Gabrielle and the Devil

Gabrielle cooed in pained ecstasy. She linked her arms around his broad neck and clutched with her ankles, as she descended slowly to his base and took her fill. Then as he gripped her thighs to support her, she tautened every muscle and began to move herself on him, sliding up and down his galvanized pole. She felt liberated and wildly sexy in that moment, yet her euphoria was fused with a terrible shame. She was giving away something essential within her, as she fucked herself obediently on him. This was beyond any mere sex-act. It was as if she had clambered on to some enormous, cast-iron monument to male lust, so she could carry out a symbolic act of self-impalement.

She clung on desperately, gazed into his coldly savage face, yearning for signs of his satisfaction as she slithered all over that Satan cock like the Devil-bitch she was. She was seeking his approval, desperate to draw out the full force of his desire and with it his boiling seed. A distant-seeming voice was calling her―trying to draw her to reason, to goodness, to the light. "Gabby? Gabby, where are you? Come back! Are you okay?" But it was too late for all that.

See me, see what a good servant-whore I am. See what I've become for you. Better to rut in Hell than mope in Heaven, right? A sick distortion of all she had ever been taught or had ever believed, but she could not resist the notion and its dark allure. Take me there, my demon-lover. Take me there and fuck me forever.

His eyes blazed like he had read her thoughts. Then his stony features cracked into a grimace, one which betrayed the full extent of his craving. He plucked her from his long cock in one easy move and dumped her flailing on to the ground. In an instant he was down with her, putting her on her hands and knees and mounting her from behind, ramming her full and fucking her in a rage of infernal lust that propelled her towards orgasm once more.

He dragged her up with, fingers clutching to the roots of her hair, and grappled her into his possession. One hand was on her throat, the other on her waist, as his staggering assault continued. It was in that moment that Pandora arrived panting at the entrance to the hedged enclosure. Gabrielle stared through a fucked haze, vaguely aware of the hastily reassembled Little Red costume and the expression of fraught concern on her companion's face.

Drawn by Gabrielle's screams, Pandora had clearly been scared that her friend was being brutalized against her will. But Gabrielle fixed her with a stare that conveyed her pleasure at being taken so hard. Then she reached down to frig herself all the way to her final damnation. She did not care that Pandora was seeing her like this, in truth, it excited her to be on such wanton display. You thought you knew me, Dora? Did you? Well, take a good look, because this is who I truly am.

For a moment Pandora stared in rank astonishment, then she subsided against the hedge, face flushed, plucking up her skirt. Clearly loving the show, she plunged a hand into her panties and started rubbing one out on her own clit.

Gabrielle came, tits thrust out and body jolting, as He slammed her halfway to oblivion, as her closest friend in the world watched it all and masturbated herself into an accompanying frenzy. Her devilish defiler let her fall forward and she collapsed to the grass, sobbing her anguished bliss.

Then her lover was ratcheting up his pace to a hard-smacking crescendo, he was pulling out of her against her cunt's sucking resistance, he was dragging her to him and thrusting his pulsing, sparking weapon into her surprised mouth. Her lips locked automatically, welcomingly around him, sealing off all leakage as with a raging howl he unleashed a long, fiery torrent down her throat. 'The cistern of my lust' - Gabrielle recalled the phrase from Shakespeare's Macbeth. His cistern was brim-full and its contents spewed forth, emptying as a deluge into her belly. She drank deep from him, then fell away with drooling lips, sated with satanic spunk.

Her senses seemed to cloud utterly, until she drowned in darkness.

~~~~

There were flashes of consciousness... of clothes being rehooked and adjusted... of being carried, clinging to a huge bulk as the stars wheeled overhead... leaning on someone smaller this time, tottering over grass and stone...

Gabrielle found herself sitting on the rear steps on Hartland Manor in the wreckage of her costume, the drunken detritus of the party floating around her. Pandora was by her side, both of them staring vacantly into space. It was like she had emerged from some hallucinogenic trip and might have passed it off as such had it not been for the throb in her cunt and her body's incidental bruising.

"What a crazy night, Gab. What a crazy fucking night." Pandora sounded almost as shell-shocked as Gabrielle felt. "What a crazy night's fucking." The brunette giggled nervously. She was a mess of run-and-dried mascara. "Of all the people I could have... Oh - dear Christ, what was I thinking?" They sat in silence until Pandora gave voice to the other question hanging in the air. "And who the hell did you get with?"

Gabrielle raised a heavy, aching head and stared at her friend in weary amazement. "Come on, Dora, drop it. Tell me who he was. You were the matchmaker, we both know that."

Pandora looked back at her, seemingly rumbled. "Well okay, I did have a set-up in mind, Gabby, I kind of figured you suspected. But it didn't quite come off." Gabrielle looked at her inquiringly. Pandora shared, with a touch of guilt. "I called up a guy who I thought you might hit it off with. Lucius, you've heard me talk about him? He seemed keen, he was even going to dress as a devil to match your angel... but he called me last night and said he couldn't make it. Symptoms of appendicitis, what are the chances? I was disappointed, but I still figured you'd get lucky in that costume." Gabrielle searched Pandora's face and found complete earnestness.

"That wasn't him, Gab," her friend insisted. "I've no idea who you were with, although you seemed to be..."―she seemed uncharacteristically flustered at the memory― "...getting along just fine. Fucking amazing costume. Fucking amazing guy―please tell me you got his number. God, Gabby, you've no idea how hot you two looked. I mean insanely hot. I couldn't help myself... well, y'know."

Gabrielle's muddled brain had difficulty processing this information. So who exactly had her role-play partner been? The one with whom she had... played so hard. Wait, how had he known about the dream, if Pandora hadn't been involved? Had she misinterpreted his words? And had he overheard her name? Dora, are you fucking with me? Somehow she didn't dare ask the question aloud. It would have chilled her to hear her friend's denial.

"I don't know who he was. Some guy." Some horny devil who'd fucked her like she'd never believed would happen in this life. The sort of fuck for which a girl might sell her soul. "Dora," she said, massaging her throbbing temples, "the sooner you get us out of here the better."

Thankfully her friend didn't disagree. One short sleep later, they crept out of the still sleeping Hartland Manor in Pandora's car and departed with no fuss for San Francisco and home. Of red-skinned mysterious seducers, there was no further sign.

Gabrielle asked no troubling questions on the journey and dismissed all those asked by Pandora. Neither did she call her friend two days later, when she received the package at her apartment. The one containing an angel costume all but identical to that destroyed at the party―wings included, missing only the halo. The one with the anonymous card written in ornate black script.

To my precious angel, for whom I will one day return. You know my name.

"Dora, Dora, Dora..." Gabrielle shook her head in bafflement at her friend's eccentric behavior. "Enough with the games. I'm done playing them. Halloween night was... an exception." An exquisite exception which she could not chase from her mind, day or night, however hard she tried.

It occurred to her that she had not been to church once since the night of the party...

~~~~

Epilogue

The plain was silent this time, all noise of battle extinguished across its vast surface. The last of the vanquished army had been divorced from the frail rattles of their breath. She alone remained. Darkness had fallen, yet a bloody moon was casting its sullied light upon her. Upon her and the monstrous giant, who without moving, without speaking a word, demanded her allegiance.

She stood before him, once more utterly naked. Her wings remained folded behind. She made no attempt to provide herself with cover. He towered over her, his bestial countenance terrible in its presumption, his body obscene in its over-developed might, his loin-sword prodigious and menacing.

She looked on his face and this time she knew him. He had let her live. Out of everyone he had chosen her.

Slowly she turned her about and knelt. It was the most natural thing in the world to do. Her wings parted to reveal her back, haunches and legs. She bent low, arching her spine, thrusting her hindquarters into the air. Deliberately she reached back with her hands and parted her buttocks, stretching them wide to display all she had. At the sound of his snorting breath and scraping hoof, her consciousness swam slightly, but she remained firm. She raised her head, eyes closed, bathing in his mighty presence.

"Your Majesty," she said quietly, and waited.

The End...?