Infernal

Celestian's eyes widened. "You would not!"

"Tsk, tsk, how little you seraphim know of us." Varyk shook his head, bemused. "We couple in every imaginable configuration of gender and species known to man, and many that are unknown. Do you think I'd balk and spare your virtue simply because you've grown one of these?"

He grasped the item in question between his palms and rolled it gently. A shiver of repellence went through Celestian and he lunged again in his bonds but found them every bit as impossible to break. At the same time, something tapered and hot wormed beneath Celestian's leg and under his buttock. It was the devil's tail.

"I could turn you over and take you here," Varyk said as the tip of his tail probed. "Or I could suck you until you're pleading for more."

His tongue, that evil and sly serpent that had already made mischief aplenty, curled lazily out to play along the underside of Celestian's shaft. He retracted it just in the very nick of time, for Celestian was horrified to realize that he had been on the verge of responding. That part of him had taken on some mind of its own, some mind that cared nothing for right or wrong but only for feeling and excitement.

"Or," Varyk went on, "I could find something to put in that inviting mouth of yours. What would you say to that, pretty angel? Would you bite me if I fucked your mouth?"

He leaped straight up. For a moment, he hung suspended over Celestian, leathery wings stirring up a whirlwind of smoke and cinders, tail snapping and coiling. Then he came down and landed astraddle the trapped angel's chest, knees planted under Celestian's outstretched arms and his scarlet length poking stiffly toward Celestian's face.

"I would bite you!" Celestian said.

"I would like it," laughed Varyk.

Claws snared Celestian's flowing hair and yanked his head up, bending his neck. He cried out in protest and pain, and Varyk silenced him by thrusting the hot spear of his erection fully into the angel's mouth.

"Bite me, then. Go on and bite. Or suck. It's all the same to me," Varyk said, his grin diabolical and his eyes burning. He shuttled rapidly in and out, gagging Celestian with each fore-stroke.

A taste of brimstone suffused the angel. Eager droplets like molten lava scalded the back of his throat. He tried valiantly to spit out the offending flesh, turn his head away, fight back. But Varyk was too strong and too determined.

Enraged beyond all endurance, Celestian bit down. His teeth sank into Varyk and drew blood.

"Oh, yes! Harder!" Varyk exhorted.

Celestian did not oblige. He was choking, his mouth and throat poisoned with the hellish flavor of blood and other fluids. Varyk continued his quick jabbing thrusts, growling his passion.

"It'll be … over … faster," the devil panted, "if you help."

But that, no, Celestian could never bring himself to do. He attempted to detach himself from what was happening. If it could not be fought or resisted, at least he could distance himself from this violated body and not give Varyk the satisfaction of any response.

Yet how could he distance himself from this? His mouth was being raped full of a devil's semen, and Varyk did not lose his hardness but kept going, so that Celestian could not spit it out but had to swallow, swallow it or else drown. He drank of it and felt as though boiling liquid were pouring down his throat. And still Varyk's hips pumped.

Varyk's tail was not idle either. It slithered down Celestian's body and wrapped around his penis, coiling and constricting, insistent, undeniable. That traitorous part first twitched, like an animal waking from a long sleep, and then began to grow. Horrified beyond measure, Celestian resumed his struggles and hoped that if he could not free himself, he might at least distract Varyk before the devil noticed this new plight, this new shame.

Such luck was not with him. By the mocking howl of Varyk's mirth, by the way his tail twined itself more firmly than ever, Celestian knew he was found out.

"And they say angels are so pure, so perfect, so immune to temptation! Hah! They should see you now, shouldn't they? Might change things on Earth, don't you think? If they knew that not even angels could refrain from sin, they wouldn't beat themselves up so badly about it."

The invasion of his mouth ended abruptly, Varyk drawing back. Celestian rolled his head to the side and spat out as much as he could, gathered saliva to rinse, and spat again. He was peripherally aware of the devil's movements, inching backward down his torso while the tail kept up that hideously arousing caress.

He would never be rid of the taste of Varyk. Never. It was all through him. The taint was everywhere, most of all in the dark hollow of his soul where part of him liked what he was feeling.

A new touch … Varyk's hand again. Just holding him, and squeezing in rhythmic contractions. Celestian raised his head and looked in shamed fury at the pillar that stood up so tall and proud from his loins. The devil's hand, all crimson in contrast, encircled it and tugged.

"Shall I return the favor?" Varyk leaned low and applied his tongue again. "Ask me nicely."

"Never!" The word came out broken into pieces by a wretched sob.

"Suppose I do anyway?"

"No!"

A red flare enveloped Celestian as Varyk swiftly took the entire length of him into his mouth. The angel's hips bucked helplessly. The heat was all around him, heat and fabulous, awful pleasure. His treacherous flesh reveled in it, raced uncontrollably toward the release of countless pent-up desires.

In the barest instant before he surrendered utterly, Varyk let go of him.

Celestian cried out in anguish, unable he could help himself. His lower half strained against the manacles. He was trembling just on the brink, another touch would do it, would release a copious flood of his seed, and there he was suspended in an agony of mind, body, and spirit.

"Poor angel," crooned Varyk. "So impassioned. So ready. I could take care of that for you. All you have to do is ask. Ask me. Beg me."

He wanted to, God help him, he wanted to. But he was able to lock his jaw against it, although the effort made him shake. His fists were clenched until his nails gouged at his palms. He focused on nothing more than taking a breath and letting it out, and gradually the tension diminished. His groin still ached with wanting, but he was no longer on the edge of explosion. He exhaled slowly.

"Such willpower," Varyk murmured. And the devil's voice sounded different. Softer, throatier, warmer. The laugh was like smoke, and when a hand brushed Celestian's thigh, it was velvet.

He opened his eyes to behold a demoness.

It was Varyk, and yet it wasn't. Just as he was and wasn't Celestina. This apparition – call her Varyka – had the same scarlet skin and spreading wings, the same long flexible tail. The hair was the same color, but longer, waist-length and swirling. The face was heart-shaped with large, tilted eyes. And the figure … full breasts, a wasp's waist, hips that flared in a lush curve.

She was crouched over him, and the slick hairless cleft of her sex was positioned so that all she'd have to do would be to lower herself and Celestian's damnation would be complete.

**

Chapter Seven –

The sun droned through the high windows and cast dusty rays of light through the classroom. Professor Armitage was at the head of the room, tapping the blackboard with his pointer as he lectured endlessly on structuring Latin verbs. He plodded on although it had to be plain even to him that the girls rarely attended to the lesson on the best of days.

Today, attention was at its lowest yet. Isabella slouched on the uncomfortable wooden bench, her thoughts miles away from dead languages. She was thinking about Rose, and Margaret, and the stories she'd been hearing from her classmates. Stories that made her want to fidget in her seat, stories that set her to itching with an unquenchable itch.

Not even the little toy her aunt had sent her would help much. It had never seemed a poor substitute before, that sculpted ivory device made in the shape of a cock. But last night, when she had brought it from its hiding place beneath a loose floorboard in her room, it had failed to give her the customary delight.

She wanted the real thing. When would it be her turn? She had seen with her own eyes what had happened to Catherine, lucky Catherine, who'd been mopping the downstairs hall when Caleb had come along and, without so much as a by-your-leave, flipped up her skirt over her head and whisked her underthings off and done her standing up against the wall.

Isabella had been dusting the lamp sconces not five yards away, well within view of the entire proceedings. But Caleb hadn't even looked her way. Catherine had, once or twice, but never in a mute appeal for help. No, her expression had been one of smug vindication as she hooked her ankles in the small of Caleb's back and put her arms around his neck and held on for dear life as he slammed her back into the wall with each powerful thrust.

It rankled to be neglected. Wasn't she prettier than Catherine? Let alone Margaret … although she was perhaps not quite so pretty as Abigail. Sweet, demure Abigail, who scurried from class to class like a hunted thing. She had to know that her long blond ringlets, creamy skin, and flawless features turned the rest of the girls green with envy. They'd like to see Abigail dragged down with the rest of them.

Yes, that would be gratifying. Abigail with her guardian angel, and her blushing avowal that she never thought about men that way. Abigail, who looked away whenever the naughty picture books were brought out and passed around. Innocent, righteous Abigail.

As much as Isabella wanted it to be her turn, she decided that she'd gladly put it off if there was a chance Abigail would be next. What a splendid sight that would be! Abigail's blond beauty crushed beneath Caleb's bulk … Abigail on her knees while the headmistress lashed her bottom … Abigail blindfolded and made to service the other girls with her innocent little mouth …

She shifted in her seat again and, seeing that everyone else was lost in daydreams or gazing at the slice of view afforded by the windows, dropped a hand into her lap. Professor Armitage had picked up a book from his desk and began to read aloud in his dry, dull voice.

Carefully, slowly, Isabella gathered up her skirt inch by inch until she had it piled in her lap. She wore nothing underneath. Her thighs parted just enough to admit her fingers, which sank into the damp tangle of hair to find their goal.

A gusty breath, almost a sigh, escaped her as she found the fleshy button that protruded poutingly from her nether lips. She let her eyes drift to half-lidded and imagined her cousin Frederic, and his mother, her aunt Sofia. That summer at their country house … she and Frederic, playing foolish love games in the back garden … at least, that was what she had believed at the time. Frederic, a year older and far wiser, had known exactly what he was doing when he persuaded her to show him her cunny and promised to show her his cock in return.

One thing had led to another and they had been just about to join their differences as nature intended when Aunt Sofia had found them. The wrath and punishment that Isabella expected were not forthcoming, though. On the contrary, Sofia had immediately undressed and joined them, and offered advice and instruction as her son fucked his virginal cousin.

Isabella had learned more that summer of her eighteenth year than she had in a full year at Dame Agnes of the Hills. She had been more than happy to pass on her knowledge to her friends, who could be counted on to perform oral joys for like compensation, and Aunt Sofia had presented her with the ivory tool with a smile and a kiss, telling her it would have to suffice until the holidays when she could come and visit with them again.

Memories of her aunt and her cousin and that long, lazy vacation so filled her mind and lent themselves to her solitary pleasure that she did not notice when the bell rang and the girls collected their books and slates and left the room. Only when a shadow blotted the sunlight did she gasp and look up.

Professor Armitage was beside her desk, staring thunderstruck into her lap. She had hiked her skirt higher, and braced a foot on the bench in front to give herself better access, and her cleft was plainly visible.

The instructor stammered and the pointer fell from his grasp.

She was struck with a brief flash of embarrassment that faded almost as soon as it appeared. Her hand, which had frozen in its leisurely rubbing, resumed with more purpose and she looked directly into Professor Armitage's eyes. They were round behind his glasses, mimicking the O of his gaping mouth, and in that instant he could have passed for even more of a halfwit than Caleb. But he was, she realized for the first time, not as old and musty as he had always seemed. He couldn't be more than her father's age, and was really rather handsome.

"Do you like what you see?" she breathed, pushing the desk away to expose her bare legs.

"Isabella … what are you … this is hardly …"

He was trying to sound disapproving, but the bulge in his trousers belied it. Isabella pressed her other hand against it and he jumped.

"I think you do like what you see."

His mouth worked soundlessly. She gripped him through the cloth and he reeled on his feet. By the feel of it, he was a big fellow indeed. Perhaps not quite up to Caleb's monstrous proportions, but certainly more than adequate. She gave an experimental squeeze and traced the outline of his cockhead.

"Isabella …" Was that a plea or a condemnation? Did it matter?

"Quick," she said. "Before the next class is due. Quick, fuck me. Right here. Right now."

Armitage reeled again. "No … no, we mustn't … I'll be dismissed … you'll be expelled …"

She leaned close, cupped her lips over the bulge, and blew a moist, steamy breath through the cloth of his trousers to bathe his member. He moaned and his fingers clutched at her hair, dislodging the pins so that it fell in a dark tumble to her shoulders.

"Do me," she whispered harshly.

"On the desk," he said thickly. "On my desk. Hurry."

Moments later, she was on her back with Latin texts strewn around and her dress a crumple on the floor. Armitage's trousers were unbuttoned and he was kneeling over her, fumbling in frantic need. The tip of him just touched her when they heard voices in the hall. The door was ajar, and steps came closer.

Panicked, he scrambled to get off of her but Isabella held him.

"Stick it in me," she demanded.

"We'll be caught!"

"Do it!"

With a despairing cry, he fell upon her and sank his cock with unerring accuracy precisely where she wanted it. The warm, living replacement for cold ivory went in just as the door opened to admit several of Isabella's classmates.

Professor Armitage's reaction delighted her. He must have reasoned that since he was caught, he was ruined anyway, and might as well have the best possible fuck that he could in order to make up for it. In full view of the other girls, he fucked with a frenzy that made the desk jitter and creak, sent books cascading to the floor, and drove Isabella to rapturous fits.

The girls surrounded them, oddly silent, oddly watchful. Their hands were clasped before them and it was a trick of the dancing motes of sunlight and stripes of shadow through the shutters but they could almost have been carrying candles, could almost have been cowled. They made a circle around the desk as Armitage greedily attacked Isabella's breasts, as his buttocks went up and down, as his cock rammed into her with wet smacking noises.

Rose was nearest to Isabella's head. Their eyes met. "Now?" Rose asked.

Isabella did not have to be told what she meant. "No. Not yet. I'm almost … oh, so close!"

Armitage did not give the impression of having heard the exchange. He quickened his pace, his face set in that peculiar tormented mask men wore when they were about to spend. Isabella felt him tense within her, knew it, and nodded to Rose.

"Now!"

Each of the girls brought weapons from places of hiding. Knives, winking silver in the dusty sunlight, and hatpins, and long knitting needles.

Professor Armitage shrieked in surprise and pain. His back arched and his head craned back, and at that penultimate moment Rose stepped up and slashed his throat.

His death throes pushed Isabella over the brink. She wallowed in it, the sweet thunder and crashing waves ruling her, bathing in his blood and milking his cock. When he went limp both atop and inside of her, it took five of the girls to help roll him off.

**

Chapter Eight –

The she-devil crouched over Celestian, cruel and beautiful, her tail slicing the smoky air. Although nowhere were they touching, he could feel the heat baking off of her, fanned by the sweep of her wings.

A fraction of an inch, no more, was all that separated them. She hovered there, taunting him, plucking at the maroon rubies of her nipples with her ebony claws. The war within Celestian raged unabated. He had to remain still, could not allow himself to be a participant in this … and yet all it would take was a slight upward push with his pelvis …

"If it's so wrong," Varyka whispered huskily through full, carmine lips, "why did He even make you capable of it? Did you ever think that, my pretty angel?"

A theological argument was the last thing he was prepared for. He quaked with the effort of holding his body still, absolutely still, and trying to force his thoughts away from the wanton urges that coursed through him.

"You're a fool to deny yourself," she went on with a laugh as rich and dark as chocolate. "What will it change? It only prolongs your suffering. What a silly way to behave, when with one little movement, you could have what you crave."

"No." It sounded weak, pitiful.

"Shall I spare you the onus of making the decision? Shall I lower myself onto you and let you keep your pretense of resistance?"

So saying, she bent her knees just the tiniest bit more, enough to bring the outer lips of her cleft into contact with him. He gritted his teeth against a bolt of pure lust, and somehow found the will to not move.

"Why are you making this so difficult on yourself?" purred Varyka, wriggling her hips enticingly. He could feel her molten oils coating his skin and it was almost more than he could endure.

"Perhaps just a quick sample of what you're missing," she said, and in a slow and purposeful motion sank down, surrounding him in slick tightness and liquid flame.

His scream roared up from the very heart of him, ripped from his throat, surely rocking Hell to its foundations. Varyka settled her weight onto him, her buttocks on his thighs, her hands resting lightly on his chest. She did not move except to contract around his engorged shaft, and sighed gutturally.

"Oh, my angel. How wonderful that feels … you're all the way into me now, all the way to the hilt. Do you like it?"

He prayed for deliverance, silently, refusing to look at her. To be freed from this … to be smote down and destroyed … anything except this humiliation, this violation.

"What a question," Varyka chided herself. "Of course you like it. How could you not?"

A thunder filled his head, cataclysmic and terrible.

"The only way it could be any better would be if we were to do a little of … this … I'm only doing this to demonstrate," she added as she bounced playfully up and down.

On an upstroke, she raised off of him entirely and he screamed again, this time in frustration.

"Oh, but I had to," she explained. "If I'd have kept going like that, Celestian, you would have made me come again. Surely you don't want to do that, do you? To have me ride that lovely alabaster cock of yours and use you savagely for my own demonic pleasures? Thy rod and thy staff and all?"