A Night at McHooligans

Rosa didn't care. She ran her finger across her bloody breast, scooping up the blood. She looked down at Phil with an expression of coquettish innocence as she inserted the finger between her soft red lips and sucked.

Phil gasped in pleasure as her vagina clenched around his cock and pumped it with muscular squeezes.

Oh fuck, Phil thought, trembling as warm waves of bliss washed through his body.

An object flew across his field of vision, trailing red droplets like the tail of a bloody comet. A warm liquid splashed against Phil's chest.

Fuck, was that someone's arm?

It was. The image of a slowly turning hand and part of a severed forearm was seared forever into Phil's memory.

A heavy object landed on the table behind Phil's head with a wet thud and carried on rolling until it came to rest against one of the corner pockets. Phil didn't want to turn and see what it was. It sounded about the same size and shape as a severed human head.

His stomach shuddered.

Rosa grabbed the side of his head and forced him to look up into her piercing eyes. The blue orbs glittered with irritation.

"Hey warlock, don't lose focus while we're fucking," she said.

"Sorry," Phil stammered.

He tried not to think about the object he could just about see the edge of in the corner of his eye. He had a horrible feeling it was staring at him.

"I'm finding things a little off-putting," he said.

Rosa tilted her head to the side and frowned.

"It's not wise to criticise the erotic abilities of a succubus," she said. "Now I'll have to use sex magic on you."

Rosa whispered words in an alien language that dripped from her lips like forbidden honey. Then she leant down so her face was right above Phil's and exhaled.

A thick cloud of pink perfume enveloped Phil's head. The sweet scent filled his lungs and when the smoke cleared from Phil's eyes he found he was lying in a different room. The hard pool table beneath him was gone. Instead he was lying on a large, luxuriously soft bed with crimson satin sheets. The blood-spattered pub was gone. He was lying in an opulent bedroom, surrounded by mirrors and ornate jewellery. It could have been the bedchamber of a queen or princess.

Rosa was still there, still above him, still straddling his body. She placed soft hands on either side of his chest and let her hips rise and fall with slow strokes.

Already the memories of the charnel house pub and bloodstained pool table were fading from his mind. Like insubstantial wisps of perfume.

Pool table...?

Phil's face scrunched up in confusion. What had he been thinking about?

Rosa gave a little sigh of pleasure as she impaled herself fully on his throbbing manhood.

Whatever, it wasn't important. The only thing that mattered was this vision of beauty riding him. Philip placed his hands on the warm curves of her rump and tensed his buttocks as he drove his manhood up into her luscious folds.

Rosa's cheeks reddened and her eyes closed with pleasure. Such a heavenly creature, Philip thought. He pushed harder against the bed, straining to fill her completely with the meat of his sex. She pushed back at him, her vagina squeezing tightly around him. The room was filled with their sighs and moans, a soft duet of their shared pleasures.

She started to ride him with greater vigour and Philip was taken back by the force of her ardour. To think his pretty little Rose should be so keen. He ceased thrusting and let her have the whip hand as she rode him faster and harder. He lay back on the soft satin sheets and admired the perfect curves of her breasts as they bobbed and swayed before him.

Faster and faster, her wet sex sliding over him like liquid silk. Philip trembled in blissful anticipation as he felt his juices rise.

So adept, his delicate little Rose.

Her heavenly sex gripped and squeezed him, as dexterous as a hand.

Yes, he thought, feeling the blessed release as he emptied his seed into the moist earth of her womb. He collapsed back on the bed with a mighty sigh, letting the waves of the pleasurable aftermath wash through his body.

His Rose wasn't finished yet. Neither, Philip was surprised to find, was he.

She paused only to gather her breath and then began to ride him again. Faster. Harder.

It wasn't possible. He couldn't go again, not so soon. He couldn't... ooo...

Her thrusting hips pressed against him and he sank deeper into the luxuriously soft bed. His manhood sank deeper and deeper between the dripping folds of her sex. Flesh softer than the plushest cushions pressed all around his manhood. Her sex engulfed him like a mouth and like a mouth it hungrily sucked on him, hungry for more of his seed. His juices were rising again even though that shouldn't be possible.

His Rose was not the fragile bloom she seemed.

And she would not be denied.

She gripped his chest tightly and let her weight drive him deeper and deeper into the tight grip of her womanhood. The claws on her thumbs toyed with his nipples.

His Rose?

He looked up into the visage of a demon, as terrible as she was beautiful. Great red bat wings extended from her back. Curved horns, as red as blood, poked out of hair the colour of flame. Fires twinkled in the depths of her blue eyes. She stared down at him with a sultry smile, both possessive and triumphant.

Powerful muscles tightened around his manhood and rolled up the shaft like the motions of a gulping throat. The sensation was exquisite. Irresistible. Philip cried out in surprise and ecstasy as his seed was pulled from his body. This was no release; her sex closed around his manhood and sucked the juice from his balls.

And kept sucking.

He couldn't resist. The pulsing motions continued all along his manhood, her sex imbibing his semen like a throat gulping down the finest wine. Growling her pleasure the demon pressed him deeper into the bed, forcing his manhood further and further into her body until the tip pressed into a soft cushion of flesh. It felt heavenly and Philip couldn't resist as it engulfed the head of his manhood and pumped stronger and stronger jets of seed from his body.

He couldn't stop, couldn't hold back the flow.

On and on it continued as he felt himself emptying into her. All of him: his self, soul and thoughts. Shadows spread and darkness grew in the room as the demon threw back her head and cried out in wild abandon.

No Rosa. Too much, Phil thought. You're taking too much.

The shadows in the room grew darker. His vision began to fade.

"Ahem!"

The spell was broken as Carny, back in human form, tapped Rosa on the shoulder.

"Don't drink the warlock," he said. "He seems a nice enough fellow."

Rosa looked down at Phil. Her mouth formed an 'o'.

"Oops. I'm sorry. I got carried away." She got off him.

Phil felt like he'd been released from a powerful force. He turned on his side and hacked up a series of weak coughs. He felt like he'd been forced through a twenty-four hour gym session. In the desert.

Carny handed him a bottle of water and he gratefully accepted it.

So powerful, he thought.

"I thought you were done feeding," Phil said to Rosa. Little black spots were dancing in front of his eyes.

Rosa laughed like a ditzy blonde. "I fancied a little dessert. Sorry."

"So greedy," Carny said, shaking his head.

They helped Phil off the pool table and he stood unsteadily on trembling legs. He looked around the pub.

Jesus fuck.

There was blood everywhere. It looked like someone had revved up a fleet of sentient buzzsaws and let them loose on a crowded party. Body parts were scattered across tables, on chairs, across the floor. Severed heads stared up at the ceiling with dead white eyes. Purplish-red entrails hung down from the ceiling like gory Christmas streamers.

Phil blanched. He felt his gorge rise and choked it back down. He mustn't show any kind of weakness. Not to them.

"You okay there dude?" Carny asked with a friendly smile. He was still holding onto a bottle of mineral water with a straw sticking out of it, still had those oversize headphones hanging around his neck. There wasn't a single speck of blood on either him or his clothes. Not a single speck.

Phil nodded.

So powerful. And completely terrifying.

Rosa stretched, lithe like a cat. "That was fun," she said.

"Why didn't you use magic on the big guy?" Carny asked as they walked out of the abattoir that had once been a local pub.

"It didn't seem fair to use magic on someone who couldn't," Phil replied.

Carny arched an eyebrow and gave Phil a quizzical smile.

"And how exactly is it fair for a two hundred and fifty pound man to beat on someone half their size with their fists?"

Phil paused as he mulled that one over. Good point, he thought.

They stepped out into the night and Phil was grateful for the fresh air to clear away the stench of blood. As they stood by the entrance Phil noticed something he'd missed on the way in. There was a collection of bouquets and wreaths resting against a lamppost to the left of the pub entrance. He walked over to take a closer look.

Some of the silk flowers were tatty, as if they'd been there a long time. Amongst them were fresher arrangements. In the centre, leaning against the post itself, was a small wooden board. On the board and covered with a clear plastic sheet to keep off any rain was a photograph of a young black man. The man in the picture looked around the same age as Phil and had a pleasant, easy-going smile.

"We didn't come to this place by accident did we," Phil said.

"No, we didn't," Carny said.

Over by the front door Rosa blew on her palm and a small ball of fire flew through one of the windows like a rock.

"Whuff," she said and flames sparked in the centre of the pub.

Phil looked down again at the makeshift shrine, at a face forever frozen in time. Someone had spent a great deal of love and attention in maintaining this.

"I was asked a favour," Carny said, his face unreadable as he looked down at the picture on the board.

Behind him glass popped and wood crackled as bright flames raged through the interior of the building. The pub continued to burn as the warlock, succubus and daemon walked off into the night.