tagErotic HorrorDamn Yankees

Damn Yankees


Joe Boyd pulled into the Hell, Michigan Visitors Center* parking lot. He had been driving past this place for years. However, he was running ahead on this Friday afternoon. It was now or never.

He looked at all the welcoming satanic signs surrounding the place. He stepped out of the red T-bird and onto the gravel parking lot. This might make him late, but he figured he owed himself one. Meg could wait an hour or two.

He crunched his way up to the door to the Visitors' Center. and stepped inside. He looked around for the inevitable Devil and saw him behind the till, taking selfies with a family of unruly red-haired brats. After the Farkle family had shuffled out the door, the devil approached Joe directly.

" I expected to see more people in here late on a Friday afternoon," Joe told the false Satan.

"Well, this place has gone to hell in a handbasket, no pun intended, ever since those damn Yankees moved in after Reconstruction.. No offence."

"None taken," said Joe Boyd.

The demonic cashier began to reminisce. "It used to be that you could have a nice family picnic under a burning cross on your neighbor's front lawn. You try to do that now, and the libs and the drive-by media will crucify you. Whatever happened to family values? Mmm, crucify. There's a thought." the satanic store manager said and began stroking his goatee." He pulled a cigarillo from his pocket and lit it, seemingly with his fingers.

"How did you do that?" Joe asked the pretend devil.

"Oh, I have always been quite handy with fire." Satan patted his new visitor on the arm and winked. "No, I'm just jiving. We do it with nanotechnology and a little genetic engineering, nothing to get to get spooked about, young man. There are tiny nanobots flowing through my veins that enable me to do a lot of surprising things. He elbowed Joe. "Hadja goin' there for a moment, didn't I son?"

"Now, how may I help you?" the faux Satan asked. "Immortality? Fame? Unlimited sex? Your wish is my command."

"The last one," Joe Boyd said.

"Unlimited sex it is then." The clerk walked over to the window and flipped the sign from "Open" to "Closed" and pulled down the blinds.

"Hi, my name is Mr. Applegate, but my friends just call me Scratch," the fake Devil said to Joe, reaching out to shake his hand. Joe noticed that he had a very ruddy complexion.

"That's a bitching sunburn you got there," Joe said.

"An occupational hazard in my line of work, I'm afraid," Scratch said.

"You will of course need to sign one of our standard contracts ceding your immortal soul to me," Scratch Applegate said. He searched through the papers in the top drawer of his desk until he found the proper form and placed it in front of Joe. Don't worry, just a little ipso facto, nothing to get hung about, as the Beatles might say.

"You just need to sign this." he told the horny steel worker.

Joe whipped out a Pilot G-2 pen and lowered it to the contract. Scratch pushed his hand aside and said, "I am afraid this contract must be signed in blood, Mr. Boyd." He pulled a surgical scalpel out of his coat and placed it in front of Joe.

"But I'm afraid of needles," Joe told satanic Visitor Center clerk. "And how do you know my last name?"

"Oh, you'll find that we know a great many things here in Hell, Mr. Boyd. Information is our stock-in-trade. Many of our former clients are CEOs of Facebook, WikiLeaks and other high-scam tech industries. We know you better than you know yourself."

"I'm still afraid of needles."

Well, that shouldn't be a problem. I gave you a scalpel, not a needle. Plus we're going to give you the original copy of the blood-signed contract so that you can hang it on your den wall to impress all your friends."

"I think I'm even more afraid of scalpels than needles," the bumpkin steelworker told his newfound friend.

"What part of unlimited sex don't you understand?" Scratch asked him. He rang the bell and yelled out to the back room, "Lola, would you be an angel and show off your wares.? Don't forget the angel part."

A door creaked open and out walked the most beautiful woman Joe had ever seen. Surely she was an angel if ever there were one. He knew her white wings were just the latest addition to the Victoria's Secret catalog, but he couldn't for the life of him see any seam between her wings and Lola's flesh. It was as though her wings actually grew out of her delectable, flawless skin. Her white wings were chastely folded across her chest.

"Sign and I'm yours forever, stud." she told the hapless former steelworker.

Joe grabbed the scalpel and plunged it into the soft flesh of his index finger. Blood spurted out and he raised his finger to the signature line of the contract.

Lola caught his trembling hand. and gently lowered it to the document . "Don't worry, sweetie, penmanship doesn't matter here. You can just make an X."

Joe smeared an 'X' over the signature line of the contract. "How will they know the signature's mine?" he asked.

"Genetic testing, silly. that's why we use blood," Lola told him. "Even if I could have any man (or woman) in the world (and I can), I'm glad it is you, stud muffin."

She put a finger on Joe's forehead and pushed him as lightly as a feather onto the fuck chair in the middle of the room. He complied with her every gesture. She grabbed his shirt and ripped it from his body. She opened one of her white wings, revealing the perfection of her lush red- tipped breasts and matching scarlet thatch between her legs.

"Hey that was my only shirt." Joe protested.

Lola pressed her naked torso against Joe's burning flesh. "Do you want me to put it back on you?" Lola asked.

"A little late for that." Joe said. pointing to ragged tatters of his shirt, which were strewn across the floor of the Visitor's Center.

"Sweetie you can just buy a new one from the gift shop." She pointed her left wing in the general direction of said shop.

"But Meg will know what's up. She always does."

"Are you actually afraid of that mousy, shrew, man-eater wife of yours?"

"Sure we've had a few spats, a couple of domestic assault citations, restraining orders, brandishments of cutlery , and rolling-pin-induced concussions. But goddammit , she's still my gal, and I love her."

"Honey, you don't know the meaning of the word 'love.'"

Lola circled Joe in the fuck chair and broke into song:

"You know whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, and little man, little Lola wants you..

She stopped behind Joe and ran her arms up and down his naked pecs and abs and resumed her song:.

"I always get what I aim for, and your heart and soul is what I came for.

Don't you know, silly fool, you never can win.

Because you've got me all over your skin.

You've got me deep in the heart of you,

So deep in my heart, you're really a part of me.

I've got you all over my skin.

Use your mentality, wake up to reality.

Because you've got me all over your skin."

Scratch cracked the door open and threw a dog-eared book into the room.

Joe bent down to retrieve the well-worn volume and tried to read the front cover. "What's this?" Joe asked. He tried to sound out the title: "Cum a Suit raw?"

"No, you illiterate rube, the Kama Sutra. It's the oldest and most revered guide to sexual pleasure on this Earth."

Joe fanned through the pages of the book. "Holy shit," he said, "There must be hundreds of sexual positions in here. Some of them appear to be downright topologically impossible."

"Joe, tell me what topology means."

"Duh, what?"

"That's what I thought. We have just witnessed a case of divine intervention. God himself wants us to fuck in each one of these positions,"

"How can God reach us here in Hell?"

"Well, technically we're in Hell, Michigan, not Hell itself so it's not that miraculous," Lola said. "But we'd better get cracking, or Scratch is going to be pissed, and you do not want to see Scratch when he's pissed."

She straddled Joe in the fuck chair and sheathed his throbbing cock in her devouring honey tunnel. Joe experienced a pattern of pulsations and contractions unlike anything he had experienced in his hitherto pleasure-free life. He wished he had a Stetson so that he could waive it over his head like a dime store cowboy trying to impress his kids with his bull-riding prowess on the penny pony ride at Walmart.

He began to rock in time with Lola's thrusts. Soon they were one being, her breasts sliding up and down his naked torso, their searching tongues sliding over one another. Their consciousnesses became one. Her hoo-haw began a seemingly impossible corkscrew movement, spiraling around his jizz gun, then squeezing it and pulling on it rhythmically and harder and harder. Much as he tried to resist, Joe Boyd exploded inside her. They clung to one another, lost in a possibly satanic ecstasy. They stayed in each other's arms for what seemed like a century, before Lola picked up the dog-eared copy of the Kama Sutra and turned the page. "One down, a couple hundred to go, tough guy," she told the ex-steelworker.

"Sounds like a plan" he said. Lola looked at the lights on the cameras mounted on the wall. When all the lights had turned green, she said "Got it" to no one in particular. "It's on to 2," she told her unseen viewers.

Seemingly days later, when they were spent from undergoing the rigors of the Kama Sutra , Scratch popped his head in the room. "How are my little love birds doing?"

Joe just waived a hand at him, still not recovered from his erotic ordeal of exhausting the positions of the Kama Sutra. Scratch helped Joe to his feet, the steelworker's legs still rubbery from the athleticism of his erotic performance.

"Hi, kids. Doing OK? The first one is always the toughest."

The first one? Joe thought. He reached out for the aerosol can of Tuf-Skin and looked around for a back-up can. Meanwhile, Applewhite threw him another dog-eared book.

"You mean there's a Volume 2?" Joe said ."Geez, I'm really running late, I'd better get home or Meg will have a conniption fit. I've been gone for days. There will be Hell to pay."

"No don't worry. It's the other way around. Hell will pay you. Besides, you walked into this store only ten minutes ago. You'll find that time runs at a different rate here in Hell, Michigan.

Joe looked at this wrist watch. Scratch was right. He'd only been in the Visitor Center for ten minutes. It seemed like days ago.

"Well, at least stop by the gift store on you way out and pick out a memento of your visit here with us in Hell.

Joe walked over to the gift store and perused the gift cards on offer. "Hey wait a minute. These cards are all pictures of me and Lola doing all 100 shades of nasty." He looked down and read the message:

"Dear Kitten: "Having fun here in Hell, Michigan. Wish you were here (not)."

Joe said "What the fuck, this is my handwriting! How did you do that? The only thing I've signed in here so far is the X on my contract. Where did you get our home address?"

"Calm down, Joe. It will all be explained in time. All in due time. You would be surprised at what you can pull from the Dark Web these days."

"These postcards are all prepaid."

"That's right. All you gotta do is drop a few thousand in a mailbox, and they will be sure to find their way to that harpy wife of yours."

"But this will send Meg into a rage. It's gonna be domestic violence central with me starring in the roles of punching bag and pin cushion."

"There is one way out. You could buy all the cards."

"That's right, that's right. Meg would never have to know. OK, I'll buy all cards." Joe got out his Visa card.

Applegate put out restraining arm. "Won't Meg review all the purchases on your credit card?"

"You're right. I'd better pay in cash," Joe said. "How much for all the cards in the rack?"

"Let's see fifty cards at $100 a card, that comes to $5,000."

Joe patted himself down. "I don't seem to have that much cash on me"

"No I didn't think you did."

"OK, I'll write a check."

"Same problem," the ersatz Satan said.

"An IOU then."

"Already got it, Applegate said, nodding toward the blood contract on the desk.

"By the way, we're going to be getting a shipment of Hell, Michigan sweatshirts next week," Scratch informed the former steelworker.

"OK, how much for the whole shipment?" Joe asked.

"More than you can possibly imagine," Scratch Applegate said. "I see only one way out of your financial predicament"

"And what is that?" Joe asked.

"Come to work for me."

"What job could you conceivably offer me in this second-rate tourist trap.?"

"How about working as a incubus?"

"What's that?"

"Your primary duty would be to pork the bejesus out of every horny broad that walks in the door."

"That sounds eminently reasonable to me, Joe said, "although I have no idea what 'eminently' means."

"I didn't think you did," Scratch said, igniting another cigarillo with his fingers.

"You've got to show me how you do that,:" Joe said. "But I am literally an average Joe. What broad would want me to ravish her?" I'm out of shape, with a beer belly.

"Don't sell yourself short. Don't you like Lola? She's a succubus."

"But she's perfect in every way."

"'Twas not always so, my friend. She was once Charlotte DuBray, the ugliest woman in Providence, Rhode Island and that's saying something."

"How dare you call her ugly? All women have a sacred inner beauty. No woman is ugly."

"Oh yeah? Check out this picture," Scratch said, and held a photo of the unaltered Charlotte DuBray up to Joe.

"Aw, Jeez," Joe said and doubled over in nausea, "I stand corrected."

Applegate handed Joe the official Hell, Michigan bar barf bag he has already been holding in his hand. "Let it loose, son. Heave, upchuck, ralph, what ever you need to do."

The invited regurgitation quickly ensued.

"Sorry about that, chief., Joe said trying to remove the residual spew from his lips with his tongue.. "Scratch ole buddy, do you by any chance have one of those neurolyzer doohickeys that they use in the Men in Black movies to erase memories?"

"Sorry Joe, but I'm afraid that the neurolyzer is a purely fictional device. There is no way for you to 'unsee' the real Lola.

"Yeah, like this place isn't fictional? It has not escaped my attention that we have the same names as the characters in the movie Damn Yankees."

"Point taken," Scratch said.

"Besides you're no great catch yourself, Joe what with your subpar IQ, your pot belly and your five DWIs. Need I continue?."

"Point taken, my liege. But couldn't you fix me the way that Mr. Applegate did in Damn Yankees. You know the one where you, I mean Applegate, changed the IQ-challenged beer-drinking schmo Joe Boyd into the ripped homerun-slugging Shoeless Joe from Hannibal MO, played by the hunk Tab Hunter.

"Could you change me like that?."

"Sure, after all, why not? I possess divine powers. However, we don't use those powers nowadays. We use nanotechnology and genetic engineering instead. No point in getting behind the modern world., not in this cutthroat economy.".

"Do you think she will take me back?" Joe said.

"Oh sure," Scratch said. "If I change you into a facsimile of Tab Hunter. You would be a total upgrade to Meg."

" I don't mean Meg. I mean Lola."

"Well, I think that can be arranged. In fact, it's mandatory under codicil 5.18.45 of your blood contract.

Joe squinted and tried to find any mention of codicils in his blood-stained contract, but to no avail. "You won't find them in there," Scratch said. "All legal texts are coded as DNA patterns in this the 21st (and last ) century, ever since the Trump Narcissism Act of 2031."

"They are?"

"You see, after the DeVos Education Rehabilitation Act of 2042, few Americas possessed the ability to read hardcopy. That's why all new 'knowledge is now injected directly into subjects' 'brains' as nano-streams, as dedicated subroutines, or as genetic patterns. Naturally every effort is made to ensure that these so-called 'persons' are maximally continuous and congruent with the subjects' former personalities and bodies."

"I have a question. How can you put 'brains' and 'persons' in scare quotes, when you are talking rather than writing?"

"I can do many things that might surprise you, Mr. Boyd. Check out your left hand, for instance."

Joe held up his hand.

"How many fingers do you see."

"Six," Joe said.

"Now count them,"

"One, two, three, four, five," said the unemployed steel worker and beamed with pride at his mathematical perspicacity.

"What's three plus five?"

Joe showed some perplexity, but then proudly announced "two."

"Attaboy, Joe. You see, we can even fuck with the laws of mathematics here."

"If you say so, boss. But what will happen to Meg?"

"We can do the same thing we did to Lola. Change her into a delectable succubus who will perform any act, no matter how lewd or reprehensible, to any person in need of all such services that are not proscribed by the laws of physics and mathematics, and as we have seen, those laws are pretty liberal in this particular realm. . In short, we in Hell are transitioning from a blackmail financial model based on postcards and tee shirts into a pimping-out model based on peddling flesh.. Pay to play, as it were."

"Why don't you just materialize all the money you need?" Joe asked. "You seem to be in pretty much in control of this reality."

"What would be the fun and challenge in that?" Scratch asked. "Here, I'll show you the fun part.

"Lola dear, would you be an angel and bring me a reverse neurolyzer." Lola spread her white wings and floated across the Visitors'Center's welcome room to retrieve the requested item.

"I thought that the neurolyzer was a fictional device.," Joe protested.

"Oh, sure, but this is a reverse neurolyzer," Applegate pointed out. "It's as real as that waste basket over there."

"Joe squinted but still could barely make out the waste basket which seemed to oscillate in and out of reality.

"First of all, we need to anchor you in Lola or else you will fly away into the noosphere, the Great Dream..

Lola stepped forward and reprised her song. "whatever Lola wants, Lola gets." She plucked a white feather from her wing, and used it to push Joe straight back on the mattress that had suddenly materialized to break his fall.

Lola dragged the feather back and forth on Joe's tantalized genitals, which began to throb in intense need for the touch of her flesh. Her belly began to roll and undulate erotically as she herself became overwhelmed with intense desire.

She spread her wings and momentarily rose into the air. Joe caught a glimpse of an eagle's cruel countenance beneath Lola's face. Lola grabbed his balls with her talons, causing Joe intense pain and pleasure at the same time. She began to squeeze said orbs, and said, "Do not come before I am done, worm, or I will tear these right off you."

Joe's boner grew and solidified.

"Ah, you like submitting to me, don't you human?"

Joe nodded in terror and delight.

"I will give you what you desire." She enfolded him in her wings as she sat on his pole, and she began to rock up and down.

Joe's whole body trembled in her fire. She bent to kiss him, her avian tongue raping his willing mouth. Joe opened his mouth to the hardness of her beak, accepting her tongue, as it slithered in and out of his of his quavering throat

"Let her possess you completely," Scratch said, holding a megaphone to his mouth, as if he were Vince Lombardi cheering on his beloved Packers. "Let your pixels intertwine, so that there is no you, no Lola, only one consciousness, one unified being. Let her nanobots flow into you, transform you. Feel the ecstasy as her genes become your genes, as you become one mind, melded in bliss. Winning isn't everything; it's the only thing. Hornung, get back in there, it's only third down."

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