Gabrielle and the Devil

"My angel." He walked out into the light, shrugging off his dress shirt, so that he was clad only in his bespoke pants. They bulged menacingly at the buttoned flies and Gabrielle wondered, staring helplessly at the fabric that strained until it almost creaked, if she were back in her nightmare. He reached to the hem, then simply unclipped and unbuttoned.

The Devil, it transpired, went Commando. It sprung forth, huge and hard―a colossal red-painted fuck-sword, terrifying and perfect. Much too large, Gabrielle was sure, for the modest dimensions of her pussy. From his pants, he stepped calmly free. Then he advanced on her slowly, with his height so imposing and his musculature so superbly developed and so beautifully defined and with that great weapon swaying before him, glistening at its extremity.

He stopped short of her, their only point of contact the tip of his extensive cock against her satin-clad stomach. Gabrielle waited for his next move and, when it did not happen, realized that something was expected of her. Breaking out of her petrifaction she reached forward to his loins with both hands and touched him, her heart thumping at how his sex twitched and pulsed in response.

She drew her fingertips lightly from the base of his thick column, teasing her way up all those sturdy inches, staring into his stony face the whole time. Inside she felt a giddy tremor at her own recklessness, a further liquefying of her pussy. Shouldn't she beware what would happen if she cock-teased the Devil? What the hell kind of crazy game was she playing?

"Ohhh my." Her moan was fearful as she finally arrived at the swollen dome of his massive endowment. "Oh - my God..."

"I am your God," he said quietly. "Now get down on your knees and worship me."

Gabrielle's whole body gave a start. Her dream rushed back vividly and she let go that iron cock. The words had shocked her, angered her with their arrogance, their self-important blasphemy. Who the hell did he think he was? What right had Pandora had to tell him all Gabrielle's intimate thoughts, so he could use them against her?

"I can't do this," she snapped, her bubble of illusion burst. "I don't do this." She stared at him, one great hulking tower of arrogance, and realized she fully expected him to throw her down anyway and rape her on the ground. "Please," she said, imposing what dignity she could on her shaking voice and trembling body. "I'm sorry, but I want to go."

There was a pause as long as eternity. There they stood, like characters in an ancient ecclesiastical frieze. "Then go," he said calmly. "If that's what you want."

His response took her aback. She could not believe he would simply let her leave. "Yes," she rallied. "It is." The cock before her had not even wilted. It might have been made of stone. Its owner looked like a figure in an obscene Medieval woodcut. She forced out a final, "Goodbye."

Gabrielle hardly knew what she was doing, as she turned about and left the heart of the maze. She did not know whether it was strength or stupidity, leaving behind her scary nameless stranger, her great edifice of masculinity and his―well―great edifice of masculinity. But to say what he did, to disrespect her as he had, to fly in the face of everything she believed, everything that defined her as a... a...

She walked rapidly, foolish in her ruined angelic outfit, taking any turn she came to without thinking, choking back tears. She was a church-goer, a believer, she taught Sunday School, for Heaven's sake. She'd worked the sex thing out her own way―it was fine in a committed relationship, married or otherwise. Just as long as it was part of something greater. Not quite the orthodox line, but it was the idea to which she clung. What she didn't do was go to hedonistic parties and have cheap sex with strangers. With stupid, arrogant strangers. Stupid, arrogant strangers with great slavering tongues and huge hard-ons and... Shit, he was following her...Was he? Following her?

She looked back over her shoulder, convinced she could hear a pursuer's heavy feet thumping on the grassy floor. Suddenly terrified, she broke into a barefoot run. She ducked left, right, right again, the fact finally dawning that she had no idea how to escape from the maze. She twisted around another turn, one shattered wing raking against the hedge, her ridiculous halo flapping as she ran. God, he was after her, she could almost hear the bullish snorting.

How much had she drunk earlier on? Damn, maybe he'd have sprouted wings by now to carry him all the quicker. Or could he simply manifest in front of her once he'd got bored with his toying? However she tried, she could not shake those diabolical images from her head.

She raced around another corner and screamed on finding her way blocked. But it was merely two other revelers―a blood-spattered bride and one of the waiters, both semi-stripped, laughing and spouting mouthfuls of champagne over each other's face. She turned back, tried another route. Any route. Any path that might lead her out of that dreadful labyrinth. Maybe there was someone who could help her, who knew the maze as well as he had.

Possibly not the crazed, horror-harlequin who stumbled past her drunkenly when she took another turn, dragging an equally inebriated Snow White behind him. Gabrielle yelped and kept going, the sky reeling above her, the maze starting to lurch like a hurdy-gurdy, as she vainly sought an exit. She spun around a bend and found her path barred once more, this time by a full-on ground-level coupling.

Gabrielle stifled a squeal.

Pandora was straddling Mac Hartland, frantically riding his cock. Apparently she had not felt limited by her wolf-fetish. All her Little Red garments were torn off and strewn about her, save the thigh-highs and her pulled-aside panties. Her adulterous partner was seated in the grass, half-stripped of his vampiric vestments, hands talon-free, so he could tightly grip his lover's taut bum cheeks.

He eyed the nubile form with close-up relish, those globed tits bouncing before him in all their unconfined glory. With one arm hooked around his neck, Pandora thrashed on him wildly, her pussy milking his length for all the pleasure it could give. Her head was thrown back, bobbed hair draping around her bare shoulders, and her pretty mouth uttered a stream of moans interspersed with fevered fuck-talk.

"Oh God, Mac, we so shouldn't be doing this... I've wanted your cock for so long. Ohhh, shit, fuck, you feel so good, you feel so fucking good... Does Stella still do you like this?" She braced herself on him and slammed down, repeatedly and hard, determined to take him as deep as she possibly could.

Gabrielle watched in dismay. Had the world gone crazy? She tried to turn away, but was riveted by the sight of her best friend in the world fornicating wildly with the girl's cousin's husband. The fact that said cousin was in the middle of a demented three-way across the lawn hardly made it right. Then in the middle of her frenzied humping, Pandora noticed Gabrielle transfixed stare. Her pelvis slowed on Mac's deep-thrust erection and she registered first embarrassment, then concern at her friend's disarrayed state.

"Gabby?" she panted, still fucking proactively it had to be said. "Gabby, are you okay?"

Mac looked back over his shoulder. The Nosferatu bridgework had been removed from his mouth, presumably to make for a sexier encounter. "Gabrielle," he gasped hoarsely, apparently still desirous to play the polite host. "Hi. You want to watch? Or maybe join us? Whichever you prefer."

Gabrielle stared in a horror at least part of which was due to her increased wetness. Everyone... Everyone fucking apart from her. Goddamn you, Pandora, for bringing me here! She turned and fled, leaving Little Red riding hard.

She ran hectically down one yew corridor to another, crashing into hedges as she took corners, stumbling and righting herself and keeping going. The peignoir snagged and she abandoned it to the clutching branch. Hair flailing about her, clad in only her lingerie, she ran and searched and finally flung herself through a familiar privet gateway... to find herself back at the dead center of the maze.

She stopped as abruptly as if she had run into an invisible barrier, her heart thumping. Forlorn, she gazed about at the empty yew-walled courtyard, hands rested on her hips, lungs sucking in whoops of air. So much for her quick escape. All that running, and now to start over with no idea of the route, no idea where her blasphemous seducer was. She took a further moment to recover, then turned to leave.

He was filling the doorway, blocking her escape, everything about him as proud and erect as she remembered. She was frozen helpless before him, heart thumping and pussy spasming all over again, exhaustion dispelled by a fresh rush of adrenalin.

"I knew you'd come back."

"I - I got lost..." Her voice was a childish whimper.

His was low and held a conviction that was total. "You're here, Gabrielle, because you choose to be."

"It's... I... I couldn't find..."

"Then tell me, do you want to depart again?" He stood aside, leaving the way clear for her. Even his cock was not huge enough to bar it. She stared at the path ahead and then at him in all his quiet arrogance. In his monumental, priapic maleness. The word was a mere whisper in her throat, but she knew that he heard it.

"No."

She stood before him simply, hands hanging limply by her sides. Once more he strode towards her, only this time he passed in a half-circle, palming her stomach as he progressed to her rear. His hand slid down to her barely covered mound and the other arm encircled her torso, so that it rested across her breasts.

His great cock brushed against her ass-cleft and his breath was hot on her neck. Was it her imagination, or could she hear a low bullish snort underlying that breath? Her head drooped back and she gave herself up to him, physically and spiritually, as she now knew she had wanted to with her dream-demon.

His touch upon her was tender―exquisite because it spoke of leashed-in power, terrifying because she knew beyond all doubt that the power would be unleashed. The hand on her soft mound moved down and under, to where her thighs were slick with her honey, and undid the secret clasp below her pussy-hole. He let the teddy spring apart and strummed the netting of her pantyhose, fingertips sliding over the silky cunt-lips imprisoned beneath. Then one thick finger slipped through and entered her, making her knees give way, her whole body crumple. He held her drooping form and probed his finger deeper into her oozing channel, so that she gave way completely.

"Lie down," he told her, but it was more a matter of him laying her there in the grass. Then he was down with her, expansive chest close above, darkly handsome face suffused with infernal intent. One hand slid beneath her back and unsnapped the corseted section of her teddy. The other delved slowly down her cleavage and ripped the garment down her body, exposing the soft pillows of her hard-nippled breasts.

She gasped at the sudden uncovering, then cried aloud as his face descended and he sucked one nipple into his mouth. Sucked and licked and bit, teeth tugging briefly though hard on her teat, stretching it and making her cry in shocked anguish. When he let go and transferred his mouth to her other breast, she held her breath in trepidation, knowing he would repeat the action. Knowing all the time he suckled her, all the time his tongue-tip circled and flickered over her areola, that those teeth would claim her. And when they did, when they bit sharply and plucked and teased her roughly, she yelled out in terrified ecstasy.

He kissed her lips, then each sore nipple, washing with rotating curls of his long tongue, and her body rose to him from the soft ground. Then he slid his torso down her body and parted her already loosened thighs. She could feel the threads of her hose stretched tightly across her engorged lips. His breath warmed the cunt she knew was glistening-wet for him, then suddenly his tongue squirmed inside her, as far as it could through the hose. Frustrated by the garment, he grabbed it in his teeth and began to chew and rip his way through it. She cried out again in fearful excitement as threads snapped, as he tore the netted crotch asunder, leaving wide access to her dripping hole.

His tongue thrust deep and he feasted on her. Gabrielle's body arched in response to the thick fleshy muscle that writhed within her, scooping up and drinking her dew. Her hands clutched desperately at clumps of grass, tearing them from the ground, as his tongue stretched to its limit, fucking deeper than she'd have believed possible, circling around her cunt's hyper-sensitized walls as it tunneled. Then it slithered out, lapping all around her swollen gateway and ending on her clit, where it flickered heatedly. He filled his hands with her ass cheeks and clutched her hard. Her pelvis humped his face involuntarily, as he ate her.

Now he was kissing her hot engorged button, nibbling, biting―ohhhh, sweet fuck―and now his lips were on hers again. Satan was making out with her pussy (the thought almost made her laugh), surging into her with another crazy-delicious tongue-kiss.

Gabrielle was entering delirium, as her near-cannibalistic lover savored all her most intimate parts. She could smell her own fragrance mingling with those of the grass and the night air, could feel herself blossoming into orgasm. Before she could fully flower, however, he rose up from the soaked junction of her legs, all but growling in his lust.

Drawing his body towards her, he simultaneously drew his great palms all the way from her buttocks over her thighs to below her knee joints. Then in a fluid, rising movement he splayed her legs high over her head like scissors, raising her pelvis right off the ground. She emitted a shrill "Oh God!!!" and it occurred to her, bizarrely, So this is what all that pilates has been for! She was split open before him, all the beauty of her wet garden on display for his devilish delight.

Then she raised her head and saw it once again, rearing up against his stomach as he knelt―that gargantuan cunt-slayer. In her semi-delusional state, it seemed as big as the one from her dream. And it was gliding inexorably towards her vulnerable, stretched hole.

What exactly had God been thinking, chucking this guy from Heaven and letting him roam the Cosmos with an attachment that huge? She was utterly aroused, utterly terrified. Oh, sweet Jesus, he's going to run me through!

Prayers availed her nothing now. Gabrielle had already made her choice. Hooking one fishnetted foot around his neck, he prized his great masculinity down from his stomach and fitted the head inside her. She moaned, nearly cried, at the broad, stretching intrusion and its promise.

"Look at me," his bass voice rumbled, and when she did, she saw him grin a diabolical grin. Then gripping high and tight on her thighs, with one hellish thrust he speared her.

Gabrielle Deangelo screamed to the heavens, as she was crammed with iron Devil-cock. She came instantly, explosively, gushing like a river all over the impaling monster. Her body blazed with a near-consuming fire as her possessor ploughed her cunt with demonic force. At twenty-eight, seven years on from the loss of her virginity, she had never come close to an experience like this. It was doubtful even Pandora had.

The sense of being pounded, stretched out and filled to capacity. The undiluted, unrestrained lust that fuelled that pounding and stretching and filling. The combustible, all-consuming nature of her orgasm. She was sure the entire maze would ignite from the heat that seared her fucked body, her fucked soul.

Even when the shattering climax left her, his cock did not. Her upper half was sprawled on the grass, the lower still hauled upwards to meet his searching thrusts. Her screams had subsided into a series of long, sub-human moans, punctuated by each hammering impact inside her. Then he let go his hold on her legs, allowing her feet to find the grassy carpet, and climbed down onto her, still pumping like a stud bull in its prime.

Her teddy he wrenched right down to her waist, so that his barrel chest could bear down onto her naked stomach and tits. It threatened to crush her. Then his mighty arms enfolded her like a vice and she was trapped, as in a great iron machine, the one moving part of which continued to piston rapidly in and out of her pussy in a tight well-greased motion. It gradually slowed, as with a long releasing of the power, till he was moving softly on her and her moans ebbed to a whisper.

"Look at meeeeee." His words were quiet and soft and they drew from her complete obedience. She opened her eyes and saw his face inches from hers, torso perfectly still, loins doing all the work required. He was smiling―a wicked, mocking smile that expressed all his godless delight in screwing her to her core, and that she had consented to him doing it. "You're mine, Gabby," he said. "You cunt is mine and you are mine."

His thrusting grew in momentum, cock retreating further on each backstroke and surging in harder, eyes locked on hers, mouth hovering as if to suck up her renewed moans. "Your cunt is mine and you are mine." He drove into her, fierce and unrelenting, brutalizing her with gleeful relish, eyes blazing with fire from the nethermost depths of Hell. "Your cunt is mine and you are mine."

He withdrew from her in a slick, sucking motion and rose mercurially to his feet. She was hauled with him her by her ash-blonde hair into a kneeling position before his rigid, wetly-shining cock.

"Now worship."

This time she did, with the fervency of a true believer. She worked him over like she had never done to a man before, did things she had only read about or imagined, tasting herself on him all the time. She lavished her tongue from the thick base, all the way up the endless inches of his strident column, like she was giving it another coating of paint.

She curled her attentions around the head, teasing under the rim of that bulged crown, then skating to the gleaming eye and working in her tongue's tip, before pursing her lips and sucking up the thick, salty fluid it leaked, precursor to his main inundation. She slithered back down his thick-veined undershaft, slurped his great balls one after the other into her mouth and sucked on them with all the deliciousness she could muster.

Now she flickered her tongue all over his end, staring up at him in thrall. Look at me. Look how good I am. Look how I know my duty. She shaped her breasts around him, let saliva spill from her tongue all down his length and massaged him with the firm pliancy of her bosom, her spit bubbling all around the shaft. Then she tugged that massive lever down and wrapped her mouth wide around the head.

He did not touch her―she knew he was letting her do it, letting her prove herself. She forced herself onto him, filled up her mouth and throat with him till she gagged, then came off him, gulping down the urge to wretch. Ashamed, she gazed up to his stony face, eyes pleading that he be not displeased with her.

Gently he stroked her face. Then applying a finger to her chin, he raised her off her knees. She rose as if by compelled by some unseen force to stand before him, awaiting his next implicit command. He seized her slim waist, hands almost encircling her, and with what seemed like supernatural ease lifted her off the ground. He was lowering his hips, providing a seat for her, from which there would be no easy rising.

Her eyes not flicking from his face even for an instant, she wrapped her legs compliantly around his muscled ass, the tip of his vertical shaft teasing her lips. She could picture him stretching up beneath her, as though the spikes of his trident had been reforged into one mighty prong. Slowly, tenderly, he lowered her onto him, her lubricated channel molding itself around him to create a tighter fit than she had thought possible.