A Date with The Devil

*****

Their destination was perhaps the largest property in the long, leafy road. And its number, Mary Rose noted, matched the one written on her pad.

So there was the ballgame. No reason to opt out now, was there?

As Bruno pulled up lights went on in a car parked across from them and a well-dressed man got out via the passenger-side door.

'Worry not,' said Bruno, 'he's one of mine.'

Already masked, feeling vaguely self-conscious, Mary Rose climbed out of the low, luxury vehicle and watched as the newcomer got in the Ferrari and drove it away. Meanwhile the other car coughed into life and headed off in the opposite direction.

'We'll get a cab afterwards,' Bruno explained. 'Alcohol is very much on the cards.'

Mary Rose nodded. Bruno might have more money than sense but he wasn't stupid. Driving around in his red-flag-to-a-bull phallic symbol was always likely to get him pulled. And London traffic cops were as ferocious as any on the planet. Sniff a grape on your breath and they'd lock you up in a jiffy.

After accidentally breaking your arms and losing the key.

That was the way he told it, anyhow. Mary Rose had more time for cops, by and large, but still didn't fancy getting on the wrong side of them.

Not when she was out to drink, eat and make merry.

'I won't ask how late we'll be,' she said, 'or where the cab will be taking us. I'll let it be a surprise.'

'It'll be late enough.'

'Good.'

*****

Number 39 really was large. It could very easily have been a nursing home, or a hotel or some sort of fancy private school. Taking into account its location, Mary Rose guessed it had to be worth well north of two million, even during the never-ending global recession.

As they approached an enormous, studded wooden door it opened and a butler ushered them in.

Lurch, she thought instinctively.

'The changing rooms are to the left,' Lurch said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Bruno clearly knew the way. Taking Mary Rose by the arm he led her into a sizeable room that was equipped with lockers and a vast selection of robes, all in black.

'Don't worry too much about the fit,' he said. 'You won't be wearing it for long.'

Pre-warned, not at all bashful, Mary Rose kicked off her heels and stepped out of her quite expensive, off-the-shoulder dress. By the time she'd stowed it and her shoes in a vacant locker Bruno was down to his boxers.

'Remind me,' she said coquettishly, 'should I leave my lingerie on or not?'

'Unfortunately it has to come off,' he replied. 'You can leave it on later, when it's just me and you.'

Mary Rose's robe was made from some silky material and felt surprisingly soft. It also smelt like it had been very recently laundered. She put it on over her otherwise naked body, fastening it with the neck clasp and a thick cord at the waist.

'Now I really am horny,' she confessed, enjoying the press of material against her erect nipples.

Part of Bruno was also erect, but he shook his head when Mary Rose started to advance on him.

'Not yet,' he said, 'and not with me. Not until much later.'

'Spoilsport,' she countered, grinning.

*****

There wasn't anything Addams Family-like about the interior of the house. It was Victorian but not in any way outdated. In fact it was tastefully decorated and furnished. And the gigantic reception room was buzzing with guests, all of them wearing masks, matching black robes and clutching crystal wine glasses.

'Bruno,' a tall, powerful looking man with a shiny bald head gushed. 'I'm so glad you could come.'

Mary Rose did a double-take. The tall man's robe was scarlet, making him stand out. There again, everything about the man made him stand out. If ever a guy was born to lead, this was he.

'This is the delightful Mary Rose,' Bruno responded. 'Isn't she something else?' Then, with a flourish of a gesture, 'Mary Rose, this is Apollyon. He's responsible for the lavish hospitality.'

Mary Rose knew how a guest should behave. She smiled into Apollyon's eyes and wiggled her tits as he kissed her hand.

'I'm glad to be here,' she said, truthfully.

'And I'm enchanted you feel able to join us,' he countered. 'Please, help yourselves to food and drink. I look forward to catching up with you during the course of the evening.'

The man was, Mary Rose decided, watching him askance, not at all badly built. Neither were most of the other masked men circulating around.

Who was that masked man? she asked herself.

And who cared? By her calculations there were perhaps thirty guests, split sixty-forty with men in the preponderance.

Which made it all the more fun for the women, no?

Bruno was busy loading plates with vol au vents, smoked salmon and the likes. He wasn't sizing up the masked females as far as she could tell.

But why should he? She could do that easily enough for herself.

Grinning inwardly, Mary Rose sipped vino. She was still very relaxed. The luxurious house was full of beautiful, obviously rich people. Yes, even barefoot and dressed in plain robes, the reek of affluence was in the air.

Better yet, they were all there to let their hair down and fuck away from home.

Hard work, but someone had to do it.

And variety was the spice of life, wasn't it? Invitations to orgies aside, Bruno was becoming a bit of a predictable bore. Seeing each other fucking new partners could only help their relationship.

Or so she told herself, knowing it was really kill or cure.

They stood awhile together, idly chatting, eating from the cold buffet, their glasses perpetually refilled by scantily clad waiters and waitresses. Slightly, surprisingly woozy, Mary Rose caught herself eying a waitress's ass and laughed.

Ogling a girl's ass wasn't a new experience. Indeed ogling a girl's ass was one of the first lessons she had learned at The Manor.

Bruno didn't know that, of course. She wasn't ashamed of her sexuality but didn't openly advertise. So far as he was aware she was a man-eater, full stop.

Well, he'd just have to live and learn, wouldn't he?

Accepting yet another top-up she decided the background music was, to say the least, weird. Maybe it was retro punk . . . meaning performed by one of those bands whose members had been picked for appearance and couldn't actually play their instruments.

The food was good, though. And the wine was flowing in sweet rivers.

'Thank you, thank you,' Apollyon suddenly cried, clapping to claim undivided attention. 'Please follow me into the chapel. Let's get the serious business over with, so we can enjoy ourselves.'

Thirty lusty throats endorsed his idea as good.

Mary Rose endorsed as enthusiastically as anyone.

Chapter Four

The chapel was attached to the house and accessed by a typically lavish corridor. But there the luxury ended. The chapel was made from cold stone and little else. It had a raised altar without an altar cloth and no pews. In fact the only obvious "seating" consisted of black sheep fleeces that had been strewn here and there about the flagged floor.

The first thing Mary Rose noticed was that the cross behind the altar was broken.

That's been done on purpose, she thought. Then, wide-eyed: Oh my word, it's a satanic mass!

Freaking shit, it really is!!

Then she shrugged. Bruno had told her to expect "role play". And the black robes had been indicative enough, hadn't they?

I'm not religious, she reminded herself, and so it doesn't matter . . . leastways not unless they're going to start sacrificing cockerels or something. That'd be too much.

Apollyon had taken up a position on the dais, beside the altar rather than behind it. Not that he would have had much room behind the altar; most of the space back there was taken up by the large statue of a goat with a gigantic black candle wedged between its horns.

'Welcome to my consecrated crypt,' Apollyon said, his voice strong, very much that of a preacher.

Two acolytes were circulating, distributing more black candles as they went. Musing on the use of the word "crypt", Mary Rose followed her fellow guests and lit her candle from the one wedged onto the goat before depositing it in one of many holders on the walls.

As more and more candles were lit and deposited the recessed overhead lighting gradually dimmed. By the time the last candle was in position the overheads were off altogether.

Isn't a crypt supposed to be underground?

Mary Rose shrugged again. There were no windows so she couldn't be sure, but the chapel didn't feel to be underground. And that corridor hadn't been noticeably downward sloping.

Or had it?

And wasn't that flickering candlelight something else?

With both his acolytes standing to his left, facing his random scattering of guests, Apollyon mumbled something in Latin. Or rather, he mumbled something that sounded to a budding lawyer like Latin.

As if on cue a woman entered the chapel, walking slowly down the aisle like a bride-to-be. Well, like a bride-to-be apart from being stark naked and carrying a glowing white candle in each hand.

Mary Rose had an eye for girls and this one was a stunner: exceptionally tall and blonde with nice tits. No mask, either. Maybe she wanted to be spoken about.

'She's the Holy Virgin,' Bruno whispered.

Shameless, the blonde perched on the altar, her legs apart, laughing as thirty pairs of eyes feasted on her.

Reverting to English, Apollyon held up a vial of reddish fluid.

'Menstrual blood,' he cried theatrically, pouring the contents into a large golden chalice.

Then, holding up a much smaller vial, he cried, 'Semen,' and added it to the brew.

Knowing she should be distinctly uneasy, Mary Rose wondered if her drinks had been spiked.

How on earth could she be watching this without laughing?

How on earth could she be actually enjoying herself?

But she was. She even joined in the murmur of appreciation when Apollyon held the chalice for the Holy Virgin to pee into, her aim less than perfect.

'Sip the blood of Christ,' Apollyon said to his nearest acolyte, passing him the brimming chalice. The acolyte complied, taking what appeared to be a mighty gulp rather than a sip.

'And you.'

The second acolyte complied just as willingly.

'Freshly stolen,' Apollyon went on, flourishing what Mary Rose took to be a piece of sacred bread or "Host", presumably filched from a nearby church.

With all eyes on him, Apollyon dipped the bread into the chalice, soaking it through before throwing it down and stomping it into the flags.

'I shit on the body of Christ,' he shouted.

'Do what thou wilt,' twenty voices replied loudly. 'Shit on the imposter.'

'You,' Apollyon beckoned the nearest guest. 'Come, be blessed and reap your reward.'

The guest eagerly stepped forward. Dipping his fingers into the chalice, Apollyon sprinkled drops of fluid over him and pointed to the Holy Virgin, who had left the altar and was lying on her back on the bare stone floor. So far as Mary Rose could see, she hadn't bothered finding a fleece.

Throwing off his robe, brandishing a decent-sized erection, the guest hurried to the virgin, mounting and entering her missionary-style, without as much as a by-your-leave.

'Fuck the bitch,' a chorus of voices urged. 'Fuck the whore.'

By then the other guests had formed a ragged sort of a queue, the ones at the front tearing off their robes in anticipation, male and female alike.

'You,' said Apollyon, beckoning another guy forward. 'Be blessed and reap your reward.'

The guy accepted his sprinkling and approached the Holy Virgin. Still happily being fucked by the first guest, she took him in her mouth.

'Fuck the bitch,' the onlookers cried. 'Fuck the whore.'

Next forward was a woman. She accepted her sprinkling then stood to one side, masturbating as she watched the action.

The person immediately after her was probably her escort. He accepted his sprinkling then, seemingly oblivious to all onlookers, lined himself up behind the man fucking the Holy Virgin.

Mary Rose gasped as the escort's cock slid up the crack of the other man's ass, missing the target a couple of times before finally sinking in.

Why oh why wasn't she appalled by such behaviour!

'Fuck the bitch,' a dozen voices urged.

'Fuck him too, fuck him harder,' a dozen more countered.

Taking his blessing, yet another guy entered the fray. This one strode straight up to the masturbating woman spectator. She dropped to her knees and swallowed him whole.

'You,' said Apollyon, pointing out Mary Rose, even though she wasn't anywhere near the head of the queue, 'you next.'

*****

Mary Rose didn't flinch from the sprinkled drops of blood, sperm and pee. In fact she hardly noticed them.

No, she was captivated by Apollyon's eyes, glowing red in the iffy candlelight.

Okay, so maybe she'd been drugged, but surely she'd also been hypnotized.

But did she care?

'You get the Holy Virgin,' Apollyon said softly, perhaps so only she could hear. 'You'll like that, won't you?'

She nodded. 'Anything for you,' she said, mouthing words her brain hadn't computed.

'I know,' he agreed, 'but first things first.'

Chapter Five

Mary Rose didn't have a problem with shrugging off her robe and approaching the Holy Virgin. By that stage in proceedings the stunning girl had shrugged off her first wave of lovers and was upright again. Upright, alone and waiting for her.

Hornier than heck, Mary Rose returned her grin. Right then she actually appreciated having a decent-sized audience and hoped that everyone was watching, and not up to independent physical mischief.

In other words she hoped they were going to watch her fuck, not fucking for their own greedy selves.

Still woozy and as uninhibited as ever, she smiled at the blonde, noting her lust-crazed eyes, feeling empathy for her.

No, feeling at one with her.

'I'll do anything for you,' she said, her brain out of gear.

The Holy Virgin offered up her lips.

Mary Rose kissed them.

Only to be shocked when fluid was immediately passed into her mouth.

She knew what it was, naturally. It was semen from the guy the not-so-Holy Virgin had just sucked off.

Whatever; Mary Rose wasn't in the market for shirking. Not with dozens of people potentially watching her, dozens of sophisticated men and women, waiting to decry any weakness.

Without breaking contact she gulped down the salty fluid and pressed with her tongue, pushing it into the Holy Virgin's mouth. She responded by pressing down on Mary Rose's shoulders.

'Eat it,' she commanded.

Mary Rose obediently sank to her knees. She couldn't see too well in the dodgy candlelight. Even so, it was clear the Holy Virgin's thighs were glistening. Part semen, part lady, she presumed. Combining to make a tasty treat for later, after she'd chewed some clit.

'Ah yes,' the blonde sighed, articulating all the world's pleasures in one breath. 'Eat her right up. Eat up the fucking whore. Lick her. Lick her like there's no tomorrow.'

Mary Rose didn't need telling twice; not in circumstances like that. Slowly, very delicately, she ran the tip of her tongue down what had to be the world's best defined clitoral hood.

The Holy Virgin wailed out appreciation.

Mary Rose slightly shifted position and drifted lower, penetrating vagina, not caring about the blend of juices flooding into her mouth, not letting herself wonder "who" or "how many".

'Eat her,' her willing victim screamed. 'Eat the fucking whore! Eat her right up!!'

Suddenly Mary Rose's attentions were no longer unique. Yet another male guest was behind the Holy Virgin. One of the hardest cocks of all time was intruding, roughly evicting Mary Rose's tongue, taking its place.

'Fuck the whore,' the blonde wailed. 'Oh yes, fuck her. Fuck her good!'

The sounds of sex were all around. Without breaking off to check it was impossible to know for sure, but it seemed like all of the guests were by now rutting. Taking into account the uneven balance, that meant a lot of grateful women were getting a lot of attention.

And, taking into account the Neanderthal grunts and groans, shrieks and moans, everyone present was by now getting what they wanted.

Talking about Neanderthal grunts and groans . . .

Without varying the motion of her tongue on swollen clit, Mary Rose's hand slid between the blonde's legs, fastening around the faceless man's hairy balls. Squeezing them, tugging on them . . .

'Yes, yes, yes,' the Holy Virgin squealed, 'in her! Shoot it in the fucking whore!! Shoot it in her cunt!!'

The faceless man almost instantly obliged. Mary Rose had fingertip evidence of his earnestness.

'Fuck yes,' he moaned, his tone the very epitome of sexual gratification.

Mary Rose was waiting for a fresh gush, ready to lap it up along with the rest of her tasty treat.

But strong hands gripped her, pulling her up and away.

It was Apollyon, his scarlet robe unfastened, his erection prodigious.

Instantly forgetting about everyone else Mary Rose wrapped herself around him, her legs high over his hips, her groin on his rather massive cock which was already intruding, opening her . . . opening her in a debauched but very pleasant way.

'Ah yes,' she sighed in her turn.

Inside her, filling her, Apollyon began to move. Mary Rose clung ever tighter, holding him in as deeply as she could.

'Come on,' she urged, reading his accelerating motion, knowing what it meant, 'cum for me.'

He did, almost hair-trigger fast. But he didn't quit.

Oh no, he carried her away from the altar.

Still woozy, Mary Rose caught glimpses of her surroundings. Unless she was very much mistaken the Holy Virgin was being double-penetrated whilst giving yet another blowjob. The other guests were all in twos, threes and fours, up to similar tricks.

Bruno was nowhere to be seen.

Not that she really tried to locate him.

The movement of Apollyon's cock inside her was simply delicious. He wasn't currently fucking her but by merely walking he was doing wonderful things.

Then, without prior warning, someone was behind her.

Make that a male someone.

Held up off the ground as she was, firmly impaled by Apollyon's throbbing manhood, she was hanging like a lamb to the slaughter. The unseen stranger stroked her ass, fingered it then pressed something all the more meaningful against her.

This was a first but Mary Rose didn't care. Staring into Apollyon's swirling red, mesmerizing eyes, she laughed out loud.

'Oh yes,' she cried, 'fuck the whore. Fuck her hard as you can.'

Chapter Six

(Saturday 29th May 2010)

Heather Hunter patiently listened to her oldest, bestest school chum's telephoned account before summarizing.

'So,' she began, 'you wantonly agreed to go to an orgy with three dozen strangers. You didn't protest when you were given drugged wine. In fact you accepted more and more and guzzled it down. Then you proceeded to shag six different men.'

'And three different women,' said Mary Rose, helpfully.

'But those numbers are vague estimates,' Heather went on, 'because you can't remember everything. Come to that, you might have shagged with twice as many people as you're admitting.'

'I'm more hazy than forgetful,' said Mary Rose. 'But you know I'd never lie to you. That's why I've only told you about the ones I'm sure of.'

Heather sighed deeply. She was a banker and had just had the week from Hell. That is to say, she'd just had her hundredth consecutive week from Hell. Gordon Brown's well-publicized heroics in 2008 hadn't actually resolved anything. At least not as far as the guys and gals at West Yorkshire Bank had noticed. In their considered opinion he might even have made things worse.

She would have celebrated him now being out of the equation . . . if this new Cameron coalition crew had inspired a little more confidence.