Leveling Up Ch. 57-62

"Something like that," he answers before chuckling in his deep voice. His hands release my wife's fat tit leaving it to bounce freely again as he pounds her soaked and runny vagina with his red, veiny, and inhuman cock.

Wendy feels pressure against her exposed asshole and it opens up and something sharp and pointy presses inside and against the thin walls of her anal cavity. Al is probing inside her delicate asshole with one of his long clawed fingers. Its sharp tip traces a careful but harrowing path inside the interior of my wife's anus. If the bastard wanted to, he could do all sorts of slicing, stabbing, and vandalism in there. My wife could be gushing blood out her asshole all over the profane pentagram beneath their debased copulating bodies.

The pentagram. Wendy realizes it is starting to glow. Not brightly. But there is a muted radiance which wasn't present previously. Her mouth releases a moan as the clawed finger gently scratches her insides relieving a strange itch she didn't even know she had. As it is slowly withdrawn with a plop, a heavy breath flows out my wife's gaping mouth and her knees buckle.

A loud thwack sounds as several parts of her back sear in sharp pain. Wendy winces, eyes tear and shut suddenly, and body shivers violently. It sounds again but against her exposed, jiggling breasts. Her eyes shoot open this time and she sees dark red streaks across her curvy chest and to her right side the clawed jeweled red hand again. This time it clutches a black cat o'nine tails in its palm. "It hurts," she whimpers.

Al chortles before mocking, "I told you this ritual involved profane magic. Sorry, doll. You'd be a fool to think it would be easy or comfortable." He hits my wife again with the cat on her back causing her to whelp. He sets his jaw, grins knowingly, and slams his large penis in and out of her throbbing pussy.

My wife moans, closes her eyes, relaxes in the dark pillory, and focuses on the sensations in her genitals. Her body soon shakes and fluctuates from hot and cold as she experiences an intense orgasm. "Oh, Al, that feel's so wonderful," she coos. "Please hit me again like that right when you're smashing it hard inside of me." When she opens her eyes again she can see the pentagram is glowing red slightly brighter than it had prior.

A door opens and there are more footsteps behind her. "Lord Alastor," a voice Wendy recognizes as belonging to the elaborately mustachioed host. "The Malzor fiasco appears to be averted. The crowd didn't like it when a mortal stepped into the ring. But he's so far held his own against the Gh'ulzor, although as an underdog. The crowd seems enthralled. Giddy at the prospect. A mortal Gh'ulzor standing toe to toe to a Gh'ulzor.

That Al did not even bother to lock the door perplexes Wendy. Her mind wonders if anyone could just walk in here at any moment. Including me. Her husband. Her stomach knots and ribs squeeze together.

Alastor hesitates for a moment before quickly resuming his ritual pounding of my wife's vagina. "And what of our special client?" he asks.

Wendy shivers as his shaft slips in and out of her. A prolonged moan erupts from her parted lips and her body shakes in orgasm again. The perverted urge. It's consuming her again and delighting in her adulterous affair with this otherworldly and masculine entity. She wonders if this is normal. Does Alastor just fuck women he contracts with during profane rituals while also casually conducting business with his underlings?

"She is due to arrive any time now," the host assures. "When she arrives do you want me to... send her up?"

Alastor grunts loudly, slams his hard cock into my wife's vagina, closes his eyes, and parts his lips to release a gasp. "Yes, please do," he agrees. "I'm sure she'd love to see the ritual completed."

60. The Ruby Red Lounge - City Block - Hollywood

Nathan's eyes widen as a series of armored vehicles with flashing red and blue lights but no audible sirens begin to pull up and surround the Ruby Red Lounge. The metal doors on the backs of them swing open and officers dressed in riot gear holding sub-machine guns begin to shuffle out, their combat boots thudding against the asphalt as they do so. As the men assemble, a thin and handsome man appearing to be in his mid-thirties wearing a white dress shirt, black tie and slacks, ballistics vest, and a thin dark blue windbreaker with the following printed on the back in yellow:F.B.I. walks out on to the sidewalk and starts barking orders. An attractive woman dressed the same approaches him, wraps her arms around his neck, and rests her head on his left shoulder.

Nathan's jaw sets, head nods, and right hand clenches into a fist. He opens the car door initiating a series of repetitive beeping, kills the ignition, removes the car key with a scraping sound, slams the door closed, and steps outside into the cool and car-exhaust scented evening Los Angeles air. Nathan's tennis shoes scruff against the asphalt as he marches towards the apparent agent in charge. "Special Agent, I'm glad you're here," Nathan says to him, leans forward, and gently bites down on his lower lip. "My boss is in there. He was looking for his wife. It's been far too long he's been in there. I think he and his wife may be in danger."

Special Agent Tully, nods, grins knowingly, releases her arms from Special Agent Boulder's neck and steps backwards.

Special Agent Boulder smirks, retrieves his handgun from the holster, grips the firearm by the barrel, keeps it pointed at the ground at all times, and promptly pistol whips Nathan's head with the grip causing a loud knock when it smacks against his hard skull. As the younger man falls to his knees, Special Agent Boulder slams his own knee into Nathan's midsection causing him to collapse on to the concrete sidewalk with a thud.

"This is an active crime scene, you need to get the fuck out of here and if you don't I'll arrest you for assaulting a federal officer!" Special Agent Boulder threatens, raises his chin, and continues to smirk. Nathan lies hyperventilating on the hard and cold sidewalk.

Special Agent Tully grins wide, chuckles, steps forward, and resumes her place at Special Agent Boulder's side.

61. The Ruby Red Lounge - Ritual Dungeon Room

"Uhm, excuse, me sire," the host's voice murmurs before blurring into the incomprehensible sensory overload that my wife experiences. A torrent of throaty moans pour out of her gaping mouth while her body shivers, ass shakes lewdly, breasts jiggle wildly, vagina drips on the black marble floor, and her moist hands grip the black bar behind the pillory.

"Uh huh?" Alastor asks as he slams his pelvis against my wife's ass and reaches his clawed hands around the pillory and plays with her dangling bouncy breasts.

"The client is here," the host's voice explains. "I'll allow her in, sire."

The door opens and someone else enters. From the clacking sound against the tile, it is another woman in high heels.

"Ms. Sarfati," Alastor addresses, loudly grunts, and shamelessly continues to smash his swollen cock inside my wife's orgasming vagina. The presence of others including now another woman don't seem to bother him in the slightest, nor was my wife in any condition to object. "Don't worry, she is almost ready for you. Our agreement of course specified used condition."

"Soon to be Lady Sarfati," Ms. Sarfati chides, clacks her heels against marble, and approaches close to the pillory. "But I don't mind. Certainly, you and I don't agree on many things. That said, indulgent profane rituals are not going to be one of those points of contention."

"Awfully ambitious of you," Alastor responds, chuckles, grunts loudly, grinds his dick inside of my wife's drizzling pussy, and strikes her back with the cat o'nine tails.

My wife's body quakes, eyes close, butt wiggles, and mouth emits a long emotional orgasmic moan. "Oh, Al...." she purrs.

"And what of the husband?" Ms. Sarfati asks.

There is no reaction from Wendy who is too caught up in her repeated orgasms to focus on the on-going simultaneous conversation.

Alastor laughs as his clawed hands squeeze my wife's jiggly ass cheeks. "No reason to worry about him anymore," he dismisses, closes his eyes, and gasps. "He could be champion or chaff. If chaff, it's over. As champion, he should be seduced by Suvri later tonight and convinced to sign a contract. A mortal with the power of a demon. He could be a fan favorite. An underdog oddity. Even among mortal media, he is already some sort of budding celebrity. Famous for Gh'u.... uhm, frivolous quarrels and philandering."

"Are you fucking kidding me you two-faced bastard!?" Ms. Sarfati yells, snarls, shakes, and clenches her hands into fists. "You knew the whole point of this. The coin that I put up. It was always to lead him back home. Never should I have trusted one of your kind! Never again!" Her eyes stare intense and cold at Alastor, mouth emits a forceful breath, and lips pinch tight.

The door swings open with a loud crack and the room rumbles as many sets of boots march at once across the tile. It sounds as if a squadron of dozens upon dozens of people have entered. A huge crowd of strangers there to witness my debauched wife's ravishment by the hulking bespectacled devil. Nor does Alastor let up even a little. With a guttural grunt followed by a gasp, he continues to slam his pelvis hard against my wife's naked and restrained ass, causing vaginal discharge to drip all over the already stained marble tiles and her large tits to jiggle in front of the dark pillory.

In-between rhythmic plopping and my wife's orgasmic moans and gasps, Alastor addresses the intruders. "Special Agent Boulder, how dare you interrupt a profane ritual! This is an embassy of Perditus and a temple and your intrusion not only violates the laws of diplomacy but deeply offends long-standing religious tradition."

"We did not know and will wait for you to complete your ritual," a male voice, presumably Special Agent Boulder, responds.

A devil? My wife wonders.There's more than one? The perverted urge overcomes her and her mind fills with thoughts of her sexual slavery as a result of some wicked contract consummated by the blasphemous sex ritual she currently participates in. In one moment she is naked and bound on some ornate yet worn down wooden stage of an auction house where humans and demons alike are sold as slaves. Wicked creatures, some deformed and monstrous leer at her, eager to bid on her as a sex object. Next her knees rest on a cold, damp, and hard stone floor of a dungeon while she sucks on some muscular devils hard cock only for him to ejaculate hot, steaming cum into her mouth causing her to choke while he emits boisterous laughter. She then walks through some crowded village down a cobblestone path naked and in chains bound to a steel collar and being pulled and led by her devil master. The chains drag behind her against the stone scraping loudly, her tits jiggle lewdly, and more demonic male creatures luridly stare at her, whistle, and smirk. Wendy's stomach knots intensely as her ribs feel so tight that she can hardly breathe. The pentagram drawn on the tiled floor glows so brightly now, it is overwhelming.

"Unh, uh huh, you're so nasty," Alastor's quivering voice vulgarizes. He groans loudly as he slams his hard cock deep inside of my wife and with an audible squishing sound sprays devil seed deep inside of her pregnant body while an entire crowd of people in the room watch. "Oh yes, doll, your bouncing tits bathed in that profane cerise glow. They're bigger, hotter, and sluttier than ever. The ritual is complete and soon you'll be famous among mortals."

Wendy's eyes close, mouth tumbles open, body shivers intensely as it is overcome with electrical signals that shock her unpredictably all over, and a prolonged gasp forces its way through her parted lips. Shortly afterwards she passes out.

As his chin juts up, a cocky grin spreads over Alastor's face only to shift into a smirk as he shifts his gaze towards Ms. Sarfati. His fat red cock plops as it withdraws from my wife's smoking hot pussy and through the billowing steam some of his white cum drips out of her swollen hole and on to the black marble floor. "Maybe that was what you hoped would happen but there was nothing in the contract preventing us from doing as we have." Alastor chuckles, opens his palms, and stares down at his sharp claws.

"This is bullshit!" Ms. Sarfati objects.

"Sire, the last communication I received was with the fight coordinator who said he would invoke the special protocol," the host explains. "The FBI has since cut our phone lines and jammed cell reception. Nothing I've tried has been able to reestablish communications with our staff down there."

Special Agent Boulder chuckles. "For real?" he asks. "The special protocol? What the fuck has happened, Alastor? Did you vet Theodore at all? Perditus will crucify you when it learns of your negligence."

"I don't give a shit about the FBI or any of this bullshit!" Ms. Safarti yells. "If you allowed Theodore T... Tal.... Mr. T, to perish. Well, let's just say this place will be one of the first targets in the massive war campaign that's about to be launched. I won't forget this betrayal and neither will my people. Anyways, I will be taking the whore and leaving now."

Special Agent Boulder chuckles and responds, "No you won't. I have a warrant for both of their arrests. One that's signed by a judge from the Special Bankruptcy Court."

"Let me see the warrant," Ms. Safarti demands. "I'd love to shove it down my panties, bleed on it, and tear it into pieces." A loud growl emits from her lips.

The host approaches Alastor and shows him some documents on a tablet.

"Yes, I understand," Alastor declares. "Ms. Safarti, my contract does obligate I to hand her over to you. However, Special Agent Boulder is correct that his warrant overrides our contracts at least for the time being. We must turn her over to FBI custody right away. However, once she leaves said custody, the ritual contract adheres and shemust go to you. Ms. Safarti is entitled to take custody of her immediately when this applies and the profane magic will allow such to occur. As to husband, we have no obligation to turn him over to Ms. Safarti but must deliver him to the FBI according to the warrant. Of course, that's assuming he is still alive which is very much an open question right now."

"This is a fucking fraud!" Ms. Safarti screams and objects. "What the fuck is the Special Bankruptcy Court?"

62. The Ruby Red Lounge - Subterranean Combat Arena - Moment's Earlier

My left arm raises up the brass shield and it vibrates and absorbs the blow from his machete. As the demon grinds the blade against the shield, it scrapes in a high pitched tone reminiscent of a tortured shriek. I kick the armored skirt of his breastplate, he stumbles backwards, I lunge, slice at his right arm, draw blood, my neck sears, body winces, and I backup and raise my shield defensively. My head feels light and I think of my wife and unborn son. Every second I'm in this fight, they're in danger.

Thalsyn rushes with his shield before he slams it hard against my chest causing it to clang loudly against the brass breastplate. I stumble backwards, lose my footing and fall hard landing on my right shoulder. Blood is everywhere now and I promptly drop my machete and cover my shoulder and neck to try to stem the bleeding while still holding up my shield defensively.

Many in the boisterous crowd stand up. A section of the crowd begins to chant, "Mr. T, Mr. T, Mr. T!" and it spreads across the wide arena.

My eyes moisten, I stumble back up and hold up the shield. I gotta convince him. "Thalsyn, you care about kin, right?" I speak through belabored breathing before coughing loudly and spitting blood on the arena floor. "For sure, you can appreciate. I want to be a father and husband. You and my wife were briefly lovers. She told me how much she enjoyed being with you. Please, let's work this out!"

Thalsyn scowls, flares his nostrils, spreads out his wings and growls at me. "I care aboutmy kin!" he snarls and chords his neck. "Lohrnihr should be in your wife's womb right now, not your pathetic son. My anus has passed shits I've cared more for than your nasty wife. Get fucked, scumbag!" He rushes, slides, attempts to grab my right leg with his left claw, misses it as I lift it up, slashes at my left leg with the machete, and draws blood as he slides by me.

"Fuck!" I yell, wince and stumble forwards struggling to remain standing. It didn't convince him at all. Maybe reasoning with him is impossible. He's a fucking demon after all. Shit. Why do I even bother to try? There's so much blood pouring out of me. This is not a winnable fight at the moment. It's probably a bad idea but I'm going to try to reach out to him again. Maybe I can redirect his attention away from me and towards the devils. "W-why... why do they call you Gh'ulzor?"

Thalsyn roars, clangs his machete against his brass shield, looks upon the crowd, narrows his eyes, and frowns. "It's a slander and an insult to my people!" he yells. His eyes scan the arena crowd filled with a mixture of mortals and devils. Thalsyn steps back, squints and lowers his brow, raises his shield and remains rigid. "Y'know, these same assholes who think they're so racially superior or whatever. They say the same thing about your kind. Mortals. You're Gh'ulzor as much as I am. Yet here we are. In their little playground they built. And your own people sit among them. My eyes haven't missed it. Some of your women whoring themselves to them in the mezzanines as we speak. Disgraceful, just like you!"

He's associating myself with his people but at the same time grouping humans with the devils. I've got to drive a wedge. Get him to see we're on the same side here. "That traitor, Asmolt!" I yell. "The way he acted around you and Lohrnihr. He seemed so... uncomfortable. Lohrnihr treated him as family but he didn't see things that way. I think I understand what you were trying to say earlier. They're racists."

"Enough with this fucking bullshit," Thalsyn screams, snarls, lowers his head showing off his horns, and charges ahead. His large bicep bulges, the machete quickly swings towards my head above my shield, misses as I quickly dodge, and I feel the whoosh of it right in front of my face. His claws grab my shoulders and shoves me backwards. "You don't think I forgot it did you? When you threatened to kill me and then rape my attorney?"

"It was shit talk, of course I didn't do it!" I defend, hold the shield steady, and tuck my jaw in.

"How in Hell do I know!?" Thalsyn yells before banging his machete against his shield. "She's not here. You just abandoned me. Let those freaks from the FBI take me and torture me for days on end. While you partied it up in Hollywood. Fuck you, Theodore! Just so you know. I told them everything about you and your nasty wife."

A growl escapes from my downturned mouth, as I look up at Thalsyn and narrow my eyes. The fucking nerve of this asshole. The last thing I need is a bunch of feds snooping into my private affairs. This whole attempt to convince him. It seems to have been foolish. My right eye sees my machete laying against the concrete ground not too far away from me before I wince and my shoulder and neck sear in pain.

A high pitched whistle sounds as an object spins at high speed only to loudly and sharply burst into the ground in front of me. "Sorry Mr. T!" screams a slurred voice from the crowd. "I was trying to hit that blue bastard!"

It reeks of booze and when I look down at the spilled light beer puddle below my feet I can see my reflection. My eyes. They're glowing. That means... My ribs squeeze and I worry for my wife and son. There is no boost in strength. No spontaneous healing. Rogue electrical currents are no where to be seen. My eyes focus on the reflection and instead of myself I see Lohrnihr. He wants me to keep trying. To make peace with his kin.