand, and I let go, letting the overpowered super-car drive itself. The devil giggled at my startled reaction, then blew the shape of a heart from her smoky mouth. The wisps hit my face, sucked into my nostrils, and filled my sinuses with a spicy aroma. “You can call me ‘Lucy,’ by the way.” Lucy said, black lips creasing, “I’m getting sick of you mentally referring to me as ‘the devil.’”

“Oh, uh… sorry.” I mumbled.

“Don’t ever apologize in hell.” Lucy chuckled, “What’s it matter anymore if you’re sorry?” She brushed a wavy curtain of black hair from one of her eyes, and grinned from the top of her brow, “You take what you want down here.”

“I want you.” I said without thinking. Lucy’s black lips parted to yield her slithering tongue, and the forked tip circled her mouth below ravenous eyes.

“Careful what you wish for, Danny-boy.” She purred, and I was naked in a bed of satin sheets, my arms and legs chained to the post in a compromising spread-eagle. I looked out the window to see the landscape zipping by, and my disoriented mind figured I was in a trailer hitched to whatever was now driving us. She stood before me, her red cleavage bulging from the top of a black leather corset, her red ass bulging from a black leather thong, and her red thighs constrained by black leather boots. She walked domineeringly around the bed, the click of her heels telling me her boots were stilettos, the crack of her whip telling me I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut. The low, red light cast her face in shadows, giving her already-menacing portrait an even more threatening appearance.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Danny-boy.” Lucy said softly, “If you answer them right, I’ll be happy. If you answer them wrong, I’ll still be happy, but you won’t be.” She accentuated the last word with a snap of the whip.

“I’ll talk!” I squeaked.

“And I’ll listen.” Lucy grinned, and laid the whip across my nipples. I looked down, and realized that despite everything, I was sporting a skin-splitting erection. Lucy’s eyes followed mine, and then reconnected, a sparkle in her regard. “Now,” she said softly, her voice like poisoned honey, “where is your sister?”

“What?!” I exclaimed, and Lucy wrenched the whip away. The threaded cord seared across my nipples, and I cried out, my hands balling to fists above my shackled wrists.

“I believe I was the one asking the questions.” Lucy purred, and trailed her finger softly over the flesh she’d just tortured. Oh… oh, it was good. Too good. Her caress was overly gentle, barely a touch at all, but it prickled the flesh with delightful tingles. “I don’t want to hurt you, Danny-boy.” Lucy said softly, sounding like a concerned mother, “I want to please you, but if you don’t give me what I want, I’m going to have to punish you. Now, where is your sister?”

“She’s at the Des Moines Civic Center.” I muttered. Lucy laughed, and by the tone of her laugh, I knew I just bought myself some pain.

“The Des Moines Civic Center?!” She sputtered, “Was that the best you could do?” And the whip snapped across my belly again, and again, and again. Each motion was effortlessly casual from her, as though she were swatting a fly, but each snap laid a welt on my flesh that only grew more painful with time. I yelped at the first two, cried out at the third, then bellowed at the last two, my back arching from the bed. Once again, she calmed me with her tender caress, tracing the lines of her abuse with her fingertips, turning pain to pleasure with just a touch. This time, I moaned when she did it, and she looked up at me with a knowing smile.

“Just like your mother.” She chuckled.

“What?”

“You just can’t help yourselves.”

“What?”

“Say ‘what’ again.” Lucy said huskily, putting a finger to my lips, “Say it one more time, I double-dare you, mother fucker.”

“Pulp Fiction?”

“I’m a bit of a cinephile.” Lucy smirked, tracing my mouth, “And if you don’t watch out, we’ll be reenacting a certain snuff film I watched the other day.” Lucy propped one foot on the bed, the thick leg bending alluringly, the stiletto heel pushing into the mattress an inch below my testicles. She pivoted her weight on that heel to lean over me, and as the bend of her knee increased, the sole of her boot slowly pushed my throbbing cock against my belly. I was terrified, and I’d never been so turned on in my life. Little spurts of precum shot from my tip and pooled into my navel, and before I knew what I was doing, I was moaning again.

“My, my, my, aren’t you a little treat?” Lucy chuckled over me, her bulging cleavage practically spilling from her corset. She pet my ,hair as I writhed beneath her pressing sole, the gentleness of her hand juxtaposing the cruelty of her foot. But the pain was no longer something I shied from, for each excruciating addition of weight only heightened the pleasure I garnered from it. She finally pushed her toes down, and I gritted my teeth against the agony and ecstasy.

“Your sister, Danny.” Lucy whispered above me, her golden eyes seeped in malice and tenderness alike. I could’ve stayed there forever, stuck in the duality of my newfound perversion.

“She’s at my house.” I croaked.

“That’s where she died, but that’s not where she is.” Lucy said, and the excruciating weight in my crotch intensified. My hands became claws of tensed fingers, my toes curled, and my legs thrashed below me. Oh, it was good. So, terribly, good.

“She’s dead?!” I managed, the revelation filtering through.

“Yes,” Lucy said, and now her face was hovering over mine, her body parallel above me, almost all her weight pressing on my throbbing shaft, “but she’s missing.”

“She’s in heaven then!” I yelled.

“Sorry, Danny-boy,” Lucy said, and she actually did sound genuine, “but Emily didn’t make it.”

“I! Don’t! Know! Where! She! Is!” I gasped each word. Lucy tilted her head forward, her black hair drawing a curtain over my face, the strands tickling my forehead and cheeks.

“I believe you.” She said softly, and her forked tongue slipped from her black lips to trace the outline of my panting mouth, “Now…” she whispered directly into my ear, “do you want me to stop?”

“No.” I breathed.

“I didn’t think so.” She chuckled, “The safe word is ‘Emily;’ I want to hear you moan her name.”

“It was you!” I snarled, “You’re the one who’s been putting those fucked up thoughts in my head!”

“Fucked up thoughts?” Lucy cocked her head confusedly, “What are you talking…” Lucy trailed off, and her eyes widened above mine, “Oh Danny-boy,” she grinned, lifting her heel, shifting it forward, and slowly pressing it down, “you belong here, you sick, twisted, fuck.”

Her heel pushed into my balls, indenting the mattress beneath them until there was no more give. My chains rattled as I squirmed beneath her, trapped in the pain, a slave to the pleasure, bellowing in hoarse tones as the pressure in my balls increased. My cock elevated with the rise of her foot, and it throbbed excruciatingly, bubbling with the imminence of release. The roiling in my loins escalated, the pain in my crotch was unbearable, but I reveled in it, staring rapturously into the merciless eyes of my mistress.

“Say it,” Lucy hissed in my ear, “say her name.”

“EMILY!” I screamed, and I erupted. I thrusted as Lucy released the pressure of her heel, and I showered myself with my seed, spilling it across my belly, chest, and chin. I didn’t care. I was in a torrent of ecstasy, my entire being seeming to be sucked out of the end of my cock, pumping through my loins like a hose.

“There, baby, there.” Lucy cooed softly, trailing her fingers through my hair. She took a dollop of what had spilled on my chin, and brought her finger to her lips.

“Mmm.” She hummed hedonistically, drawing the finger through her pursed mouth, “Oh, you are decadent, Danny-boy.” Her slit pupils dilated, and her posture grew languorous. She eased herself downward, her golden eyes watching me. Her breath caressed my shaft, and it twitched alive, curving with unnatural engorgement. Her tongue slithered from her wet mouth, and wrapped thrice about me. I sucked in air through gritted teeth, and her open mouth quirked in a lazy smile, then wrapped around my head, and took in the entirety of her meal. Oh… oh sweet baby Jesus.

You don’t have to worry about him down here, Danny-boy. Lucy chuckled in my mind. Her lips pillowed wetly against my throbbing girth, a soft succulence to ease the tortuous aching of my erection. Inch after inch of me disappeared into her, the tip pushing easily through the resistance of her throat, and then nestling into her neck. I could see my bulge from the outside, but Lucy didn’t strain at all. She swallowed continuously around me, her golden eyes twinkling, knowing unabashedly how good she was. My head fell back against the pillow, and I groaned. She drew upward, her red cheeks growing gaunt below her extravagant cheekbones, her lips pulling from her mouth. She stroked me with her tongue as she sucked me, moving the lassoed member in contest with her pulling lips. It took all my willpower not to blow right there. She drew all the way up, then popped my cock from her black mouth, letting it waggle freely with a fresh sheen of her spit. My needful protest sounded high and pathetic, and Lucy delighted in it. She wrapped her delicate fingers about my girth, and laid my length against her face. She smelled me, drawing her nose up my shaft until she got to the head, then she licked her lips once more, and dove back in.

Up and down, up and down. Her golden eyes never left mine, staring intently as she gurgled softly, never gagging, but slurping and squelching, making me vanish and reappear. She wasn’t sucking my cock; she was consuming me, and it seemed to be more for her pleasure than mine, for she touched herself as she did it, pushing one hand down her panties.