Beat the Devil

There only remained in the next day bringing peace to the bustling and raucous household of the Burgermeister.

The next evening, Damien invited the Burgermeister up to their rooms for a game of draughts while smoking their pipes and drinking off their after-dinner flagons. As they played and talked and laughed and the Burgermeister disappeared increasingly into his cup, Camael rose from his chair and stumbled slightly as he passed the Burgermeister's chair and fell deftly into the village mayor's lap. The Burgermeister had been losing game after game anyway through inattention, as he could not keep his eyes off the white angel and found that he had difficulty keeping his hands off the youth as well.

Once Camael was in his lap, accident or otherwise, all was lost. They were kissing almost before the Burgermeister realized what was happening. And his hands were moving over the youth and undoing this and that and moving in this fold and finding that flesh. And his own cod piece was open by some unknown hand, and his erect cock was luxuriating in the warmth and closeness of a sweet, tight channel, as Camael descended into his lap and then raised himself and lowered himself and continued to do so, their lips locked together. The Burgermeister flowed and groaned and moaned in paradise.

But then he was descending straight to hell, as he was roughly drawn from the youth, stripped of his leggings, and split asunder by a killing pole, invading and filling and expanding and digging inside him. He opened his mouth to scream, only to have the air choked out of him by strong, hot pokers at his neck. Choking him, making his eyeballs pop, searing his flesh. He screamed within, getting a vivid glimpse of the fires of hell. He was almost swept away by the horror of it, when he felt the beginning of the flow deep inside him. He subsided into a calm that he had never experienced before. He sighed in full sexual satisfaction, steeped also in a feeling of want that he had never felt before. Not a want of the young white angel, Camael, but incomprehensibly of the other one, the powerful and foreboding Damien Handlanger. The man in black who had his oak of a cock so far up inside him that the Burgermeister felt it would pop out of his mouth. And although he'd never lain with a man before, he knew that he'd never been as satisfied and filled before as he was now. And he did not want to lose that sensation.

He looked up, panting at the monster of a man who now stood over him, looking down at him, possessing him as much with his eyes and mere demeanor as he had done with his cock. Still dressed in black, his cod piece flapped open, freeing the longest, thickest black cock the Burgermeister had ever seen on a man, below which hung four heavy, globular balls the king bull of the pastures would be proud of.

The man spoke. "You may have Camael for the night. But in the morning, you will clear the house of everyone but the male servants, who you will bring to me one by one. And then you will identify the best butcher and provisioner in the village and bring them to me as well. Then you shall dine like a king and I shall bed you like a bull for as long as it pleases me."

"Yes, master," the Burgermeister murmured. "But why? Why Camael? Why cannot it be you tonight?"

Damien's mouth curled up in a cruel, satisfied smile. This had been somewhat of a test, and the Burgermeister had shown that he was enslaved.

"Let me show you all and then I will ask you again. But choose carefully. It will be for all eternity."

The Burgermeister lay huddled there, awestroke, staring up at Damien, as the monster of a man stripped off his black, silken clothing and stood there naked before the village mayor, bulging with muscle, smiling malevolently, nubs of horns where his cap had fallen away. He stood there on heavily pelted goat legs and cloven feet, his eyes searching those of the Burgermeister's for signs of rejection or indecision. Facing the village mayor with the totality of what was transpiring.

Seeing no sign of rejection or indecision, without asking the question, Damien lifted the Burgermeister as if he were some downy cushion and carried him into his chamber and tossed him on the pallet and fucked him into hell in waves and waves of takings, the exhausted and nearly spent village mayor always wanting more, always on the point of expiring, but never taken farther—as Damien wanted the house cleared of those gossipy women and bratty children and also knew that the man he was taking into hell was necessary for his plan.

Camael sat in the middle chamber for a short time, smiling his beatific smile. Temptation—an invitation to succumbing to basic instincts—was no longer needed with the Burgermeister. At length, Camael rose and moved into his chamber and slept alone. He was far beyond surprise. Time and time again he had slept alone because of the choices men were prone to make.

* * * *

The men of Uberusel were so susceptible to the choice that Damien Handlanger offered that it was mere days before Damien could put his plan into action, in a house cleared of women and overflowing with Burgermeister, priest, servants, workman, and tradesmen, all yearning for Handlanger's cock and the venom of his four hefty balls, all marked with the brands of the fingerprints on their necks, and all satisfied just enough by Handlanger to want more and more.

By day the men planned and gathered equipment and supplies and made up schedules. And by night, Handlanger had them all writhing on the floor as he moved from man to man, fucking them totally and filling them with his calming hell-paradise venom. Camael, in turn, sat above the fray, smiling his dazzling smile, present as a hint of a choice of another road. Nearly all of the chosen men of Uberusel, however, were far beyond the temptation of Camael that had brought them, one by one to their master.

Only the priest began to backslide, gifted as he was in second chances on demand and shifting "truth" with a never-ending litany of legalistic "how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" garble. But Damien still needed the church to remain silent in the face of what was happening in the village, and he knew that every church and churchman had his price. Seeing the priest's gaze shift away from him and back to Camael, Damien was quick to discern that the appetites of the man, like those of the institution, were broad and insatiable. Damien took Camael aside then and instructed him on what he was to do on "the day."

Damien was greatly pleased with himself that his plan had never made him mount the steep and narrow roadway up to the Schloss. Handlanger had actually been apprehensive about the need to enlist the count, and apprehension was not an emotion that Handlanger was accustomed to feel.

But the count was something else altogether. The count was more an adversary than prey. Damien sensed that there were deeper hells than his and stronger, crueler devils. The very vibrations that came off the Schloss on the mountaintop gave Handlanger pause. Something inside him told him that the count was an evil force of an older, more powerful order than he was.

And there was another force that Damien hadn't counted on and that now, just one night before the plan was to go into operation, stood, unexpectedly in his path.

It was with trembling hands and legs that the Burgermeister knocked on Damien's door and informed him that there was a visitor without who insisted on speaking with him.

Damien was irritated, as he wanted to rest before the night's all-important work. But he knew that the visit must be an important one, or the Burgermeister would have just turned the visitor away.

"Good evening, sir," the Sheriff of Uberusel said with a strong voice of authority as he entered the room. Two hard-bodied guardsmen entered behind him and stood, hands on swords on either side of the door. Camael rose from the table and moved into the shadows of the room. "I have come because of some strange happenings in the village. Some events that all trace back to you. Events that have occurred since your arrival. And I must call you to account to explain yourself to me, in the name of the count whose castle protects this village."

Handlanger picked up a sharp knife and an apple from a basket on the table in front of him and slowly began to peel it, taking his time, as he viewed the sheriff under droopy lids. The sheriff was handsome and manly, an excellent specimen. Damien lamented that he so rarely enjoyed his work. But he knew he'd enjoy the sheriff immensely. There was something about him. He was not like other men. Other men did not inflame Damien's loins as this comely warrior standing before him did.

"I must answer to you, must I?" he said at length. "I think not."

"If not here, then at the goal," the sheriff said gruffly. "If you will not cooperate, my men will . . ."

"What men would that be?" Damien answered in a self-satisfied voice.

The sheriff whipped his body around to find the doorway behind him empty.

"What? Where?"

"Perhaps you should check through that doorway over there," Damien answered as he motioned nonchalantly with the hand holding the knife.

The sheriff turned and strode to the door indicated and threw it open.

Then he stood there, mouth agape.

Camael was servicing both of the guards; all three were naked, the metal swords of the guardsmen well out of reach, their flesh swords hard at conquest. One guard was sitting on the side of the bed, Camael astride his lap, moving his channel on the soldier's cock. The soldier was moaning deeply, lost to the world. The second guardsmen was crouched over the thighs of the other two, and also was fully sheathed in Camael's channel. It was clear that the two were in no condition to guard anything as their cocks made mutual love to the white angel.

The sheriff made to move to the bed, but Damien suddenly was standing behind him, holding him in place in strong arms and his knife blade at the sheriff's throat.

"Watch," Damien muttered gruffly. "Watch until they are done. And then tell me what you want to do." Damien found he was breathing heavily, much affected by the closeness of the sheriff, by the hardness and suppleness of him. His scent, the feel of his silken hair upon Damien's cheek as he held the sheriff's head back against his, the knife at the younger man's throat.

The three fucked on. The Burgermeister and the others of the household entered the room and spread out around the edges and all watched intently, as Camael gave the two guards the fuck of their lives.

Feeling the sheriff trembling within his grasp and reaching around his waist and feeling what he knew he'd feel—an engorged cock straining at its cod piece—Damien gave a signal to Camael and Camael brought the two guards to ejaculation. At another signal, strong arms of the henchmen around the periphery reached out and pulled away the guards and manhandled them out of the room, never to be seen again.

"Now what do you want?" Damien whispered in the sheriff's ear.

"I want him," the sheriff moaned.

Camael turned and sat on the bed and leaned back on his elbows and opened his marble-white legs wide. He turned up his hips, showing a rosy redbud of a hole that belied him having just ridden two cocks together.

"So, take him," Damien murmured.

He released the sheriff, who went at Camael with the guttural growl of a forest animal. Camael smiled his beatific smile and opened his lips to the sheriff's tongue and his channel to the sheriff's throbbing cock. They fucked for an eternity, with the sheriff attacking in a frenzy and Camael draining him again and again and again in a myriad of positions—until the sheriff was exhausted and collapsed on top of the white angel.

Damien watched the ritual with sensations rising in his body that he rarely felt and never acknowledged. Tantalizing arousal, unexpected jealousy, the panting of want. He wanted the sheriff. That was an unknown quantity for him—as was the jealousy of seeing Camael pleasuring the sheriff as he so fully did. It was only then, when the sheriff was fully satiated and at the nadir of his strength and will, that Damien strode over to the two, releasing his cod piece with one hand and grabbing the sheriff by his hair and pulling him off Camael with the other.

"This is almost too easy," he muttered, as he encircled the sheriff's throat with his searing fingers and thrust up into his channel with his invading cock. But as the sheriff's channel grasped Damien's cock and drew it deep inside, the muscles of the walls were making Damien moan in ecstasy at the love being made to his cock, and Damien loosened his hold on the sheriff's throat. The only searing branding being done in this coupling would be on what passed for Handlanger's heart.

The next night, Priester Anasvindo was alone, communing deeply with great sighs, with Camael in the otherwise empty Burgermeister's house, while Damien and his converts were on the cliffs overlooking the mouth of the river flowing from Lake Nufenen down into Swabia past Uberusel. The priest, as Damien had surmised, had attempted to slip out of the Burgermeister's house in the flurry of preparations, with the Schloss hovering over the village being his certain goal. But, as arranged, Camael was there, at the door, smiling his beatific smile, running his beautiful hands over his hips, the invitation obvious.

"What could a short dip hurt?" the priest thought as Camael led him off into a side chamber. It was nothing for Camael to entrap the foolish and easily beguiled old priest's cock into a paradise that went on in waves and waves of taking and moaning until the earth shook in a way that did not match the movement of the earth brought on by the multiple ejaculations the white angel had been coaxing out of the old man's testes.

The villagers of Uberusel were awakened by the earth moving and the sound of the overshadowing mountain caving in. They ran out into the cobblestoned square of Uberusel and milled around, lamenting that the world was coming to an end. And in a way that was what had been in the devilish plan. Handlanger had assembled just the right mix of skills in his conquests to cause boulders to rain into the outlet of water down into Swabia from the lake and to irrevocably close up that entrance for all time. Henceforth none of the water would reach the fields in the lowlands of Swabia via this channel, but would, instead, be bringing even more lush plantings to the Swiss plateau in the canton of Aargau.

The sheriff was not on the cliffs over the lake. His assignment was to guard the gates of the count's Schloss, ensuring that the count did not get wind of what was happening and possibly bring even more power to bear than Damien Handlanger had. Then he was to join Damien and Camael on the Swiss side of the lake and go with them down into the Aargauen canton and into the bed of Damien, who had not been able to shake his moaning for the undulation of the sheriff's channel walls on his cock.

The sheriff smiled to himself as he heard the rumbling of the mountain that would dry up the river channel down into Swabia. He would not be here for the anticipated resulting death-bringing drought. He would be expected to be wherever Damien would be. They had fucked through the previous night, and the sheriff could tell from the moans of Damien as he was taken again and again, the sheriff using the highly skilled channel muscles on Damien's digging cock as he had been taught in his long nights in the Schloss with the count, that he had as much power over the devil as the devil had over him.

Inside the Schloss, the count heard the earth move and groan even as the villagers had, and he smiled and shrugged off his brocade robes and waited for the door of his chamber to open. And when it did, the sheriff entered and disrobed, lay back on the count's heavily cushioned bed, and spread his legs for his lord and master.

As he mastered his servant once more, almost loath to lose him for any time in the service of Damien Handlanger but unable to forego the ecstasy of having a spy in the devil's bed, the count counted the hours before he could safely bring a miracle to the village and the valleys of Swabia by opening the sluice gates of the underground spillways running from the bed of Lake Nufenen under the foundations of the Schloss and into the now-drying riverbed running through the village of Uberusel.